19. Clover
It happens on a particularly busy Friday night at Ember, three weeks after telling everyone our news. The nausea has been relentless all day, and the meds Dr. Walker gave me aren’t doing shit. Well, it’s really 24/7 sickness with very few breaks, but I've been forcing myself to function through sheer willpower and an ungodly amount of ginger candies, mint, and a set of Sea Bands that I swear do nothing but I’m too afraid to take off because what if it really is worse without them?
Navy keeps shooting me worried looks that I hate as I mix drinks with shaking hands, stopping every few minutes to take deep breaths and steady myself when the room starts spinning.
Yeah, not being able to hold anything down for days is starting to catch up with me.
"You need to go home," she says for at least the tenth time since I clocked in. "You look like death again, and not in a sexy vampire way."
"I'm fine," I lie, even as I grip the edge of the bar to keep from swaying. "Just need to make it through the rush."
But my body has other plans. One moment I'm reaching for a bottle of tequila, and the next, the entire world tilts sideways. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, my vision tunnels, and I realize with distant horror that I'm about to pass out.
Navy grabs me by the elbow before I hit the ground and somehow I manage to get my feet back under me. The bottle isn’t so lucky and it smashes to the floor. I don’t even have enough energy to care that everyone’s staring. "Nope. That's it. Office. Now."
She practically drags me to the back since I can barely hold myself up, and when we get there, she shoves me in Theo's office chair. I lean forward and put my head between my knees while black and silver spots pop in front of my eyes. The room is spinning so fast there’s a good chance I’ll throw up from the vertigo alone.
If I had anything in my system to throw up.
"I'm calling Banks," she says, already pulling out her phone.
"Don't you dare.” I try to sound intimidating or commanding or whatever, but it comes out as almost a whisper which isn’t helping my case. "He'll just worry."
“He should worry. You’re not okay.”
“I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
Navy ignores me, putting her phone up to her ear. You know it’s bad when she’s making an actual phone call instead of texting. "Hey, you need to come get her. She’s being a stubborn ass and refusing to go home but she almost passed out.” My best friend glares at me. “It was scary and she looks like she’s two seconds away from death. Okay. Yeah. Hurry."
The next twenty minutes pass in a blur of nausea and dizziness and I’m pretty sure I lose consciousness a few times. My forehead rests on Theo’s desk, and I vaguely register Navy forcing me to sip water. It sloshes in my stomach in a gross way, and I doubt it’ll stay down.
There’s the sound of concerned voices around me but I’m too weak and exhausted to care or try to figure out what they’re saying. It all feels like it's happening underwater until a new voice breaks through the haze.
"Clover." Banks is suddenly there, kneeling in front of me, his hands cupping my face and lifting my head so I can look at him but my eyes roll around in my skull and the water starts creeping up the back of my throat. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead and down my back but I try to give him a smile. I don’t think it works because the fear in his eyes is so intense it hurts to look at him. "Jesus Christ, baby."
"I'm fine," I mumble, though it's obviously the biggest lie I've ever told. "Just need a minute."
"Fuck that." He scoops me up like I weigh nothing, cradling me against his chest. He’s strong, but I’ve also lost a ton of weight. All I know is I’m glad he’s got me, because I don’t think I could walk out of here even if my life depended on it. "I'm taking you to the ER. We’re done doing this your way."
I want to protest, to insist that I can walk, that I don't need to be carried out of my own bar like some fainting damsel. But I'm so tired and sick and dizzy that all I can do is press my face into his neck and breathe in the comforting smell of him. It’s the only thing that’s calmed my stomach in hours.
"It's okay," he whispers against my hair, his voice steadier than his racing heartbeat under my ear. "I've got you."
Half an hour later, we're sitting in Dr. Walker's office instead of the ER after he agreed to meet us when Banks texted him. Since I hate hospitals, this is so much better. As much as I don’t want to admit it, the IV fluids they’ve got me hooked up to are already making me feel more human-like and less like a cave troll.
The room isn’t spinning anymore so I’m calling it a win.
"Hyperemesis gravidarum," Dr. Walker confirms as he walks into the room, looking at my chart with a concerned frown. "It's severe morning sickness that can lead to dehydration and weight loss if left untreated. You've lost five pounds since your last visit, which is concerning at this stage of pregnancy. And do we need to talk about how bad you let the dehydration get before you called me?"
I shift my eyes away because I’m feeling guilty as hell. I didn’t want to admit my failure as a mother, so I made everything worse by not asking for help. And in the end, it wasn’t even me who made the call, it was Banks.
I blink back tears as I glance up at him. He’s going to be such a good dad.
Banks's hand tightens around mine. "What do we do?" The fear in his voice makes me feel even more like a failure than I already do.
"We'll start a different, stronger medication to control the nausea," Dr. Walker explains. "And I strongly recommend reducing your work hours, especially time spent on your feet. Rest is crucial right now, as is staying hydrated."
"What?” The shitty thing about having a little more energy is now I’ve got the ability to panic. And sure enough, I start to go into panic mode thinking about everything I’m going to fall behind on and whether or not I’ll ever be able to make it all up. "But I can't—the bar needs me, and I have finals coming up, and—"
"Clover." Dr. Walker's voice is gentle but firm. "I understand you have responsibilities, but right now, your primary responsibility is to yourself and your baby. Your body is telling you it needs rest."
I slump back against the exam table, defeated. Banks's thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, and focusing on that is the only thing keeping me from bursting into tears.
Dr. Walker asks us to stop by his office once the nurse removes my IV and gives me the all-clear. We follow her down the hallway to a fancy office with a desk buried under all kinds of books and paperwork. Honestly, it’s kind of a mess.
