by Parker, Ali
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll take you home,” I said, wrapping my arm around her waist.
She sagged against me. That was when I knew she wasn’t feeling well. I wanted to take care of her, make her feel better. I hated seeing her feel miserable.
“Thank you. I’m sorry for ruining the night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. Let’s go outside and wait for the valet. The fresh air will help,” I assured her.
She nodded. “Thank you.”
We headed for the door when she abruptly stopped. “I left my purse.”
I turned a little to face her, showing her the black purse I had slung over my shoulder. “I got it.”
“You have my purse on your shoulder?” She gasped.
I chuckled. “I do.”
“Wow. You really have changed.”
I smiled with satisfaction. I hadn’t thought twice when I got up to leave the table and saw her purse there. I had picked it up and carried it to the bathroom with me. I was comfortable enough with my masculinity to carry a damn purse, especially when it was her purse. She needed me, and I would wear a damn dress if that’s what it took to make her feel better. I didn’t give a damn about what other people thought about me. I only cared what she thought.
“I have changed, Hannah. I promise you that.”
I handed my ticket to the valet and ushered her toward a corner where she could use the wall as support. She didn’t look well. I wasn’t sure if she would throw up all over the place or on an innocent person as they walked out of the restaurant.
I kept my arm around her shoulders, loving the contact. She wasn’t fighting me on it. That was a good sign—or a sign she was really sick.
Chapter 60
Hannah
I let Grayson tuck me in to his car like I was an invalid. He pulled away from the curb slowly and without jerking, which I was extremely grateful for. My stomach had protested my walk to the car, but there was no way I could lie on that bathroom floor all night. I prayed I could hold everything in until we got home. I would die if I vomited in his car. Absolutely. Fucking. Die. I ordered my stomach to cease and desist its revolt. My demands were being ignored. My stomach was still rolling. I could literally feel the bile in my throat. I prayed I could make it to my house without losing my cookies again. It took every ounce of willpower and self-control not to give in to the nausea. I couldn’t move or breathe for fear of losing that tiny bit of control I had going for me.
“Should I stop and pick something up?” he offered.
“No! Just drive me home, please.” I groaned.
“Okay. I’m going. Try and relax,” he said, trying to soothe me.
He was doing everything he could not to jostle me as he stopped at what appeared to be every light in the city, prolonging the miserable ride home. I moaned once, when there was a sudden stop, afraid I was losing the battle.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine. We’re almost there, just please hurry.” I heard myself squeak out.
I knew I was being impossible. I was begging him to hurry and groaning when he went too fast. When he pulled into the garage of my building, I didn’t even think twice about what that implied. I was too concerned about getting into my apartment and hugging my toilet. I jumped out of the car the moment he stopped and practically raced for the elevator. Grayson was hot on my heels. By the time I got my key in the door, it was full-on red-alert status.
I dropped my purse as I raced for my room, wanting the privacy of my master bathroom and not the guest bathroom. I slammed the door behind me and barely made it in time. I spent a good fifteen minutes in the bathroom. Afraid to move until I knew the sensation had fully passed. As my head hung over the toilet, I thought about what he must be thinking. I assumed he had left after my extensive stay and rather unappealing company. I wanted to be comfortable and grabbed my favorite pair of lounge pants and a long T-shirt before heading for the kitchen.
I squealed when I saw him standing in the kitchen, my teakettle on the stove. “What are you doing?” I gasped with surprise.
He smiled. “I’m making you some mint tea. I saw the box in the cupboard and figured it was your thing. I can make you some toast to go with it.”
I stared at him, not believing what I was seeing. He had undone the top buttons on his shirt and looked completely comfortable making me a cup of tea in my kitchen. It was strange to see him doing something so normal. He cooked, I had seen that, but it had been so long since I had seen him.
“Um, no thanks. You don’t have to do that. I’m fine, it was just a little upset stomach,” I told him.
He smiled. “Go rest on the couch. I pulled a blanket from the closet for you to snuggle with. I’ll bring the tea in,” he ordered.
I considered arguing but I really didn’t have the strength or energy. “Thank you.”
I curled up on the couch, the blanket wrapped around me, but didn’t get to enjoy the comfy spot for long before I had to race to the bathroom. I was completely miserable. I wasn’t used to such a violent case of morning sickness after dinner. It was my own fault. I had thought the morning sickness thing was getting easier. It had been a fluke that morning. I should have known my body would not let me get off without a fight.
“Hannah.” I heard Grayson’s voice coming from directly behind me.
I groaned. Kill me now. His hand was on my back, gently rubbing as my head rested on the toilet seat. I was humiliated but too sick to care. He quietly stood behind me, his stalwart presence was oddly comforting. Thankfully, the bout was short. I stood up, my back still to him as I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I grumbled.
