Breaking Her (Savage Brothers Second Generation 4)

Heck, right now I’m not even sure what I want him to say.

I take a quick shower and get dressed. The shower makes me feel a little better, but the longer I’m awake, the queasier I feel. I thought the morning sickness was getting better, but it seems today is all about proving I’m a liar. Finally, I give into it and lay back down. The world is spinning, so it’s not like I have much choice. I slowly move to my side and bring my legs up. For some reason, this position of me curled up helps. It doesn’t completely subside, but it keeps me from running to the bathroom to empty out my stomach.

I don’t know how long I lay like this, but it doesn’t seem to get better. I hear my door squeak, but I don’t open my eyes. If Dad’s peeking in on me, hopefully he will think I’m just sleeping. It makes him upset when I’m sick. Besides, moving is just not worth the effort.

“Lyla? Are y-you okay?”

I let out a squeak when I feel a hand touch me. I shuffle to move and sit up because it’s not Dad, it’s Thomas, and I’m not prepared to be weak and sick around him. Unfortunately, I am sick and the sudden shift makes my stomach churn. I try to fight it, but I can’t.

“Sunflower?”

I start to answer him, but instead I clamp my hand over my mouth and take off to the bathroom. I barely make it in time, and I’m too busy leaning against the toilet, emptying my stomach to scream when I feel Thomas follow me into the room. I want to yell at him as I feel him behind me. He lifts my hair up from my back, taking the weight of it in his hands. Next, he pulls the strands that have swung to the front and pulls them back out of the way.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” I mumble.

He ignores me. I know that because he doesn’t leave the room. I hear water running. I need to get up, but I’m afraid to move just yet. I just close my eyes and hope it gets better. I grimace when I feel a cool cloth move across my forehead. I lean into it and slowly force myself to look at Thomas. His beautiful face is full of concern. There are these crinkles in his forehead. His eyes are thoughtful as he gently moves the cloth. His lips are slightly separated so that I can see a little of his teeth. His jawline is relaxed and I long to run my fingers along it. I feel that familiar twinge of guilt when I see the bruising under his eye and the small scabs against his nose. I tighten my hand in a fist to keep from reaching up to touch it. Instead, I close my eyes again, letting it shield me. The last thing I need is for Thomas to see the confusing emotions I’m feeling.

“I need to rinse my mouth,” I whisper, turning away from him.

He helps me get to my feet and I go to the sink. I feel him move away from me and immediately my traitorous body misses him. I rinse out my mouth and then splash water on my face and dry it off—thankful I didn’t try makeup today. A wave of dizziness moves over me. I let out a gasp and hold on to the counter, waiting for it to pass. Thomas picks me up instantly. I try to hold my body stiff, but it’s impossible. I just relax against him. If I’m honest, it feels good to have him here.

“What the hell is going on here?” Dad barks, having the bad timing to come into the bedroom just as we come out of the bathroom.

“Lyla’s n-not feeling good. We n-need a doctor.”

“It’s just morning sickness,” I defend. The last thing I want is Doc probing at me.

“Maybe we should take her to urgent care?”

My gaze jerks up as King says that. That’s when I realize my bedroom is now full of badass bikers. Thomas, Dad, King, Tweet, Jonesy, and Grunt. Jesus. I shake my head. “Uh no. I am not spending the day in urgent care to find out that I’m having morning sickness. I already know that’s what it is.”

“I’ll let King stay here watching you. If it gets worse, he’ll take you.”

“No,” Thomas growls.

That one single word is forceful and full of anger. It draws all eyes in the room on him—including mine. I moisten my lips as he holds me close against his body. The strength in his hands against my skin increases and it seems to brand me.

“Thomas—”

“You act like you’ve got a say in it, T-Boy,” Dad taunts.