How much it looks like the mornings I envisioned when Sarah was pregnant. The ones that never materialized. The ones I’d finally accepted were never going to happen.
My gaze shifts to Kia, and I study her profile while her attention stays focused on the eggs.
Is it my imagination, or does she look pale?
There’s a faint sheen of sweat beaded along her hairline.
Concern overrides everything else.
“Morning,” I say, stepping closer.
She startles, her eyes darting to mine before returning to the pan. “Morning.”
I move closer before forcing myself to stop. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she mumbles. “Just a little tired.”
It bothers me that she didn’t sleep as well as I did.
A few seconds later, she slides the eggs onto a plate for Elody and then abruptly stiffens, her hand rising to her mouth.
“Kia?” I take a hasty step in retreat as she darts past me, rushing down the hallway and into the bathroom.
A beat later, I hear the unmistakable sounds of retching.
Elody frowns as her eyes fill with concern. “Daddy? Is Kia sick like Kennedy?”
“Seems like it, bug. Why don’t you start working on your breakfast and I’ll find out what’s going on.”
With a nod, she skewers a piece of egg with her fork.
I follow Kia to the small powder room before peeking inside, only to find her kneeling over the toilet, one hand braced on the rim, shoulders tense as another wave hits.
“Kia,” I say, lowering myself beside her before reaching out to rub the space between her shoulder blades. “Are you all right? Do you have the flu?”
She squeezes her eyes shut for a beat before shaking her head. Unease ripples through me. Beneath the guilt, the attraction, and the lingering confusion, an instinct that has nothing to do with desire stirs to life.
It’s one that only wants to take care of her.
Protect her.
Instead of acting on it, I stop myself from getting any closer.
Not yet.
Not after the intimacy we shared last night.
Not when I’m still clinging to all the reasons I need to keep my distance, no matter how flimsy they are.
21
Kia
I’m still kneeling over the toilet, trying to breathe through the last tremor of nausea, when Laiken shifts behind me. He hasn’t moved since the vomiting started. He stayed, rubbing gentle circles on my back.
The steady rhythm of his hand is the only thing anchoring me to the present. If he’d stopped or pulled away, I’m not sure I’d have been able to hold myself together. Once my stomach settles, I rinse out my mouth and wipe my face with trembling hands. My attention flits around the small room, reluctant to settle on him.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
