Chapter Two - Ryder #2
I suppose I can see how it might look like we’re dating.
I’ll be the first to admit that the idea doesn’t repulse me like I thought it would.
Traditional dating isn’t common in my line of work since most marriages are arranged to strengthen the family, but it isn’t unheard of either.
As Moreno’s second in command, there aren’t strict stipulations regarding my marital expectations.
I turn the lock and open the door as Rachel glides from her bedroom to the living room, wearing a light pink loungewear set. Her hair is braided down her back, and there’s not a trace of makeup on her face.
Another fact I appreciate about Rachel is her authenticity. She’s always dressed for comfort, and yet, she is the most stunning woman I’ve ever met.
“What’s for dinner?” she asks, coming to sit on one of the two barstools—the only seating in the apartment aside from the worn, red leather couch in her living room.
“Burgers, that okay?”
“As long as you got one with pepper jack cheese and extra pickles.”
I place that very burger on the counter in front of her.
Correction: Rachel and I talk just enough that I know her favorite meal from every takeout restaurant within a ten-mile radius.
I sit beside her and let the television fill whatever need for noise there might be as we open the wrapping on our burgers.
Rachel straightens so fast I glance at her food, half-expecting something to have jumped out of it—but it looks perfectly normal. Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she darts for the bathroom.
She doesn’t bother to close the door as she falls to her knees over the toilet and empties her stomach. I stand up, ready to spring into action but unsure how to help.
I opt for getting her a glass of water.
“The smell,” she manages to say between deep breaths.
I leave the glass on the counter and pack up the food before putting it in the building hallway.
When I’m done, I go to her linen closet to grab the aerosol can of air freshener, then spray a generous amount of it.
I even light the candle beneath the clock on her stove with the lighter in one of her kitchen drawers.
When the scent of burgers is eradicated from the vicinity, I take the glass of water, kneel at Rachel’s side, and hold it out to her.
She doesn’t move to take it right away and instead seems to be working to control her breathing. “How-how did you know where all that was?” she asks, not raising her head from where it rests against her forearm, the only thing separating her cheek from the toilet seat.
“I’m perceptive.”
It’s true enough. Plenty of people keep lighters in kitchen drawers and air fresheners in linen closets.
She doesn’t need to know that I did a sweep of her apartment a week into our fling while she was at work.
I decided against the background check, but I couldn’t spend most of my evenings in her apartment without knowing for certain it wasn’t bugged.
“How are you feeling?”
She shakes her head, finally taking the water from me and sipping it cautiously. “I think I’m fine now. That was strange. I’ve felt fine all day, but nausea hit me out of nowhere when I smelled the food.”
“Does this kind of thing happen often?”
“No, but—” She starts to shake her head but stops. Her expression, which had been shaken but nonchalant, morphs into calculation.
“Rachel? What’s wrong?” I ask, mental alarm bells blaring in my head at the sudden change in countenance.
She doesn’t answer, and, for some reason, I get the impression that she’s using all her mental strength to force herself to breathe. So, instead of coaxing answers out of her, I pull us to our feet and strengthen my hold on her.
One of my arms is wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to me and allowing me to feel every labored breath she pulls into her lungs.
Since Rachel doesn’t say anything, I take a moment to appreciate how nicely she fits against me.
She’s laughably small in my arms, like a house cat curled up beside the king of the jungle.
There’s something so satisfying about how her entire body can be shielded by mine, how—even in this moment of distress—she leans into me like I’m the rock that’ll ground her.
A woman who I truly have minimal communication with has me thinking about things I never have before, like size difference, compatibility, and exclusivity, which I’ve never wanted, let alone offered.
And yet, here I am, with the most beautiful woman, realizing that’s exactly what I want.
My free hand lifts, brushing aside a part of her hair meant to frame her face but has fallen over her eye as she furrows her brow.
“What’s wrong, Rebel?” I whisper.
The questions draw her eyes to me with a start, like she’d forgotten I was here.
The look on her face doesn’t change aside from the flicker of recognition—no doubt at the mention of the nickname I gave her the night we met but haven’t used since.
At first, I hadn’t wanted her to think I was attached just because of some pet name.
Of course, now I know she isn’t the attached type.
When Rachel’s lips finally part, my thoughts are solely focused on how full they are and how—yes, even after she threw up only a moment ago—I’d like to kiss her.
“I’m late.”
“Late?” I ask with a lifted brow. “For what?”
Her eyes close with the realization that she’ll have to be more direct. Resignation covers her features when she speaks the words she so clearly doesn’t want to.
“My period, Ryder. It’s late.”
My hand freezes where it’s placed against her cheek. My mouth goes slack. My chest constricts. My lungs burn with a held breath.
But that organ that I’ve never given much thought to, the one beating like it’s trying to burst out of my chest, swells.
Swells.
I’ve never associated that word with anything aside from injuries—of which I’ve had plenty—but right now, it’s the only word that can describe the full, bursting feeling that’s taking over my entire body, starting at my center and spreading through every nerve.
It must be taking over my mind, too, because I don’t notice that Rachel is crying until her sniffle brings me back to reality.
“I think I’m pregnant,” she whispers, closing any space between us and burying her face in my chest.
I have three realizations at that moment.
Rachel’s tears are the worst sight I’ve ever seen.
Rachel clinging to me like I’m her lifeline is the best sight I’ve ever seen.
And most importantly, I have a reason to keep her tied to me for life.