23. Ellie
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ellie
I’D BEEN EXPERIENCING SYMPTOMS of nausea ever since I returned to Minnesota, but this was my first true bout of morning sickness. And, of course, it couldn’t have come at a worse time.
The one morning Sully was here.
While in the middle of an important conversation.
And with little to no warning—without time to, at the very least, lock the bathroom door.
“You’re okay,” Sully muttered, rubbing my back with the hand that wasn’t holding my hair. “It’s gonna be okay, El. I’ve got you.”
Tears streamed down my face, and I knew he couldn’t really see them, see how much of a mess I was, but still. I crouched to the ground, my knees growing weak from the force of the repeated expulsions, and Sully lowered with me, his hands still in my hair and on my back.
Oh, God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I hated vomiting.
I hated that I’d have to get used to vomiting.
I hated that I’d probably have an endless number of mornings spent right in front of this toilet without Sully here to rub my back.
When the urge to purge lessened, I wiped my mouth but didn’t move otherwise, not trusting it. I hovered there, breaths heaving, for what felt like forever. And all the while, Sully was there. He was waiting.
Waiting, waiting, waiting.
Only when my legs began to shake did he urge me to sit back.
“Come here.”
Feeling boneless, I followed his lead, sinking into him.
He wrapped his arms around my middle but didn’t squeeze, just lightly caged me in, held me safe. I let my head fall against his shoulder, trying to catch my breath. Sully tipped his head, resting it atop mine.
We sat like that for, well, I don’t know how long. My harsh breaths echoed in the bathroom, and I closed my eyes, feeling dizzy and dazed.
“Has this been happening a lot?” Sully finally asked, and I gave my head a tiny shake.
“No, this is the first time. I’ve had some nausea, but not…”
“Okay.” Sully’s voice soothed as he slid his hands up my arms, rubbing them lightly. I didn’t fully understand why until I looked at my hands and realized I was shivering. Shaking. “Here, let me get you a sweater and some water.”
I really didn’t want to move, didn’t want Sully to move, but I still had an aftertaste in my mouth that I desperately wanted to get rid of, and my skin pebbled with goose bumps. So I scooted forward, enough that Sully was able to stand and exit the bathroom.
Sounds trickled back to me—the clank of glasses, the clink of the cupboard closing, and then the rush of the faucet.
Sully returned quickly, handing me water to rinse my mouth with and one of his old sweatshirts from high school.
I took both, focusing first on the water, swishing it around in my mouth before spitting it back in the toilet.
And then I took another sip, cringing at how it still seemed tainted by the aftertaste.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked, seeming anxious as he leaned against the frame of the door, arms crossed over his chest and brows tugged together.
“I’m okay,” I assured him, pushing my arms into the sweatshirt without fully tugging it on. “That seemed to get it out of my system. For now.”
Sully did not appear convinced. Probably because I was still perched beside the toilet, too scared to move.
“Do you think your stomach can handle some light breakfast?” he asked. “Maybe some toast?”
My insides twisted and cramped at the thought, but I nodded. Sully wouldn’t leave his sentry spot in the doorway until he felt like he was being helpful elsewhere.
“That’d be great.”
He nodded. “I’ll go make some.”
I forced a smile onto my face. “Thank you.”
My expression must not have been too terribly persuasive because Sully visibly hesitated before dragging himself away, and I released a slow exhale.
I needed to get my shit together. How had things already devolved to this? To Sully sleeping over and making breakfast and holding my hair through bouts of morning sickness?
I slowly pushed myself off the ground, being careful as I stood, still feeling dazed.
My head spun as I closed the door to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, slightly horrified at the sight staring back at me.
My bangs stuck up every which way, and faint lines danced across my cheeks—an imprint from the design on Annie’s throw pillows.
Dark circles had formed beneath my eyes, and I rubbed at them, hoping they might magically disappear.
They did not, so I splashed some water on my face. Then I found a brush to fix my hair and relieved my pulsing bladder, only to find evidence of spotting on the toilet paper when I wiped.
I frowned, despite knowing it was normal. In the last seven years, I’d read enough articles about pregnancy to know that light bleeding was to be expected. But still, a little alarm bell rang in my brain.
A knock came at the door just as I was pulling up my underwear.
“Eleanor? Toast’s ready.”
Right. Food. My stomach was cramping, but it was hard to tell if it was because it was empty or because it wanted to stay empty. Eating was worth a try.
After brushing my teeth, I followed Sully to the kitchen, where he’d set out every possible topping for toast that a person could imagine. Peanut butter, strawberry jam, Nutella, butter, and a mixture of cinnamon sugar in a tiny bowl sat around a plate with two pieces of toast on it.
“I, uh…” Sully rubbed the back of his neck, a half-smile on his face as he looked at the counter with the menagerie of toast toppings.
“Wasn’t sure which one your stomach would handle the best.” He whirled around, heading back to the cupboard.
“I think we might also have grape jelly, but I know you don’t like grape or jelly, even though you do like jam, which doesn’t make sense in my brain, but… ”
“Sawyer,” I said once he’d trailed off. “This is more than enough.”
