Chapter 5
Georgia
Puke is coming out of my nose.
IT’S COMING OUT OF MY NOSE.
I have never been so miserable in my life. I thought the puking was supposed to stop after the first trimester, but it’s not stopping. I’ve tried everything, too, but nothing seems to work.
The door to the bathroom bangs open, and I turn my head enough to see Grayson rush in. He has a pregnancy book in his hand, and I think if I could start a fire with my mind, that would be the first thing I would burn.
My husband—my grumpy, handsome husband—has been carrying that book around since the day after he found out I was pregnant.
And at first, it was endearing—hot even.
I mean, what girl doesn’t want to see a heavily tattooed man reading a book so he can understand all the things his wife’s body will go through while growing their baby?
But after a while, that book became a headache.
Now, I can’t stand the sight of it.
“Are you okay?” Grayson’s voice is on the verge of hysterics.
Sighing, I stand on shaky legs and turn on the sink faucet. “Yeah, Gray. I’m fine.”
“The book says the puking should have stopped by now.”
My face flames with heat, and I have to grit my teeth to prevent me from losing my cool.
Turning my back to him, I brace my hip against the sink, still shaky from being unable to keep any food down, and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Maybe we should call the doctor.”
I can’t stop the eye roll.
“Grayson, that book doesn’t know everything,” I say around a mouth full of toothpaste.
“I know that.” He says it with such exaggerated patience that I nearly lose my mind. “That’s why I’m suggesting you call the doctor.”
Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him through the mirror. “You were at the same appointment I was. You heard her say that morning sickness doesn’t always end with the first trimester. Why are you being like this?”
“Me?” he asks, crossing his arms. The muscles underneath his tattoos flex, and for one single second, I forget why he’s on my nerves. Then he opens his mouth, and even his tattooed muscles cannot save him. “You’re being unreasonable.”
My last pregnancy hormone hits the roof.
“Unreasonable. You think I’m being unreasonable?” Somewhere in the back of my brain, I can hear how hysterical I sound, but my logical side is no longer in control. “You, Grayson Lewis, are the one being unreasonable.”
Quicker than I knew I could move, I spin around and jerk the book from his hands. “This thing is not the end all be all of pregnancy.”
My hands fly through the air, waving the book in front of Grayson’s face, and his eyes track it, ready to snatch it from my clutches at the first sign that I might cause it harm.
“Careful,” he says, eyes never leaving the book, “You’ll rip it.”
At this point, my eyes are the size of saucers. The audacity this man has is astounding.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice syrupy sweet. Grayson cocks an eyebrow, wary as I step away from him, out of his reach. And when I’m standing in front of the window, that eyebrow notches higher.
“Georgia.” He says my name like a warning, but I’m long past warnings. “What are you doing?”
The laugh that escapes me is maniacal as I open the second-story bathroom window, toss the book out with a flick of my wrist, and then snap, slamming it back shut.
Grayson’s mouth hangs open as he stares at me, and with toothpaste still crusting the corners of my mouth, I offer him a smile and march right out of the room.
“Stupid book.”
______________________
The rhythmic whirl of the fan pounds in my ears.
All I can hear is the silence stretching between Grayson and me.
He’s lying on his side of the bed, back turned my way while I stare up at the offending fan, watching it spin around and around.
All the ways I should break the ice keep running through my head, yet I can’t bring myself to say a word.
We haven’t spoken since I threw his book out the window.
After I left the room, I marched myself to the kitchen, grabbed a cup of orange juice and some crackers, and parked my butt on the couch.
He had followed down the stairs, and I watched as he walked out the door, shoulders slumped, and picked up the book.
He didn’t come back inside, and I didn’t chase after him.
I’m a royal jerk, and now I don’t know how to apologize.
I attempt to clear my throat, hoping it will make him turn around because if he would just turn around and face me, I could make this better, but he remains staring at the wall.
My throat aches from the tears I’m suppressing.
I’m angry—at myself and these stupid hormones that make me feel like an alien in my own body. But mostly, I’m mad because I hurt the man I love.
With a shuttering breath, I roll over on my side, facing Grayson.
“Gray.” His name leaving my lips is timid.
His answer is a questioning hum, but he doesn’t turn around.
He has every right to be mad at me, but I don’t want to go to sleep tonight like this. I know all too well that time is fleeting. I should have fixed this before now, and if I were in my right mind, I would have.
But I’m going insane.
“Gray, I’m sorry.”
His sigh is deep and long before he finally rolls over to face me. “I just want to help, Peach, and I don’t know how to.”
The crack in his voice nearly breaks me.
“I’m sorry, Gray. I’m so sorry.” Tears clog my throat, and I will them not to fall.
And even though I don’t deserve it, he reaches out, pulling me to him. The tenderness of his arms holding me breaks the dam, letting my tears flow freely.
“Don’t cry, Peach. It breaks my heart when you cry.”
The tears don’t stop, though.
I rest my forehead against his chest, taking comfort in the love of a man I don’t deserve.
“Sad. Mad. Happy. I can’t control my emotions. And you’re taking the brunt of that. This is not what I imagined when I imagined pregnancy.”
Tipping his chin down, he cradles my head and strokes my hair.
“What did you imagine?”
Taking a second, I think about what it was that I did expect, and the picture that comes to mind is everything opposite to what I am.
I expected it to be more like the movies where the woman lovingly cradles her stomach and shares her excitement with her husband.
Instead, snot leaks out of my nose as I cry against his chest, and if I were to look in a mirror, I’m positive the sight would be scary.
“I think I expected more glowing.”
Grayson’s snort of laughter is so unexpected that it startles me, causing me to pull back and take him in.
Tears leak from his eyes, and his laughter turns into the silent type until I’m afraid I might have to give him CPR so he can breathe.
“What?” I ask. His joy is contagious, and even though I don’t know what he’s laughing at, a smile slips onto my lips.
“It’s just—,” he wheezes, “I thought you were practically radiant when you threw my book at the window and the sun shined in.”
My mouth hangs agape for all of one second before the laughter takes hold of me, too.
And right there in that bed, laughing until we both can no longer breathe, we let go of the anger and heal.
Between the laughter and tears, I vow to myself that no matter the hormones surging through my body, I will be kinder to my husband because he is a good man who loves me despite my insanity.