Standing, he moved across the large bathroom, grabbed a bath cloth from the linen closet and wet it under the faucet. He folded it a couple of times and returned to her, settling it on the back of her neck as his mother had done for him when he’d been sick.
“You don’t have to—” Another bout of retching cut her off, her back bowing under the force of it. She moaned as the last of it passed, a tremor shaking her.
“Yes, I do.” He shifted behind her, curving his body around hers, lending her his strength, even though, realistically, it was an impossibility. Still, she could lean on him. Know he was there for her. He kissed the top of her curls. “I’m not leaving, baby, so don’t ask.”
Another groan. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
He scoffed. “I’ve seen those birthing videos. In seven months, I’m going to see you looking a hell of a lot worse. This is nothing.”
She reached behind her and weakly slapped him. “That’s a really messed-up thing to say. And don’t remind—Oh, God.”
For the next ten minutes they remained in the bathroom, and when they finally emerged, with her tired and clothed in fresh pajamas, Achilles led her to the living room and tucked her in on the couch. He rummaged in her kitchen, and soon returned to her with a steaming cup of peppermint tea and a slice of toast.
“It’s not much,” he said, sitting both the cup and the small plate on the table in front of her. “But it’ll settle your stomach. And from what I’ve read, both are good to help ease the morning sickness.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, reaching for the tea and sipping from the cup. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“What?” He lowered to the couch next to her, shifting his laptop, bag and manuals over to give her room.
“That you’ve been reading up on it. Watching videos.” She studied him over the rim of the cup. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone with a hungrier brain than yours.”
“That sounds...disturbing.”
The corner of her mouth quirked in a sardonic half smile. “It’s a compliment. You’re voracious for information. It’s what makes you so brilliant. And so intimidating, too. People look at the hair, the ink, the size—” she waved a hand up and down in front of him “—and underestimate you. For instance, my parents’ party. I didn’t even know that about my ancestors. Not that I’m ashamed of it. I think it’s cool as hell. Still, I didn’t know. But you did. Like I said. Information. And you wielded it like a double-edged sword.”
“Unexpected?” He heard the edge in his voice, wished he could dull it. But years of being on the “You’re smart for being poor/brown/an ex-con” end of the stick was hard to shake.
“For them maybe,” she admitted softly. “But not for me.”
Silence thrummed in the room, and they stared at each other, a tension thick with words unspoken, desire a living, breathing entity right there with them.
“Eat,” he finally said, nodding toward the plate and the untouched toast. “You need to coat your stomach.”
“More things you read?” she teased, that faint smile touching her sensual mouth. But she did pick up the bread and nibble on it. “What are you working on so late?” she asked, dipping her head toward his laptop. “Is there a project from the office that you had to bring home?”
Achilles shifted his attention to his computer. He stood on a precipice, one of trust. No one knew about the video game. Not even Cain and Kenan. He glanced at Mycah, who slowly frowned the longer he remained quiet. His heart thudded, echoing in his head until all he heard was its bass rhythm. His tongue thickened, nerves twisting in his gut like a nest of snakes.
This was important becauseshewas important. As much as he wanted to deny it, Mycah had crawled beneath his skin, into his bones, into his soul. She wielded the power to hurt him like no other, not even his brothers. And exposing this vulnerable part of himself to her—this project that encapsulated his passion, his hopes, his dreams—meant taking a leap of faith in her.
In the faith that she wouldn’t reject the truth of him.
He touched the mouse, bringing the screen to life, and with a few more taps, opened the file with the video game art. For several moments, he studied the digital image of a ravaged land, a castle in the distance, a forest with malevolent blinking red eyes glaring from its depths, and in the foreground, a lone Black teenager, his locs falling around his face, in a white T-shirt and light blue jeans and a long, gleaming sword in hand. Inhaling a deep breath, he turned the laptop toward her. She scanned the monitor, then shifted wide eyes back to him.
“What is this?” she breathed.
“Mine.” And again, hearing the defensiveness in his tone, he tried again. “A video game I’ve been working on for the past year. It’s a high-fantasy, open-world, action-adventure video game.”
She huffed out a soft laugh, returning her gaze to the laptop. “I have no idea what that means. Except for high fantasy. But the rest of that? I’m lost.”
“Open world is where players can explore the game and choose for themselves how to approach the world and its particular challenges. Action-adventure games combine the best elements of both kinds of games. Just-adventure games have situation problems for players to resolve but little to no action. And action games center on real-time interactions between players that test their reflexes. Action-adventure games combine both—problem-solving and testing the reflexes.”
“Angelique would be crushing so hard on you right now.” Mycah flashed him a smile. “I really need to introduce you to her.”
A banner of warmth unfurled inside him, even though a voice cautioned him that it was probably a throwaway comment on her part. To introduce him to her sister meant telling her parents about the baby and his being the father.
And she’s too ashamed of you to do that.
Right. She needed time to prepare herself and them. Months.
