“No puking.”
Matthew’s stomach lurched and his throat constricted. He flung off his seatbelt and threw open the door, stumbling out of the vehicle seconds before he voided the contents of his stomach.
“Okay. Yes puking.” Damien hurried out of the car and came to stand by Matthew’s side. “Is there more coming, or do you think you’ll be okay?”
“There’s always more coming,” Matthew said miserably.
“I know.”
“This baby’s turned me into a puke fountain, Damien.”
“No one ever said pregnancy was glamorous.”
Matthew glared at Damien with such scornful intensity that Damien paled.
“But I mean,youmake being a puke fountain look majestic as fuck. I caught wind thatItalian Vogueis going to be sending its high fashion models to our place so they can embody your poise and grace.”
The scorn on Matthew’s face twisted into something even uglier.
“Too much?”
“A little.”
“That’s okay. I’m pretty they have our New York address, not the one here on Evergreen.” Damien rubbed small circles on Matthew’s back. “Tell you what—I’ll take in the groceries and clean up the mess. You go rest.”
Sleep sounded good. Matthew blinked heavily a few times to try to clear his disorientation, but was unsuccessful. The only way he was going to feel better was if he passed out for a while, and with Emily at Clarissa’s place for the afternoon, he could do it without being disturbed.
“Are you sure?” Matthew asked. He looked at the mess he’d made on the garage floor. The thought of lowering himself to his knees and cleaning it up while his humongous belly limited his movement and did everything in its power to knock him off balance didn’t appeal to him, but he didn’t want Damien to feel like Matthew was forcing his hand.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Damien playfully swatted his ass. It helped. The more pregnant Matthew got and the sicker he became, the less he felt like a person. The fact that Damien still pawed at him like he was skinny and not at risk of puking at any given moment reminded him that this wouldn’t be how he’d spend the rest of his life. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“For this.” Damien scooped him into his arms and carried him bridal style into the house. Matthew gasped and held on to Damien’s neck for support, but otherwise didn’t make a sound. He rested his head against Damien’s chest and listened to the beat of his heart, wondering how it was that something so wonderful could be his.
By the time they made it to the bedroom, Matthew was mostly asleep. He vaguely recalled Damien setting him down in the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash out his mouth, but after that, the next thing he remembered was a kiss on his forehead and a soft-spoken, “I love you,” as Damien tucked him into bed. At some point, he’d undressed or been undressed—all he was wearing was a pair of sleep boxers.
It was fine. Now that he was in bed, he’d take a nap and he’d wake up better. With Damien at the helm, he had nothing to worry about. A little sleep would do him good.
* * *
A little sleep did not help.
Three hours later, agonizing pain woke Matthew from a fitful dream. He screamed into the pillows and instinctively tried to curl into a ball to minimize his suffering, but his belly inhibited his movement, and worse, when he slid his thighs together, there was an awful wetness between them. Before he could think too much about it, another crippling wave of pain hit, this one so overwhelming that Matthew couldn’t scream—he could only whimper. Face contorted by the agony, he clawed at his puffy cheeks and tried to talk himself down from panic, but his body wasn’t interested in listening. All it knew was that it wasn’t normal to feel this way, and that all the signs pointed toward the baby being in danger.
“Damien,” Matthew croaked, hoping someone might hear him, but knowing deep down that no one would. Men were laughing downstairs—Damien, Matthew’s father, and their friends—and not a single one of them would hear him beg for help. Tears spilled down his cheeks. When he spoke again, his voice had broken. “Damien.”
There were two weeks until he was scheduled to deliver, but a negative voice in his head whispered that it didn’t matter—that despite how close he was to his due date, he would lose the baby.
This isn’t like Emily’s delivery,that voice whispered, its words shredding Matthew’s confidence.You never felt this bad before. This is your body’s way of getting rid of something that doesn’t belong.
A wounded wail rattled Matthew’s throat. It wasn’t true. Itcouldn’tbe true. After all they’d been through, it couldn’t end like this. If Damien could be brave enough to quit his job, sell his condo, and move to another state for Matthew, then Matthew could be brave enough to persevere. All he needed to do was find a way to call for help.
Matthew’s eyes widened. Despite the pain he was in, he rolled over and grabbed his phone from the bedside table. If Damien didn’t have his cell on him, then Matthew would work his way down the list of Single Dads until one of them answered.
It didn’t come to that—Damien answered almost right away. “Hey baby, are we being too loud?”
“Daddy?” Matthew croaked. It was a miserable, deflated sound that made Matthew feel even worse about himself. “Daddy,help.”
