“Drink some water, baby.”
“I don’t wanna puke on the bed.”
“I’ll get a bucket.”
“Do we have crackers? I read that crackers help.”
“I’ll look,” I say and walk off feeling like I’m on cloud fucking nine because my pregnant wife asked, ‘do we have crackers?’
We. Fuck yeah, we’re a we.
I hunt through the pantry and find the box of soup crackers so bring them and a cleaning pail in. She’s on the phone when I get in.
“I haven’t even told my family yet. It’s early… I’m just a little scared and it’s probably a good idea to rest today. I’ll work from here, though. Maybe can you courier my laptop over?”
Her eyes bounce up to me as I set the pail on the edge of her nightstand.
“I’ll pick it up,” I say.
“Oh, actually Killian can come pick up my laptop.”
And then her face drops, like whatever her boss has said isn’t good.
I reach for the phone.
She shakes her head. I take it anyway.
“Shara? Killian here. I take it Violet just told you about the scare she had last night? The threatened miscarriage?” I loathe that the word left my mouth, but want this bitch to understand the gravity.
“She did. Congratulations on the pregnancy,” Shara says, but it’s phony as fuck.
“Gimme the phone,” Violet says, reaching for her phone.
I pass her the crackers instead.
“I’ll pick up her laptop when the office opens at 8:30. I’d like a word anyway.”
“Regarding?” Shara inquires.
“Just want to ensure Violet isn’t under stress. That her company does everything possible to ensure stress is kept to a minimum.”
“Noted. A conversation isn’t actually necessary, Killian. I’m sure Violet and I can work together on that front. I’ll have her laptop at reception for you.”
“I’d like to speak to you in person.”
She huffs. “Fine. But I have a busy morning.”
“It’ll only take a minute. I’ll be there at 8:30.”
I end the call.
“What are you doing?” Violet asks, face red.
“Any more bleeding?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Just barfing. What are you doing?”
I breathe out relief and then touch her face.
She flinches. I choose to ignore that despite how it feels.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Why are you talking to my boss? Can you fucking answer me, please?”
“To make sure she knows that if you’re put under any stress whatsoever, you’ll be quitting. And that stress includes being treated like shit by your bitchy boss.”
“She was fine,” Violet defends.
“I don’t buy that. We’ll see how she is when I talk to her face-to-face.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Shh. Rest. Eat some crackers. Drink your water.”
“And don’t tell me to shh,” She volleys, but then she bites the cracker.
I head to the kitchen and get myself a cup of coffee. I bring it back with me and walk by the bed toward my desk and Violet makes a gagging sound.
“Get that away from me,” she says, plugging her nose.
“Huh?”
“That.” She gestures to the mug in my hand as if it’s a cup of steaming shit. “That nasty smell makes me wanna hurl.”
She loves coffee. I frown and then take the cup out of the room, depositing it on the dining table before going back for my laptop. She’s putting the cracker box down and putting her head to the pillow.
I sit on the edge of the bed and caress her face. As I lean in for a kiss, catching the mint on her breath, her eyes close as she tries to shrink away.
“I loved having you back in my bed last night. Best sleep I’ve had in a week.” My lips touch hers and I back up.
She looks away from me. Gut shot.
“I’ll read my emails, make a couple calls from the dining table, then go get your laptop.”
“Please don’t be rude to my boss.”
“I’ll treat her the way she deserves to be treated. Let’s see how she behaves.”
She huffs. “I need my job.”
“You don’t,” I correct.
“I want my job.”
“Okay,” I say softly and lean over, dropping a kiss on her forehead and then another on her cheekbone. “I’ll be nice if she is.”
“I think I wanna just call Dad and get him to bring me back to Grampa’s. I’ll just pick my laptop up on the way.”
“No. You won’t.”
“You’ll take me?” she asks, looking like she’s ready to fight with me.
“I’m not fighting about this. You’re staying here. I’ll call your father and tell him I’m having the Rover picked up.”
“Another prisoner?” she snaps, then immediately looks away, looking like she’s remorseful for the comment.
“If necessary,” I say, but then I smile to lighten the mood.
It doesn’t work.
“Not funny,” she scowls, folding her arms over her chest, looking like she wants to throw some sass, but she doesn’t. She reaches over and grabs the crackers and stuffs another one into her mouth.
“Want me to make you a doctor’s appointment?” I ask.
She chews the cracker in her mouth, swallows, then says, “I’ll do that.”