Then I heard her retching, and I was moving.
I found her on the bathroom floor, hunched over the toilet, her body shaking with the force of being sick. Without thinking, I dropped to my knees beside her and gathered her hair in my hands, pulling it back from her face.
“I’m okay,” she managed between heaves. “You don’t have to…”
“I’m staying. It’s not up for discussion.” I rubbed circles on her back with my free hand, trying to remember if I had any ginger ale in the fridge. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t argue again. Just let me hold her hair while her body rebelled against her, her fingers white-knuckled on the toilet seat. It felt like forever, but it was probably only a few minutes before the heaving stopped and she slumped sideways, her back hitting the wall.
I wet a washcloth with cool water and crouched down beside her, pressing it gently to her forehead. “Better?”
She nodded weakly, her eyes still closed. “Sorry. That was gross.”
“You’ve seen me after three-a-day practices. We’re way past gross.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips.
I settled onto the floor next to her, my back against the wall, close enough that our shoulders touched. The bathroom was small, barely big enough for both of us, but I wasn’t going anywhere.
“We’re skipping school today,” I said.
Her eyes flew open. “What? No. You have practice…”
“Don’t care.”
“Coach will kill you.”
“Coach can get in line.” I tucked the washcloth securely against her forehead, watching her face. She was still too pale. Still looked like she might be sick again at any moment. “You’re not going anywhere except the couch. I’m going to set you up with blankets and terrible movies and that disgusting chamomile tea you like, and you’re going to rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You just threw up.”
“People throw up sometimes. It’s a normal human function.”
“Harlow.”
“Owen.” She was trying to be defiant, but her voice came out weak. “I’m serious. I already feel better. It was probably just…” She paused, her brow furrowing. “The smell.”
“What smell?”
“The bacon.” She wrinkled her nose, looking vaguely nauseated again just thinking about it. “When you were kissing me, the smell hit me and I just...” She mimed an explosion with her hand.
I stared at her.
Something cold crept up my spine, settling into my bones. A memory surfacing, Kaia, a few months ago, at the beach house. The way she ran from the kitchen when Jax started cooking breakfast.
My mind started racing, cataloging information I didn’t want to catalog.
“Har.” My voice came out strange. “When was your last period?”
The color that had been slowly returning to her face vanished again.
“What?”
“Your period. When…”
“I heard you.” She was staring at me now, her eyes huge in her pale face. “Why are you asking me that?”
