“Better than till death do us part.”
She pushes herself up from the floor but wobbles slightly as she gets to her feet. I shoot up and grasp her hips, steadying her.
“I’m fine.” She tries to push me away, but she’s not fine. Some of it might be stress, some of it might be morning sickness, but she’s not fine.
“Don’t fight me, okay?”
“What?” she asks as I swoop her body up into my arms bride-style, ironically enough. “Ah! What are you doing? Put me down.”
“I said don’t fight me. I’m carrying you up to bed.”
“I can walk,” she protests adamantly, going so far as to try to squirm out of my grip as I move us out of the bathroom.
“Skylar Fritz Davenport Hughes, shut up and let me carry my sick wife up the goddamn stairs,” I growl at her.
“Stop with all of that already. You’ll drop me.”
I smirk at her. “Sweetheart, you call me a lot of things. A jerk, an asshole, cocky, and arrogant, but one thing I am is sure-handed. I will never drop you. Now stop fighting me.”
Shockingly, she does. She even wraps her arms around my neck and lets me carry her up the stairs. “Josh called me a roly-poly the first and only time he picked me up and carried me.”
I peer down at her. “A what?”
“They’re bugs that roll into a ball and are small and well, round.”
“Wow. He’s seriously going to die on Monday at work. How did you stay with him so long? And I’m not judging or blaming you. I’m curious because you seem so strong and confident, and you have no issues handing me my ass when I deserve it and even sometimes when I don’t.”
I walk her down the hall, past her bedroom, and into mine since it’ll be hers soon.
She glances around but doesn’t comment. “I’m a people pleaser and was always terrified of confrontation. Plus, well, he wasn’t the first to comment or tease me about that kind of stuff, so I didn’t… realize what it was or how bad it was until, well, I did. I believed a lot of what he said because I didn’t have the best self-image of myself.”
I pause beside the bed, still holding her in my arms, and meet her eyes. “You’re not a roly-poly or an ugly duckling or whatever else people said about you. You’re a swan, and I’m glad you finally see that, and I’m glad you left him.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment and then looks away. “I should brush my teeth.”
I set her down on my bed, in my sheets. “I’ll grab it for you.”
“It’s just morning sickness. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will be,” I tell her, meaning it for more than just this. “Don’t move.”
I scoot down the hall to the other bathroom, grab her toothbrush, toothpaste, and anything else that’s blatantly hers, and bring them back into my bathroom. I’ll have to clear my stuff out of here, but I’ll do it later after she’s rested.
“Stop being nice to me,” she calls out to me, and I chuckle.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I set everything down and return to the bedroom, standing over her when what I really want to do is climb into bed beside her and hold her until everything in her world is better. I’m a doctor and by nature a caretaker, but I’ve never felt this level of protectiveness over someone who wasn’t my child before. Not even Astrid.
“Why do you want me to stop being nice to you?”
“It’s confusing.”
I move some of her hair out of her face so I can see her better. Her color is already improving. “Maybe I like keeping you on your toes.”
“Except I don’t have the ability to trip and stumble anymore.”
