Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Lindsey
Three weeks after our "family meeting," I decide it's time to die. For real. I don't understand women who get pregnant and have so many kids. I mean, more power to them, but—if this is the norm, why would anyone do it?
All I seem to do is hurl. All I do is think about hurling. See something funny? I laugh. Then feel sick. Feel sick? Oh, that's cute. Let's make me sicker. And now even though it's not quite midnight, morning sickness is kicking my—
A groan leaves me as another horrific wave rolls over me, and I shove myself to my feet and make a stumbling run for the ensuite bath.
I took over Kace's room weeks ago when I moved in because at the time he'd needed the recliner to keep his leg propped up, but even after the cast was replaced earlier this week with a lower leg cast that would allow him to sleep in his bed comfortably, Kace insisted I remain where I was.
At least the master bedroom has its advantages—namely privacy.
I lose the dinner that seemed like such a good thing at the time and spend the next thirty minutes hugging a towel atop the bathroom rug.
This sucks.
Pregnancy sucks.
Everything sucks.
I hate throwing up, yet it seems to be all I do.
The book I downloaded to my e-reader says the morning sickness should be ending, and I'm counting on that being the case because this? Suuucks.
I have an appointment with an ob-gyn to get established as a patient, but the appointment isn't for another few weeks.
The scheduler said if pregnancy is suspected, they booked appointments at around six to ten weeks to confirm.
So my appointment would technically put me at eleven weeks and one day, and the book I downloaded said the doctor's timing is due to most miscarriages happening during that six-to-ten-week timeframe.
I can't fault their experience in such matters, but it doesn't help me much now, does it?
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, placing a hand over my stomach. I can't tell any differences except—maybe my belly is a little firmer? My breasts are tender, too. And there's the hurling.
Another wave of nausea hits, and I quickly roll to my side to combat the feeling. It doesn't help, and I'm back in white-throne worship position within seconds.
I have nothing left, but dry heaves still wrack me. I vaguely hear a few low thumps from somewhere in the house, but I'm too dazed to care. Whoever it is will have to wait. I'm a little busy right now.
"Linds?"
Kace's deep voice whispers over my too-hot skin, and I groan. This is not the way I want anyone to see me. Especially not my—boss? Roommate? Patient?
Tall, Dark and Daddy?
Despite living together for weeks now, I still don't know exactly what to call him. And he's here in the bathroom, and I'm just heaving away, unable to lift my head. Yay me.
Once this round is over, I lean my forehead against my forearm and spare him a watery-blurred glance to see him sitting on the edge of the bathtub, casted leg extended and crutches propped against the sink.
The house is older. Probably one of the first on the island, so the doorways and rooms are pretty small. Still, he's managed to get his very tall, muscular self into the room, thanks to the crutches he's finally able to tolerate against the burns.
"Here. Maybe this'll help."
This is a wet washcloth. I grab it with a trembling hand and wipe my face, reveling in the coolness of it. From there, I put it on my neck and moan.
"Bad one, huh?"
"I thought morning sickness was supposed to stay in the morning," I grumble.
His warm, husky chuckle soothes something in me I didn't know needed soothing, and I feel the cloth get plucked away but replaced with a fresh one. I sigh. Hard. "You're an angel," I breathe.
"Right back at you, sweetheart."
We're both whispering in deference to the time of night. I switch the rag from my neck to my face and make another swipe. It feels so good.
"Have you made your doc appointment yet? You know, to get checked out and on prenatal vitamins?"
I nod, eyes closed. "Yeah."
He doesn't seem satisfied by my answer because I can feel him sitting there, observing me. I can only imagine how I look. Greenish-pale, bedhead and sweaty. I'm the whole package, baby. "I'm okay now. I think it's over."
"Good. You feel like moving back to the bed yet?"
All the way in there? "In a bit. Go back—go back to sleep. I'm sorry for waking you."
"I was already up. I slept too long today after PT. I'll stay and keep you company for a while."
I hear him refresh the first washcloth and blindly reach out a hand to swap them again. Our fingers brush in the doing, and despite the fact I've just hurled until the cows came home, I feel the touch all the way up my arm. Like a burst of heat lightning.
Really? Now?
My body is playing cruel, cruel tricks on me. This is not funny.
I groan again at my thoughts, and Kace must think I'm about to get sick again because he leans forward to pat my back before gathering my hair in his fist. His touch is soothing. The gesture sweet, and it cements the awful mess I've made of my life.
Under different circumstances, I might actually see where things could go with Kace. He's a good guy, and he's a great dad. He's also a handsome man who turns heads, including my own. And he's caring. Obviously.
The problem is, it's too late. Even though I didn't know my baby's father is married, I did the unthinkable. I am the other woman. I'm ashamed and not exactly the kind of woman a good guy like Kace would choose.
In the weeks since we started living together, we've had time to talk. And those car games of twenty questions filled in a lot of holes regarding Dani's mom. How she'd become addicted to pain killers and cheated with her doctor to maintain her supply. And that was only the start.
I hope Kace knows he deserves so much better than that.
Addiction is a sickness. I know this, and I'm not throwing stones.
