My legs wobble when they meet the floor, and Liam wraps his arm around my waist.
“I’m so sorry. You didn’t sign up for this. You should leave,” I whisper under my breath.
Liam laughs against my chest. “Like hell I will.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but Iwantto help you.” The teasing lilt of Liam’s words vanishes as his arm tightens around me.
“Oh.” I pause, studying him. His brow is furrowed in concern, lips slightly parted, but it’s not the usual look some cast down on me—it’s not pity. It’s like—he’s feeling part of this too. I don’t know how else to explain it.
I should start movingsomewherethat isn’t the mess of a kitchen, but the pain is close to curling me up into a ball, and I’m going to puke shortly. I bite down the litany of curse words dancing on my tongue.
“Let it out, Peaches. I’m not going to judge you.” He brushes the hair off my face. “Whatever you need to do, just do it.”
Gasping, another tendril grips my lower half, and a rash of cramps shoot through my uterus and down my leg. I waffle between begging for mercy and cursing this miserable existence but settle on a string of expletives slipping past my lips.
I look up and blush, panic seeping in. This is going to be the day from hell.
“Feel better?” Liam’s left cheek imprints slightly.
“Infinitesimally.”
Another twist works its tendrils through, taking my entire pelvic floor hostage. Nausea increases with the pain. I’m a minute from releasing the contents of my stomach in front of Liam again. Spots dot my vision, and I stumble, pushing his hands off—shit, at least make sure it’s in the toilet and not on him.I race—which is more like an all-mind-consuming, herculean shuffle—into the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet. Hands graze the edge of my neck, and I groan, releasing more before the tension relaxes a fraction. If he could just not see me hurl once, that’d be great.
“I’m sure you’re relieved this is fake right now.” I sigh, leaning against the wall. I may have to live on this floor for the rest of my life.
A nervous look cuts across his face, and he worries his bottom lip with his teeth.
I peek at him, maybe even fake this is too much for him. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes himself out of whatever that was. “You think you can manage a quick shower before we get you into bed?” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and smiles softly at me like he didn’t just see me retch in a toilet, and it makes me question my previous thought.Or maybe something more is going on.
I nod. Really, I need to eat and take my painkillers and try to get this under control before another spasm has my head in the toilet again, but powdered sugar and sticky sheets take priority right now.
“Where are your pajamas?”
Blushing, I think of the easiest place to point him in my mess of a bedroom. “The desk is probably your best bet. I should have a pair of Caleb’s pajama pants I stole near there and some bigger Alabama shirts if you want to change too.”
He pushes up off the floor, offering his hand and pulling me up.
After a quick sugary rinse, I manage to slightly dry myself with shaking hands and brush my teeth. There’s a soft knock on the door, and I wrap the towel around my waist and chest and open it.
Liam blinks, holding my clothes. “I, uhm, I was just going to pass these to you.”
His cheeks redden with a nervous bob of his throat as his eyes rest heavily on my face.
“Right.” I reach out for the clothes, and the knot in my poorly secured towel starts to fall. My eyes widen. I hastily fumble to catch the towel, but it falls before he closes the door with a startled clearing of his throat.
“Sorry!” I squeak. I toss the loose shirt that says “donut worry be happy” over my top half, careful not to catch my bloated reflection in the mirror. I don’t need the extra mindfuck today. Pulling the pajamas over my still damp legs, I stumble. I didn’t have the energy to fully dry myself, but now I’m paying the price on the back end. My leg snags in the long pants, and I wobble and lose my balance, crashing onto the floor. Oh, son of a biscuit.
Footsteps rush to the door. “Evie? Are you okay?”
“Fine, I just fell.” I go to push up off the floor, but I don’t have anything to hold on to, and my legs are too shaky. I crawl toward the tub to get some leverage and knock over the shampoo and conditioner bottle in my desperate climb.
“What are you—are you decent?”
“Am I ever?” I laugh, trying to use the tub’s ledge to push myself up. My foot catches my pant leg, pulling me back down and forcing me to swallow my pride. “I need help.”