“Come on, let’s get you settled on the couch. Your tea is ready and when you want to give it a shot, I’ll get you some toast.”
We walked back to the living room. I climbed on the couch and didn’t fight it when he tucked the blanket around me. He sat down in the middle, picking up my legs and resting them on his lap.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Should I go?” he asked softly.
I should have told him no. I wanted to tell him no, but another part of me wanted him to stay. That was the part I let win.
“You can stay,” I whispered.
“I will. Rest. I’m here,” he assured me.
I sighed and closed my eyes, letting my body relax. I knew this was a good time to tell him about the baby. I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the strength to get in to an intense conversation like that. I opened my eyes and found him staring at me.
“What?” I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
He shook his head. “Nothing. You’re beautiful even when you’re miserable.”
I chuckled softly. “Thank you. I’m not feeling so beautiful.”
He leaned forward, grabbing the cup from the table, and handed it to me. “Drink some tea. I read peppermint settles your stomach.”
“When did you read that?”
He grinned. “While you were in the bathroom. I was a little lost when I saw all those boxes of tea in there.”
“Good choice.”
“How are you feeling now?”
I smiled. “Better.”
“Was it the chicken? You didn’t look like you were enjoying it all that much. If it made you ill, I will call and complain,” he said firmly.
I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t the chicken.”
“Sit tight. I’ll make you a piece of toast. If you keep that down, I think we can declare you fit and whole.”
“No, I don’t need toast. Not yet,” I declared, not able to think about eating anything.
He leaned back against the couch. “Okay, we’ll wait a bit.”
“I’m sorry I ruined our dinner.”
He put his hand on my knee. “Don’t be sorry. I’m only sorry you are feeling miserable.”
�
��Thank you. I appreciate you taking care of me.”
“I will take care of you anytime.”
I closed my eyes once again and thought about telling him why I was ill. It was a very difficult discussion. There was no way to make it any easier to talk about. I wasn’t sure if I should just blurt it out or bring up the subject of kids first. I really wished I could have a couple glasses of wine to help ease into the conversation. Obviously, that wasn’t an option, but it sure would have made things less stressful.
I must have dozed off for a few minutes. When I woke up, he was holding the remote control in his hand. I turned my head to see what he was watching. There was no sound as he stared at the screen.
“Are you watching that?” I mumbled.
He turned to look at me. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No, it’s fine. You can turn on the sound.”
“Want to try some of that toast now?”
I could tell he wanted to take care of me. It was absolutely the most endearing gesture. “Yes, please.”
He grinned. “Sit tight.”
He got up, being careful not to move me too much as he sat up from the couch. I smiled, pulling the blanket around my neck. I loved that he was doting on me. It felt good to be taken care of, most especially since he was the one doing the caring. He returned a couple minutes later with a single piece of toast cut into triangles, carrying it on a plate.
I sat up, taking the plate from him. “Thank you,” I said.
He sat down again, my feet on his lap. He gently rubbed while I nibbled on the toast.
“Should I rewarm the tea?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. It feels much better already. You’ve cured me.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Maybe I picked it up from my mom.”
“Your mom made you toast and tea when you were sick?” I asked with surprise.
I imagined him growing up with an army of nannies. I couldn’t imagine his mother actually taking care of him.
“She did.”
“Did you have a nanny?”
He smiled. “Not really. We had a nanny or sitter when my parents had functions, or my mom would go with my dad on business trips, but otherwise, it was all her. She is an amazingly strong woman. She practically raised six boys on her own and I have to admit, we were not good boys. We were all wild and headstrong, and most of us were terribly rebellious.”
I laughed. “Your mother deserves a medal.”
He nodded. “She really does.”
“How is she doing?”
He smiled. “Still feisty as ever. She won’t be able to get out of that bed for at least another week. The doctor gave us all these crazy facts about recovery after a broken hip for older people, but I don’t think those statistics apply to her. She is a tough woman. No broken hip is going to slow her down.”
I smiled. I loved listening to him talk about his mom. It was the only time I really saw the real Grayson. The stern veneer he always wore seemed to fade away when he talked about his mom. I knew he loved her. It was what had given me hope in the beginning. The guy he presented to the world wasn’t the only side of him. I had hoped to get to that sensitive side. I hadn’t before, but I was seeing it now.
“Um, Grayson?”
“What’s up?”
I cleared my throat. “I need to tell you something.”
He looked at me. “Oh? What?”
“I don’t want you to be mad,” I said, hoping to ease into the topic.
“Why would I be mad?” he asked, and I realized I had started the conversation out on the entirely wrong foot.
He was probably thinking I slept with someone else. “It’s nothing bad. I mean, it’s serious, but nothing bad.”
“Hannah, just tell me.”
I shook my head. “I’ve waited to say something because I’ve been trying to work through some things on my own. I needed time to get my head straight.”
