Chapter 7
FROST
I'm off the bed in seconds to follow Hope into the bathroom. She's on her knees, hunched over the toilet, and I drop down beside her, gathering her hair back from her face.
“I got you, baby,” I murmur, holding her hair with one hand while rubbing circles on her back with the other.
She heaves again, her whole body shuddering, and my heart clenches. This is not how tonight was supposed to go.
“I'm sorry,” she gasps between retches. “I'm so sor—”
“Don't,” I say firmly. “Don't apologize.”
She throws up again, and I keep holding her hair, keep rubbing her back and wishing I could take this away from her. Finally, after what feels like forever, she slumps back against the wall, eyes closed, face pale and sweaty.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She nods weakly. “I think so. God, Frost, I'm so—”
“Stop.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Just rest for a second.”
I stand, grab a washcloth, and wet it with cool water, needing to clean myself up. There's vomit on my thigh and my cock. I'm trying not to think about how unsexy this whole situation is. I wipe myself down quickly before tossing the washcloth in the sink. And then my stomach rolls.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe.
Hope's eyes snap open. “Frost?”
I don't answer, I can't. I drop to my knees and shove her gently aside as I lunge for the toilet. My stomach heaves violently. Like Hope, I throw up everything I ate at the rehearsal dinner.
“Oh no,” Hope says in disbelief, and then her hand is on my back, rubbing circles just like I did for her.
I heave again, gripping the toilet seat, and my whole body shakes. This is fucking miserable.
“I got you,” she whispers, echoing my words from earlier.
We stay like that for a while, both of us taking turns throwing up and groaning. When I finally finish, I slump back against the tub, breathing hard.
“Well,” I rasp. “This is romantic as hell.”
Hope lets out a weak laugh. “So romantic.”
We sit there for a moment, both of us pale, sweaty, and miserable. Hope reaches for me at the same time I reach for her. Somehow, we manage to help each other up and stumble back to bed just to collapse onto the mattress, moaning in protest.
“Think we're done?” Hope asks, curling into my side.
“God, I hope so.”
Unfortunately, we're not done, not by a long shot.
The night is long and brutal as we take turns rushing to the bathroom, offering each other comfort, and bringing each other water.
At one point, around three in the morning, we're both on the floor, Hope at the toilet, and me with my head in the trash can.
“This is our life now,” Hope grumbles.
“Yep,” I groan. “This is it.”
By the time the sun comes up, we're both exhausted, dehydrated, and pretty sure we're dying.
“I need ginger ale,” I rasp, dragging myself out of bed. “And crackers… maybe some Sprite.”
Hope just nods weakly from the bed.
I throw on sweats and a t-shirt and head downstairs to the hotel convenience store. The fluorescent lights make my head pound harder. I shuffle like a zombie when I spot Chaos and Colt near the refrigerated section, who both look as bad as I feel.
“You too?” Chaos groans when he sees me.
“Yeah,” I mutter, grabbing a bottle of ginger ale. “Hope and I have been up all night.”
“Same,” Colt says, leaning against the shelf like it's the only thing keeping him upright. “Fucking brutal.”
Stitch appears from around the corner with his medical bag, looking slightly less green than the rest of us.
“Food poisoning,” he announces. “Pretty sure the short ribs were left out too long before they were served. I've been getting texts all morning. Half the wedding party is down.”
“Fuck,” I groan.
“Here.” Stitch hands me a bottle of anti-nausea medication and some electrolyte packets. “Get these into you and Hope. Stay hydrated the best you can. You'll feel like shit for another twelve hours, but you should be okay by tomorrow.”
“The wedding's in four days,” I say weakly.
Stitch claps me on the shoulder. “Then you better rest up, brother.”
I grab extra ginger ale, some crackers, and head back upstairs. Hope is right where I left her, curled up in bed, looking miserable.
“Got supplies,” I say, setting everything on the nightstand.
Hope sighs. “You're my hero.”
We both take the medicine Stitch gave me and sip on some ginger ale. While I give the medicine time to settle, I make a quick call down to housekeeping and ask them to leave a fresh change of bed linens at the door.
“Why don’t we go hop in the shower and get this stink off of us?” I suggest.
Hope doesn’t look convinced but takes my hand anyway. We help each other into the bathroom, strip down, and stand under the warm spray. There’s nothing remotely sexy about showering together when we're both too sick and exhausted, but it feels good to wash away the sweat and misery.
After we’re all dried off and brush away the grime from our teeth, I open the door to fresh sheets.
