Page 85 of Dash

I barely eat, nauseous as hell, and when we’ve finished, I go to wash up.

He stops me with his hands spanning my waist and that panic settles around my hips.

He can’t know.

He doesn’t.

He drags his nose along my neck like he’s fusing our cells together through scent and eventually orders me to get ready for bed.

As I’m leaving the room, he grabs my hand. “You okay?”

I force a smile. “Just tired. Work was a drag.”

He says nothing, but I’m not stupid. Dash thinks something has shifted between us, even if he doesn’t know what. He wants to ask, tries to in his way, but the question remains unanswered.

So I let him clean my dishes. I let him take me to bed, and slip between my thighs, his thick length inside me.

I even let him hold me after, his arms wrapped around my belly, unaware of the life we created growing beneath his hands.

I let him have that moment, even if he doesn’t know about the baby I’m carrying.

I let myself imagine how it would feel to have his hands there if he knew I’m pregnant.

And as I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling me under, I promise myself I’ll tell him tomorrow.

Because I’m more tired of keeping secrets than I am carrying his baby.

TWENTY-TWO

DASH

Her quietness is freakingme the fuck out. For days she’s been withdrawn, even though she’s still trying to give me that sharp tongue I love so much.

Even now, walking along the street, she’s not herself.

Her hand is in mine, connected, claimed, but she might as well be on the other side of the city. The distance between us isn’t physical. We’re still fucking, still intimate, but it’s emotional. It’s like she’s switch something off and stepped back.

And I don’t know how to reach her.

Every time I try that mask she’s so used to wearing slips back into place and everything becomes ‘fine’.

She’s rambling about work, but all I can think about is what the fuck has shifted between us.

Fuck this.

Fuck it all.

I stop walking, done with tiptoeing around. The crowd parts around us, like waves crashing over rocks.

Her expression bleeds confusion. “I thought you wanted to get food. Do you want to do something different, because I’m pretty hungry so whatever we do needs to include carbs, probably something disgustingly greasy and?—”

“Are you done with me?” The question lands like a fucking grenade.

Her mouth slams shut. I didn’t know it was possible to shock her into fucking silence, but those five little words manage it.

She pulls her hand free of mine and that feels like a bigger statement than any words she could say.

I don’t move. Don’t breathe.

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