I guess I just don't understand it, and I thank God I don't. But how could any woman choose pills over a man like Kace?
Over precious little Dani? It goes to show just how dangerous medications can be.
And there's the fact that I am pregnant, and he's injured—and no amount of wishing is going to fix the issues we face individually. Our situations? Bad timing on steroids.
Because no matter how often I catch Kace looking at me like I'm…good? Helpful?
I don't feel that way. I feel exposed. Like a fraud. Because good girls don't get involved with married men, much less get knocked up and abandoned by them.
Yeah, maybe it's the hurling, but I'm kicking myself while I'm down because facts are facts. Like it or not. And fact: I hate that I allowed a man to pull one over on me and make me the other woman.
After a few more minutes, I force my head up and use the seat to stand. My head whirls like a merry-go-round, and I quickly shove the lid down to plop atop it, only then realizing Kace is still there, sitting on the tub, watching my every move.
He'd…stayed.
Tears prickle my eyes at his kindness and concern. Why couldn't I have met him earlier? Before?
"Head rush?"
I force the tears away with a blink and revel in the comfort he gives from a foot away, however unknowingly. "Yeah."
"Just sit tight. Take it slow."
He shifts until his good arm is around me, offering comfort and supporting me. I let my head fall to the crook of his neck only to gasp. "Your burns."
I try to pull back, but he doesn't let me.
"I'm fine," he says, fingers rubbing my scalp and neck. "Stay still."
He smells good. Like man and soap with just the hint of the ointment used on his poor healing skin. "We are a mess, aren't we?"
My lips quirk up when his chuckle vibrates through me. It's such a rumbly, masculine sound, and it soothes my battered body.
"That we are. But you know what?"
"What?" The word emerges tight and husky sounding. I think I feel his lips brush my hair, but surely that's a figment of my imagination?
"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather share this mess with. I'm glad it's you."
My laugh is a half groan because it's such a cheesy thing to say. But I share the sentiment.
The last couple of weeks have flown by in a whirlwind of appointments and traffic and getting Madi, Dani and Kace where they needed to be on time. It's also been a crash course on getting to know one another.
The daily battle to cover his cast so he can bathe and recoup after he comes home soaked to the skin from PT. Dinners and movie nights with Dani and, occasionally, Madi. "Ditto," I whisper finally, because it's true.
When my head stops whirling and the little black dots fade from the corners of my vision, I force myself away from the heat and scent and comfort of him. Kace straightens but remains seated on the edge of the tub.
I get to my feet and move to the sink to brush my teeth. I think the worst is over. At least for now.
"Aww, Linds."
"What?" I look down, trying to see whatever it is that caused the comment.
"You're losing weight, sweetheart."
I turn and find Kace standing, leaning on his crutches, his brows pinched over his nose as his gaze rakes over every inch of me in my sleep shorts and tank.
"Oh. No, I'm fine. I just need the morning sickness to go away."
"Feel like eating some toast?"
I roll that over in my mind and decide maybe it's not a bad idea. "Yeah."
Once I'm minty fresh, I head toward the kitchen on still shaky legs, aware of Kace swinging along behind me on the crutches.
His mood has greatly improved since being able to use them, and I know he's glad to be free of the wheelchair.
The change from thigh cast to lower leg cast also allows him to sit up front when we travel, and he's said several times that he never wants to sit in the backseat again.
PT still seems to be doing him in each time he goes, but I can tell physically he's getting stronger and regaining more range of motion on his burned side.
The sling is gone, obviously, since he's using the crutches, and he's now able to lift his arm over his head without too much pain.
He says the burned skin pulls and feels tight, but it's come a long way since his hospital stay.
Kace grabs the bagged bread and pops four slices into the toaster while I grab butter and ponder the jam options. The farmer's market on Saturday mornings at the lake had a large display when I drove Kace and Dani last week, and I couldn't resist getting a sampling of them.
"What's it going to be this time?" Kace asks in that seductively deep tone of his.
"Black raspberry," I say, holding up the jar.
"Sounds good. I'll take that, too."
I ignore the others and grab utensils. The toaster pops, and Kace turns to toss the toast my way one at a time. I laugh and hurry to catch them, smiling at his antics and enjoying this moment more than I should.
I start on the toast while he gets himself turned and moves to the table. We settle in, and I find myself sneaking glances at my handsome companion.
The redness on his face and neck from the heat scald is gone now. His skin peeled a bit like a bad sunburn, but it didn't leave lasting damage like the burns on his back and shoulder.
I admit, some days I wonder what I've gotten myself into when Dani and Madi are in moods and Kace is grumpy from pain, but other times, I think about how nice it is to spend time with him like this. To not be alone during the sickness, even though it's embarrassing.
It's…more than companionship. It's friendship and maybe a little flirtation. Respect. He's such a great dad and uncle and single parent. A good friend. There's a lot to admire in Kace's big, muscular body, and…truthfully, I do. Maybe more than I should, but I do.
Too bad we couldn't have met before the world broke both of us. Timing is everything. It matters. Because the longer I know Kace, the harder it is to believe in temporary…