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But he is.
All six foot two of him. Complete with messy hair, a stubble-covered jaw, and eyes that pierce my heart.
Four days since I canceled my doctor’s appointment to avoid him and he turned up with ginger cookies. Four days since I looked into those dark eyes I adore, brushed his fingers with mine as I took the package of cookies, breathed the same air as him.
“What are you doing here?” I manage, feeling my stomach twist in a very different way. Can my stomach get a break? Anyone?
“You look bloody awful.”
“Yeah, vomiting will do that to a girl,” I snap, turning away from him and getting a glass of water.
“The biscuits don’t work?”
I swallow and shake my head. “Nothing works.” I bring the glass to my lips to wet them, making sure I don’t swallow any.
“You didn’t drink any of that,” he says quietly, standing next to me.
I set the glass down, ignoring the warmth flooding my body at the sound of his voice. “I don’t feel like vomiting it up yet.”
He brushes his fingers down my pale cheek and I step back, the movement killing me.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat, not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t call you. I don’t need anything.”
Way to be a bitch, Liv, you fucking bitch.
“I miss you. It’s fucking killing me, Liv. I just need to see you.”
“Well, now you’ve seen me, so you can go again.” I swallow and hug myself. “Please. I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
I don’t have the energy to fight when the gentle touches of that Saturday night in the hotel are burned into my memory. When they’re all I feel—ghostly fingertips caressing my skin, imagined lips pressing against mine. When every touch and kiss and tear is all I see every time I close my eyes, despite the fact that I never saw any of it to begin with.
“So don’t. Let me stay and look after you. Shit, you need it, baby girl.” Tyler steps forward and grabs my face. “Let me look after you. I’m not fucking leaving when you’re this ill.”
“I’m fine!” I shout, once again moving away from his touch. It burns me sweetly, intensely, painfully. “I just need to sleep. Okay? I’m just really tired. I’m fine, honestly.”
He stares at me, helpless, but I can see the annoyance growing in his eyes. “Really? You call this fine? I’d hate to see your bloody awful!”
“This is pregnancy,” I reply lamely. “It’s not exactly a frolic in the park on a summer’s day.”
“And it’s my job to look after you. Now let me!”
“I don’t want you to!” Tears burn my eyes. “I need space, Ty. I still need time. I can’t have you hovering over me while I sort my feelings out. Just let me be sick and sleep and think.”
“How the hell do you expect me to leave you? Look at you! I can’t walk out of here after seeing you like this! It goes against bloody everything in me to do that.”
“But I told you I’d call if I needed you.” My head pounds and I close my eyes. “You shouldn’t have been here in the first place, so just forget you ever came.” I push past him and pull two Tylenol out of the drawer.
And stare at the glass dumbly because I can’t fucking keep anything down.
I throw the glass in the sink and it drops with a smash. I rest my forehead against the fridge, the tears spilling over my eyes.
“Liv,” he whispers.
“I’ve never been in so much fucking pain in my life. My head is thumping and my stomach hurts so bad, but there’s nothing I can do, because I can’t keep a single fucking thing down!” I turn to face him. “I haven’t eaten in four days and I’m lucky to keep water down. That’s how fucking sick I am! I am so weak and exhausted and I really need you to just go, please.”
“What the fuck? Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I don’t need you.” I push off the fridge, blinking to clear my vision. “Because you make it worse. You just make it worse.”
