Page 11 of Vengeful Pawn

“Hendrix?” Mia’s soft tone washes over me like a morning mist. “Are you alright?” Her hand settles on my shoulder, and I shudder. She steps around me, her palms resting on my chest as she stares into my eyes. “What’s going on?”

How the hell can she read me so easily already?

“Fine,” I choke out, and she frowns.

“No, it’s not.” Her head lies against my chest, right over my heart, as her hands wrap around my back. She holds me tightly, and I have a terrible time pushing her away. In the end, I give in and hug her back. The comfort she offers is modest, but it washes away the horrendous memories and offers a sliver of hope at the end of a pitch-black tunnel.

“I need help.” It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. The first time I’ve even thought of asking for it.

Tilting her head up, Mia’s compassionate eyes meet mine. “We’ll get it for you.”

Pressing my head to hers, I lower my eyelids and wait for the familiar dread and shame to creep up and overtake the comfort she offers me. “I want to be better for you both. I want to be part of your lives.”

She nods as she rubs her hands up and down my back. “You will be.”

I want to believe her, but having lived with this shame for so long, it’s hard to imagine hope.

CHAPTER 8

MiaBella

When we arrived at Hendrix’s apartment, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was welcoming, with a cream-colored sofa full of throw pillows, potted plants on various shelves, and a dinette to the side of the kitchen, adorned with fresh flowers. He noticed my shock and explained it was his mom and sister who made it so homely.

That might be true, but I think he likes it, too.

I ordered dinner for us shortly thereafter, and we sat on the couch, a movie playing in the background, but I don’t think either of us paid much attention.

When the pizza was delivered, we ate and talked a bit, shared some food likes and dislikes. He asked about anything I was having trouble eating and if I suffered from morning sickness. After explaining that I had to take medication to help with the nausea and watch certain foods, his mood shifted to concern about us.

I won’t lie, it was nice. The first month was spent keeping the pregnancy to myself while navigating my feelings about it andfiguring out my limits. This past month has consisted of many hours arguing with my brother about the father.

That all backfired today because now the cat's out of the bag, and I’m sure there will be more fighting to come because neither man believes Hendrix is good enough for me. I can’t quarrel with them both, so something has got to give.

For the last hour, Hendrix has been asleep beside me. The man is both mentally and emotionally exhausted from trying to hold himself together. I have no doubt his family would gladly take as much of his burden as they could, but he won’t share it with them.

Talia spoke about her concerns once we had settled the girls at Sparrow House. She fears she’s losing her only son, and she doesn’t know how to help him.

When he’d confessed that he needed help, I knew, I absolutely knew, this was a man more than worthy of my love and loyalty. He’ll be a fantastic father to our child, and come hell or high water, I’m getting him the help he’s so desperately searching for.

Now, I’m doing some research into therapists who specialize in PTSD, specifically veterans. There are two promising candidates in the area, and after sending inquiry emails to both, I close my laptop and get up to go to the bathroom but stop when I feel a sharp pain in my side.

“What, what is it?” Hendrix is on his feet before I can straighten, one hand on my hip and another on my back. “Mia, princess, what’s wrong?”

Leaning into him, I breathe slowly in and out. “Just a sharp pain. I’ve never felt it before.”

“Should I take you to the hospital?”

Fear tingles up my spine.

“No, I’m fine.” I groan as it hits again.

Hendrix scoops me up in his arms. “We’re going.” He grabs my purse because that’s where I told him I keep my anti-nausea meds.

He’s gentle as we exit his building, and he places me in his truck, grabbing a blanket from the back and draping it over my legs before getting in. Every other minute, he asks how I’m doing, and I feel so foolish because I haven’t had any other pain again.

Reaching a hand over to him, I lay it on his arm as he navigates the quiet night streets. “You’re going to be an amazing father.”

Startled, his eyes meet mine, and he tries to hide his doubt behind a smile before giving the road his attention. We screech to a stop in the ambulance bay, where security attempts to tell him he can’t park, but they stop when his towering frame takes an aggressive step towards them.

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