We quickly strip the biohazard sheets off the bed and put on the clean ones.
We crawl back under covers, clean and slightly more human.
Hope curls into my side, her head on my chest, and I wrap my arms around her.
“So,” she says softly. “This is us, food poisoning a few days before our wedding.”
I huff a weak laugh. “Yep. This is us.”
“Think we'll make it down the aisle?”
“Darlin’, I'd crawl down that aisle if I had to.”
She smiles against my chest. “Me too.”
We're quiet for a moment, and then Hope says, “You know what I keep thinking about?”
“What?”
“Our honeymoon. You and me, alone together.”
“Sounds perfect,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere,” she whispers. “As long as I'm with you.”
My heart soars. “We're gonna have a good life, Hope. I promise.”
“I know,” she breathes.
I hold her closer as her breathing slows, and my own exhaustion pulls me under.
In four days, we start forever, but right now? Right now, we just hold each other and drift off to sleep.
The next morning, I wake up feeling almost human again. My stomach's settled, the nausea's gone, and Hope's curled against me, breathing soft and steady.
“Hey,” I murmur, brushing hair back from her face. “You alive?”
“Barely,” she groans, stretching. “I think we survived.”
“Thank fuck.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Wedding's still on?”
“Wedding's still on.” She smiles up at me, and my chest does that thing it always does when she looks at me like that. Like I'm her entire world.
We start to get up when her phone rings on the nightstand. She reaches for it, frowning at the screen.
“It's the florist,” she says. “I should take this.”
“Go ahead. I'm gonna grab a shower.” I swing my legs out of bed, still a little shaky but functional. “Wash off the rest of the plague.”
She laughs, already answering the call. “Hello? Yes, this is Hope Webster.”
Soon to be Hope Stone.
I head into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked open out of habit. I turn on the shower and watch as steam starts to fill the space, when I hear Hope's voice rise from the bedroom.
“Don’t you dare say you can't.” I can’t hear anything for a few moments before Hope shrieks, “I ordered those flowers six weeks ago!”
I wait, one hand on the shower door. Of course, a few days before the wedding, we’d end up having vendor drama. Not surprising, given how close we are to the date.
Then I hear her say, calmly and clear as day, “Yep… I'm pregnant… Why else would I be getting married in a hurry?”
Time stops. My hand freezes on the glass, and my breath catches in my throat.
Pregnant??
That's why we’re getting married in a hurry.
Her voice drops lower after that. It’s muffled, and I can't make out anything else. Those words, those fucking words, echo in my head, louder than the running water, louder than my own heartbeat.
Pregnant.
I stand there, naked, steam curling around me, while my mind spirals out of control. Hope's pregnant. She's fucking pregnant, and she didn't tell me.
Is that why she said yes? Is that why she agreed to a fast wedding? A month-and-a-half engagement… everyone's been joking about it, but I thought it was because we knew we were soulmates. Because when you know, you know, like Hawk said.
What if it wasn't that at all? What if she's only marrying me because she has to?
My chest tightens, and it's not the good kind this time. It's the kind that makes it hard to breathe, the kind that feels like someone has their fist wrapped around my lungs, trying to squeeze the life out of me.
Did she trap me? Is this… Fuck, is this even real? All those moments. All those times she said she loved me. Was any of it real, or was she just... Doing what she had to do?
I think about last night. About her getting sick and how she ignored the stomach pain before we started fooling around. Was that morning sickness? Has she been hiding this the whole time?
My hands shake as I step into the shower, letting the hot water hit my skin. It doesn't help. Nothing helps.
The woman I love, the woman I'm supposed to marry, just told someone on the phone that she's pregnant, and she hasn't said a fucking word to me about it.
Why wouldn't she tell me? Unless she knows that I’ll wonder whether this is real, whether she really wants me or just needs me to provide for her and the baby.
My chin falls, and I press my palms against the tile as the water streams down my back. I want her to come to me. I want her to walk in here right now and tell me the truth. To look me in the eye and say, Frost, I’m sorry I should’ve told you sooner. I’m pregnant.
I want her to give me the chance to tell her it doesn't matter. I love her with all my heart, and I'd marry her anyway. Above all, I’d love her and our child with my entire being.
I wait to see if she comes in to confess. Hope doesn’t come in, though. What happens if I ask her and she lies? What if I ask and she tells me she was going to tell me after the wedding, or that she only said yes because of the baby?
Instead of going out to confront her, I continue to stand here, under the water, while my heart shatters.