“Okay.” He whirled back around. “I know how much you used to love cinnamon toast.”
“Cinnamon toast sounds great,” I said, flashing him an encouraging smile to, if anything, get him to stop tiptoeing around me.
Sully watched, seemingly satisfied, as I ate one piece of toast and then decided to wait and see what my stomach would do with it. I offered the other to Sully, which he took after a fair bit of convincing, covering it with peanut butter.
“I should take my first dose of Lovenox,” I said after we’d both finished breakfast. The pharmacy bag still sat on the counter from last night, and I opened it, pulling all the necessary contents out.
A new bout of anxiety threaded through my being. So many needles. So many syringes. So much medication.
“Do you want my help administering it?” Sully asked, once again eager to help.
Sighing, I considered.
I’d spent a great deal of time worrying about this exact scenario, wondering if I’d ever be ready to do this, to have a high-risk pregnancy.
But now I was here, and there was no going back, and oddly enough, I wasn’t even sure I would if I could.
I might be scared as fuck about the entire situation I was in, but I was also surprisingly at peace with it.
I didn’t know how to fully put it into words, but I badly wanted this reality with Sully, more than I probably should. And I knew that, which was exactly why I needed to move through this with caution, be smart about the way I navigated all these changes.
I wasn’t smart last night. Not even a little bit.
I’d acted rashly. I’d wanted Sully, and I’d known I couldn’t have him.
I’d known I couldn’t touch him, couldn’t be with him without risking everything, so I’d taken what I thought I could.
I’d hated the distance between us, so I did the only thing I could think of to make it more bearable.
I’d craved him, our connection, and so I sought it in the safest way I’d known how.
I shouldn’t have, though. Him spending the night was not the cautious, smart way to approach this pregnancy and tricky period between us, but I’d been the one to invite him in yesterday. I’d been the one to whisper what I’d wanted on that couch.
It was my fault; I knew that. So I needed to fix it, set things straight.
I needed to do a better job of setting boundaries before I found myself leaning on Sully too much.
If I let him, he’d take care of everything for me, be here every day, which would only complicate matters during a time when we both had enough on our plates, plenty to process already.
I shouldn’t confuse this thing between us, make it more difficult than it needed to be.
At least not yet—not when I already had so much to figure out on my own.
After a hard swallow, I looked at him.
“Thank you, Sully. But I think I need to do this myself.”
Sully had been watching me, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
He didn’t speak. His chest rose and fell, arms folding across his chest as he considered me.
“What?” I finally prompted, unable to take the silence.
“It’s just…” He shook his head. “I thought you came back because you wanted to be a team, but you’re putting a lot of this on your shoulders and saying you have to do it yourself.”
“I meant being a team while raising our child, Sawyer.”
“Yeah, but…”
He looked distraught, his expression contorting and twisting.
I knew that look. Mostly because I felt it a lot.
“You’re feeling guilty,” I finished for him.
“I mean, yeah.” He threw his arms up, not seeming to know what to do with them. “Of course I am, El!” He waved frantically at the display of needles on the table. “Look at what you’re having to go through.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assured him, forcing myself to believe it, too. I squared my shoulders. “I can do this. And it’s not like you’re going to be here every morning to do it for me, so realistically, it’s something I should learn how to do myself.”
He flashed me a painful stare. Took a step in my direction, where I stood beside the kitchen table. His hands dove into his pants’ pockets, a sheepish look. Pleading.
“Sul…” I started.
If he did ask, if he did beg, I wasn’t sure I’d know how to say no.
“I could,” he murmured in the still air. “I could be here. And I could do all the shots for you. Just like I did seven years ago.”
God, I wished he wouldn’t dangle that thought, that possibility, in front of me.
“Sawyer…”
There was still so much air we had to clear. Still so much to figure out.
“Eleanor…” he whispered back.
Goddamn him.
“That’s not reasonable,” I tried, but my voice was weak. “You have your own apartment, your own routines, your own life.”
“So did you,” he argued, but his voice was muted, careful. I could tell he was trying hard not to push me too far while still needing to say his piece. “Before you came back to Minnesota. And you changed all of that for me. For us, for this child. I can make changes, too.”
“You hate making changes.”
“I hate the idea of you having to do this alone more.” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “So, so much more,” he muttered into his palm, barely audible.
My eyes fluttered shut as I steadied myself. When I opened them again, Sully’s tortured gaze was on me, and when I spoke, my voice sounded pinched. “I really appreciate that you want to help, but…”
I couldn’t get myself to say the words aloud. All I could manage was a shake of my head.
Thankfully, Sully gave in.
“Okay. Okay, El.” He threw his hands up in defeat before taking another step toward me, and I thought he might pull me into his arms. But all he did was lean forward, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Will you at least call me if you need me?”
He lingered there, with his lips on my forehead. When I didn’t respond, he pressed closer, and desperation leaked into his voice when my name slipped through his lips.
“Eleanor?”
Another plea.
“Okay,” I promised. “I’ll call.”
And then he was gone.
Within seconds of the front door closing, I was throwing up again.
Sprawled on the bathroom floor.
Alone.
And even though I was pretty sure I needed him, I didn’t call.