“I know you’re doing the same thing I am—watching your sex-ravaged woman pass into euphoric bliss. Don’t lie.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I want to pass into bliss too. I have a two-year-old who wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn. What do you want?”
I love how shitty we are with each other. Like true brothers.
“Selena is throwing up a lot. She’s sick almost every day, and she barfed up the morning-after pill the night I met her. Is this related to the pregnancy?” I’m freaking out. “Or is there something else going on?”
He yawns loud enough to crack my eardrum. “She saw Dr. Jane, right?”
“Yes, but that visit didn’t go well. Selena ended up in the hospital for stress.”
Now he’s awake. “What the fuck, Griffin? You didn’t say she was hospitalized.”
“It was intense. But we’re working through it. She’s here, she’s okay. It’s just... she’s so sick.”
“Morning sickness usually happens in the latter half of the first trimester,” he says, his voice losing its sleepiness. “Around six weeks. That baby probably isn’t yours, Griffin. Or if it is, the nausea isn't from the pregnancy. It’s too early.”
I bristle at his tone. “She’s ten days in. The baby is mine.”
“Bring her to the clinic tomorrow and I’ll take a look. But now, I gotta sleep. As long as there is no blood in her vomit, she’s good till morning.” Beckett hangs up.
“Okay. Thanks.”
I lower the phone and look at Selena. I pull her closer, burying my nose in her hair.
Suddenly, I’m worrying about someone else. It's something I’ve never done in my life. And the weight of it is terrifying.
21
SELENA
I wake up to the sound of Griffin’s deep breathing.
It is still early. I take a moment just to look at his face. Though fine lines reveal his age, he's remarkably beautiful. He radiates a power and strength that offers protection. I've always been one to rely upon myself, and I still am that person, but Griffin feels like armor. I shouldn't trust him—not really—but there is a fraction of my heart that defies logic. In it, there is no time, no experience, no justification for a love this unwise, but for some strange reason, it exists.
Griffin must sense me staring because his eyes open.
“Good morning,” he says, giving me a rough, sleep-heavy smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Just a little beat up.” My stomach isn't as raw as it has been, but I don't feel one hundred percent myself.
“I spoke with Beckett last night. He wants to see you today, to make sure you’re okay.” Griffin sounds nervous. Actually worried.
“I’m fine. It’s just nerves, and baby, and...” I really don’t know what it is.
“Please go to the doctor.”
He sounds so sincere I back down immediately.
“I was hoping to meet you for lunch today,” I admit, feeling disappointed that I’m going to yet another doctor’s appointment instead.
“Ah, I would love that. I’ll take you to the clinic afterward. See?” He smirks at me. “Compromise.”
“What about work?” I know he hates interruptions.
“I’m introducing my office to my wife. I can take a fucking lunch break.”
“I thought we were going to wait until after the official ceremony to tell people we're married. I don't mind your office knowing, but doesn't it make you look impulsive?”