The view is spectacular, though. And the leather couch in here looks overstuffed and soft and I’m tempted to lay down and take a nap. All my muscles ache like the day after that time I tried Pilates, and every time I blink it gets harder to open my eyes.
Thank all that’s holy for Banks because he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
As Dr. Walker prints out some information sheets for us, I notice the small flatscreen mounted on the wall silently playing highlights from last night's Trailblazers game. The stack of takeout menus peeking out from under his desk calendar doesn't escape my notice either.
The guy kind of seems like he lives here, especially since it’s almost midnight on a Friday night and he was here and ready to help us within half an hour.
"You a basketball fan?" Banks asks, following my gaze to the TV.
Dr. Walker glances up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at the personal question. "Yeah, actually. Been following the Blazers since residency. Helps me decompress after long shifts." He hands me the prescription with a slightly embarrassed smile.
"They're playing Sunday," Banks says. "A bunch of us are getting together at Timber—her brother's brewery—to watch. You should stop by if you're not delivering babies or whatever."
I raise an eyebrow at Banks, but honestly, it's not the worst idea. Dr. Walker seems to be about Banks’s age and looking around his office, he seems lonely. Or at the very least married to his job. He’s also kind of awkward when he’s not talking about medical stuff.
Dr. Walker hesitates, but then a small smile lights up his face. "I might just do that. I’ve been watching too many games alone in this office lately."
"First round's on the house," I offer, surprising myself. "I know the owner.”
That small smile turns to a full-on grin. "I'll hold you to that. But only if you promise to follow my instructions." He taps the printed sheets. "Medicine. Rest. Hydration. Doctor's orders."
I agree and then Banks helps me out to the car. The ride home is quiet, with Banks shooting worried glances at me every few seconds while I stare out the window. After the IV I feel better, but I don’t know how to process the way my body’s failing me.
Once we're back in my apartment, the dam finally breaks.
"I can't do this," I whisper, sinking onto the couch as tears start falling. It’s a whole downpour and I can’t stop it. "I’m going to be a horrible mom,” I sob, barely able to get the words out. “Our baby’s going to struggle because I can’t take care of it.”
Banks is beside me in a blink, pulling me into his lap and cradling me against his chest like a baby. Can’t say I hate it. "Hey, no. That's not true."
"It is true!" The sob that tears out of me is ugly and raw. "I'm failing at the most basic thing I'm supposed to be able to do. Grow a healthy baby. And now I have to cut back at work, which means less money saved for my bar, and I'll probably fail my finals because I can't stay awake long enough to study—"
"Shh," Banks murmurs, his fingers running through my hair. "You're not failing at anything. Your body’s working overtime to grow our kid. That's not failure, Freckles. That's strength."
"But my plans—"
"We'll adjust them." He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. "I've already been working on some ideas."
Before I can ask what he means, he's setting me on the couch beside him and getting up, grabbing his laptop. He returns and pulls up a spreadsheet that looks suspiciously like something I’d make.
"So, I mapped out your class schedule and put together a study plan that works around when you typically feel best during the day," he explains, pointing to the screen. "I've also worked out my shifts so I can take you to class when you're too sick to drive, and pick up more of the household stuff so you can rest. Navy and Kasen agreed to help out, too. Navy’s going to pick up more of your hours and Kase’s going to be backup for anything I can’t be here for. Plus, he’s gonna water your plants."
I stare at him, at this incredible man who knows me so well and who’s done this amazing thing I never would’ve asked him to do. This spreadsheet he's created just for me, the way he’s rearranged his life around mine, and something in me just crumbles. Just gives way to the avalanche of feelings I’ve been trying to hold back.
"You did this for me?" My voice comes out embarrassingly small.
His eyes go all melty. "Of course I did. We're a team, remember? You're not doing any of this alone. You're the strongest person I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need help.”
Maybe he’s right, and he’s earned my trust.
So I give in.
Slowly, reluctantly, I start to lean on him. For the first time in my life, I let someone else take some of the weight. It terrifies me how easy it becomes over the next week—falling asleep on his chest while studying, waking to find he's highlighted passages in my textbook and left sticky notes with helpful summaries.
One night, I’m crying over a low grade on a quiz (stupid pregnancy hormones) and I can’t stop. But Banks shows up yet again. He holds me through the night, his lips pressed against my hair as he whispers promises I'm afraid to believe.
Despite myself, I’m starting to believe them. I’m starting to believe in him.
"You don't have to do everything alone anymore," he murmurs into the darkness. "That's what I'm here for."
Now I'm lying awake, watching him sleep beside me. His face is softer in sleep, younger somehow without the weight of responsibility he carries during the day. One of his hands rests protectively over my small but growing bump, a habit he's developed that melts something inside me every time.
I trace the outline of his stubbled jaw with my eyes, remembering what he said to Kasen. I'm in love with her. I've been in love with her for years.
He still hasn't said those words to me directly, and I haven't said them back. Because what if this is all just obligation? What if he's only here, only doing all of this, because of our baby? What if I let myself believe this could be forever, only to have him realize he never signed up for this?
His hand twitches on my stomach in his sleep, like he's already protecting our child from my doubts.
And that's when it hits me, with a clarity that steals my breath. I'm falling in love with Banks Priestly. Actually, if I'm being completely honest with myself—which is something I try to avoid at all costs—I've been falling for him since that first night during the thunderstorm.
Or maybe I’ve been falling for him since I was a teenager.
But one thing’s for sure: I'm in love with him, and I'm terrified.
Because this feels a lot like I've unexpectedly stumbled into my own ever after when I’m barely ready for right now.