Page 80 of Dash

Me:

Still got a migraine. Just going to crash after work. Hope you’re okay.

Hope you’re okay?Fucking kill me now.

My shift is only three hours, but it feels longer than my entire work week. By the time I leave, I’m lightheaded and I throw up in a bush on the way home.

All I want to do is crawl into bed and die, but when I step out of the stairwell, my footsteps falter.

Dash is leaning against the wall outside my flat, waiting.

Shit. I’m not strong enough to hide this. Not tonight.

I force my smile and walk towards him.

He takes one look at me, and his brows pinch together in concern.

I hold up a hand before he can say anything. I can’t pretend I don’t look like death, so I do the only thing I can. I own it.“I’m aware I look like a reanimated corpse. Please don’t judge. Someone at work has a stomach bug, and I’m pretty sure I’ve picked it up.”

Another lie, and I tell it so easily it fills me with shame. Especially when he looks at me with such softness.

His hand instantly slides around the back of my neck, and fuck, I want to lean into his touch, get lost in him. I want to tell him the real reason I feel so awful. I want to tell him about the baby we made.

It sits on the tip of my tongue to spit it out, but I clamp it behind my teeth. I’m too tired right now to deal with the fallout of whatever comes when I spill this secret to him.

“Shit, babe, you should have called me.”

Him being sweet makes it worse, but I lean into his touch, needing him more than ever. “I didn’t want to infect you.”

“I don’t care if I get sick. You need me.” Again, that ugly guilt slithers through me. “First the migraine, now this. Shit week, huh?”

“The worst,” I say.

He takes my keys from me, unlocking the door and wraps his arm around my waist to help me inside. I try not to flinch when his hand brushes over the edge of my stomach. There’s nothing to see, nothing to feel yet, but it feels like a beacon nestled between my hips.

“You eaten today?” he asks.

“Everything I tried came back up.” Not a lie. I’m barely keeping anything inside me.

He helps me onto the couch with such reverence tears pricked my eyes.Don’t fucking cry.

“Your workplace didn’t send you home when you’re this sick?”

“We have a big project due.”

I tuck my feet under me, leaning my head back against the cushions as he wraps a blanket around me, and again, my throat is choked with tears. Would he be looking after me like this if he knew I’m pregnant?

Dash frowns at me and that makes me want to cry more. His thumb swipes over my cheek, capturing a tear that I couldn’t hold back.

“I’m sorry,” I sniff. “I always cry when I’m sick.”

And filled with pregnancy hormones.

“You don’t have to apologise for anything. Get comfortable. I’ll make something for you to eat, something light.” I open my mouth to protest that I really cannot eat anything, but he shakes his head. “You need to put something in your stomach. You can’t survive on air, Dayna.”

And I’m not just eating for one.

Two days later, I’m unravelling for a completely different reason. I’m sitting in Ivy’s kitchen, watching her with Seren, but it’s her sister that my gaze keeps sliding to. Maylie arrived ten minutes ago and has been talking nonstop since.

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