Page 87 of Wicked Ruin

I hold her in the quiet.

“I'm so sleepy,” she whispers.

“Of course you are.” I bend down to kiss her forehead. “You're growing a human.”

“I am,” she says with a soft smile, her eyes closed, lips tipping upward. “Our human.”

“A whole human,” she repeats, and her smile drops from her face. “Declan, I'm having a baby.” She peeks one eye open, as if it's all she has energy for, and I tug a little lock of her hair. “How? How do people do this? I don’t know the first thing about babies.”

“Millions of people have figured it out before us. Billions. We got this. I've got you.”

She yawns and nods. “I believe you,” she says, and she’s asleep in thirty seconds.

I let myself look at her beautiful hair spilling onto the pillow, her gorgeous body, naked and vulnerable, her hands clasped just under her cheek. The way the blanket curves around her body, as if made just for her.

I made a vow once to keep her safe.

And I make a vow now that I’ll do anything to keep us together.

Anything.

Chapter Twenty-One

BRIDGET

I'm vaguely aware of being tucked in bed, next to Declan, who’s warm and smells really fucking good. I don't want this to change. I'm afraid that if I open my eyes and wake up, he's going to be gone, and I'll be back to taking care of things on my own.

He said he would make things work, but at what cost?

I roll over a few times during the night, but the truth is, I am exhausted and barely come fully to. When I wake in the morning, the first thing I notice is the smell of hot tea. The second is him. Wood, pine, musk, and all male.

I turn back over, content.

When I open my eyes again, there are two steaming mugs of hot tea—cream and sugar in mine, the way he knows I like it—and he's sitting in the chair by the window, wearing nothing but his boxers, bare-chested, with his phone in front of him. He isn't reading it, just staring out the window instead. Outside, early morning light filters through clouds, breaking into soft touches across the small room.

“You're still here,” I say as I roll over. I want to throw a lasso around him and tie him to my bed.

“Of course,” he says. His brow furrows, and he pulls something from a pair of jeans lying on the floor. Glasses.

“Declan! I didn't know you wore glasses,” I say.

“Just got them,” he mutters under his breath. “I can read a hell of a lot better with them. Pain in the arse though.”

Oh my god, he's adorable in glasses—all muscular and sexy and cute. I want him to fuck me while wearing those glasses, but I don't say anything. Not yet.

Hungry. And experience teaches that waiting too long for that will make me sick.

“I was researching a few things. But before I do, can you tell me why you have this list of doctors and symptoms on your sideboard table that has nothing to do with your illness or pregnancy?”

“I was helping Bronwyn research things for her father, Mr. Nosy.”

He nods and finally concedes with a smile. “Well, that’s sweet. So. I’ve done some research myself. I found the safest infant carrier,” he says soberly. “And the best diet recommended for prenatal mums, but I'm not going to be an over-the-top ogre about it. It's your body. You should eat what feels good to you. I just thought this might interest you.”

He holds up his phone, tapping the screen. “I also have a very important list that you need to go over,” he says. “It's a specific prenatal care protocol you'll have to follow because you're in remission. The doctor told you to see an obstetric hematologist right away, aye?”

“Aye, among other things. I'll need labs done, a special sort of supplement… I mostly have to make sure I maintain my platelet counts and all that. Might need to get blood transfusions like I did before.” I swallow hard. “The doctor said the chances of relapse during pregnancy are almost twenty percent.”

He goes very still. “Bollocks.”