“Hope—”
I don't stop to reassure him. I barely make it to the toilet before I heave again, my whole body shaking as everything from dinner comes back up.
This can’t be happening… not four days before my wedding!
CHAPTER 7
FROST
I'm off the bed in seconds to follow Hope into the bathroom. She's on her knees, hunched over the toilet, and I drop down beside her, gathering her hair back from her face.
“I got you, baby,” I murmur, holding her hair with one hand while rubbing circles on her back with the other.
She heaves again, her whole body shuddering, and my heart clenches. This is not how tonight was supposed to go.
“I'm sorry,” she gasps between retches. “I'm so sor?—”
“Don't,” I say firmly. “Don't apologize.”
She throws up again, and I keep holding her hair, keep rubbing her back and wishing I could take this away from her. Finally, after what feels like forever, she slumps back against the wall, eyes closed, face pale and sweaty.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She nods weakly. “I think so. God, Frost, I'm so?—”
“Stop.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Just rest for a second.”
I stand, grab a washcloth, and wet it with cool water, needing to clean myself up. There's vomit on my thigh and my cock. I'm trying not to think about how unsexy this whole situation is. I wipe myself down quickly before tossing the washcloth in the sink. And then my stomach rolls.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe.
Hope's eyes snap open. “Frost?”
I don't answer, I can't. I drop to my knees and shove her gently aside as I lunge for the toilet. My stomach heaves violently. Like Hope, I throw up everything I ate at the rehearsal dinner.
“Oh no,” Hope says in disbelief, and then her hand is on my back, rubbing circles just like I did for her.
I heave again, gripping the toilet seat, and my whole body shakes. This is fucking miserable.
“I got you,” she whispers, echoing my words from earlier.
We stay like that for a while, both of us taking turns throwing up and groaning. When I finally finish, I slump back against the tub, breathing hard.
“Well,” I rasp. “This is romantic as hell.”
Hope lets out a weak laugh. “So romantic.”
We sit there for a moment, both of us pale, sweaty, and miserable. Hope reaches for me at the same time I reach for her. Somehow, we manage to help each other up and stumble back to bed just to collapse onto the mattress, moaning in protest.
“Think we're done?” Hope asks, curling into my side.
“God, I hope so.”
Unfortunately, we're not done, not by a long shot. The night is long and brutal as we take turns rushing to the bathroom, offering each other comfort, and bringing each other water. At one point, around three in the morning, we're both on the floor, Hope at the toilet, and me with my head in the trash can.
“This is our life now,” Hope grumbles.
“Yep,” I groan. “This is it.”
