She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Pregnancy doesn’t follow a schedule.”
I help her to her feet. She’s lighter than she should be. Shakier.
“You need to eat.”
“I can’t. Every time I try, it comes back up.”
I make her toast. Plain, no butter. She manages three bites before running back to the bathroom.
This continues all day. And all night. By morning, she’s so weak she can barely stand.
Day three is worse.
She can’t keep anything down. Not water. Not crackers. Nothing. I watch her lying on the couch, pale as paper, dark circles under her eyes like bruises.
This isn’t normal morning sickness. This is something else.
“You need medicine,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re getting weaker. The baby?—”
“I know.” Her voice cracks. “But what am I supposed to do? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
She’s right. We’re thirty miles from the nearest town. No pharmacy. No doctor. Nothing but desert and abandoned buildings.
But she needs help. And the baby needs her to be strong.
I make the decision. “I’m going into town,” I say.
Her eyes snap open. “No.”
“You need anti-nausea medication. Electrolytes. Food that’ll actually stay down.” I grab my keys from the table. “I’ll be back in two hours. Maybe less.”
“Ghost, don’t?—”
“I have to.” I crouch beside the couch and take her hand. It’s cold. Too cold. “You’re getting worse. I can’t just sit here and watch you waste away.”
Tears fill her eyes. “What if something happens while you’re gone?”
“Nothing will happen. This place is hidden. Nobody knows we’re here.” I pull my gun from my waistband and set it on the table beside her. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone but me. If someone tries to get in, shoot first.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I know.” I kiss her forehead. She’s burning up. Fuck. “But I’ll be fast. In and out. You won’t even know I’m gone.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods.
I stand and head for the door. Look back once. She’s watching me with those green eyes full of fear.
“I’ll be back,” I promise.
Then I leave her alone.
The driveto town takes thirty minutes. Every mile feels longer than the last.
I shouldn’t have left her. What if she gets worse? What if she needs me and I’m not there?