He nodded. “I understand. You don’t have to explain. Take all the time you need. I don’t want to pressure you.”
I sucked in a deep breath. I had started and couldn’t back out now. He deserved to know the truth. If there was any chance of us making this relationship work, I had to be honest with him. He was looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I suddenly got a case of cold feet. I couldn’t say it!
Chapter 61
Grayson
I was intrigued and a little worried about what she would tell me. She seemed so serious and almost a little scared to tell me whatever it was. In all the time we had been together, she’d never had a hard time telling me exactly what was on her mind. It was one of the things I liked most about her. She could be herself around me and didn’t care if I liked it or not. She never held back.
As I watched her fidget and squirm, I began to feel a little uneasy myself. Something was off. I could tell whatever it was, was big. Hannah wasn’t the squirming type, unless she was hot and horny, then she squirmed like crazy. This was different.
“Go ahead,” I said, wanting to set her at ease.
I blocked the millions of thoughts that were floating through my brain as she looked down at her hands and then back at me. Her illness left her looking very pale. Her black eyeliner was smudged, giving her a hollow appearance. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, and my earlier suspicion that she had lost a little weight was confirmed. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and cradle her close, take away all the suffering she was enduring.
“Grayson, I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.
I looked at her. I could practically see the words on a conveyor belt headed for my brain as I sat and stared at them waiting for them to register. Until they hit, I couldn’t quite get my head around it. It was like I knew what she said, but some part of me was rejecting it. I couldn’t have heard her right.
Then, it was a lightning bolt of realization as the words washed over me. Once my brain got hold of the words, a flurry of emotions erupted inside me. I didn’t know if I should hug her, high-five her, or offer congratulations. This was a new one for me. No woman had ever said those words to me before, and I wasn’t sure where to put them. They didn’t quite fit into my normal conversations.
“You’re pregnant?” I repeated, needing that confirmation, needing to hear myself say the word.
“Yes. I’m pregnant,” she said, her eyes holding mine.
“Wow,” I muttered, my hand running through my hair.
She was staring at me, waiting for me to say something. I didn’t know what to say. I was at a complete blank, something I was unfamiliar with. I was used to having the right words to say in any given situation. Well, what I felt was right was often not what another person felt was right, but the point was I had never been speechless—like now.
I was shocked, and then suddenly I was really happy, and then I was angry. She was pregnant? I wasn’t sure that was good news. Her nervousness suddenly made sense.
“Grayson?” she said my name on a question.
I held up a hand. “I need a minute to process.”
She was pregnant. I thought I was happy and then I remembered she had walked out on me and ignored me for almost two months. I wasn’t sure what our status was. Were we together? Working things out, or did she go out with me to tell me she was pregnant, but still didn’t want anything to do with me. I wanted to believe this was the start of something great for us, but I couldn’t be sure. She certainly wasn’t giving me that impression.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier about the baby. I guess I wanted to talk first before I dropped that bombshell on you,” she said in a soft voice.
My eyes looked into hers, searching for the truth. “You’re pregnant,” I said the words, confirming to my brain it was exactly as I heard.
She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am pregnant,” she repeated.
I nodded, wrapping my mind around the idea of her carrying a tiny baby in her belly. I thought about her throwing up and the paleness I had seen in
her face. She’d been dealing with the vomiting all alone.
“I want to be here for you. Anything you need, I’m here,” I told her, meaning every word, ignoring that whisper of doubt that kept floating through my brain.
“Grayson, I only told you because you deserved to know the truth. I’m fine,” she assured me.
“I understand if you’re still mad, but I want to be here. I can help you get through the morning sickness or night sickness or whatever it is you’re dealing with. You can count on me,” I promised.
She smiled but didn’t exactly take me up on my offer. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I’m really okay. This happens. Usually it’s in the morning and once I’ve spent some time in the bathroom, things get better.”
I nodded. “Good to know. Is it terrible?” I asked with concern.
She giggled softly. “It isn’t great, but it isn’t the end of the world. Once it’s done, I’m usually fine for the rest of the day.”
“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” I mumbled, wishing there was a way I could help her.
I vaguely remembered my mother being pregnant with my brothers. She’d never really been sick until Channing. She always said he was the hardest pregnancy. I remembered her lying on the couch with a cloth on her head one day when I came home from school. She had looked completely miserable but put on a brave face for us four boys, even making us cookies for a snack, even though she had to run to the bathroom every five minutes.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, suddenly needing to know if she was telling me to allow me a chance to be a part of her life or telling me for some other reason.
She shrugged a shoulder. Her face twisted in pain. “I don’t know. I’m dealing with a lot right now. I can’t endure what we just went through again. Not now,” she whispered.
That stung a little. I knew I had hurt her, but if she was pregnant, things would be different. “I know you must be nervous and you’re not sure what to expect from me, but I care about you, Hannah. I want to be here for you.”