Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(53)

“You want me to come?” I shovel more eggs into my mouth.

“Are you kidding? You’d make me the most popular sister in town if you came. Jack loves you. Oh, and we could tell Blake and Mom about us.” She nibbles more eggs.

“You worried about how they’ll react?”

“Not even a little bit. They love you.” She pushes her fork around, rearranging her breakfast.

I nod to her plate. “You become a vegetarian since last night?”

She laughs uncomfortably. “No, it’s just these eggs smell funny.”

I lean over my plate and inhale. “They smell fine to me.”

She purses her lips and sips her juice.

“What time do we have to be at your Mom’s?” I finish the last bite of my eggs and stab at hers.

“Not until one.” Her voice sounds distant, like she’s somewhere else.

I grab her hand and squeeze. “Hey, you want me to make you something else? I have some fruit, or I can make you pancakes.”

She grins, but I can tell she’s fighting revulsion. “No, I guess I’m just not that hungry.”

“You’ve been like this for a few days now. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m fine most of the day, but sometimes when I get around food, I get a little nauseated.”

“Maybe you got a bug?”

“That’s probably all it is.” She sips her juice, and I make a mental note to keep an eye on her appetite for the weekend.

I finish her breakfast, and she jumps up to take our plates to the kitchen before I get a chance to. “You’re my guest; you don’t have to clean up.”

She gazes at me from over her shoulder. “You cooked. I’ll clean. That’s the deal.”

I wipe down the counters and dry the dishes she washes. Grabbing the full trash, I tie off the ends. “Why don’t you grab a shower while I take this out.” I press my lips to her forehead. “The second drawer is all yours. I put the few things you had here in there; hope that’s okay.”

“That’s sweet of you, Kill. Thanks.” I watch until she disappears into the bathroom and snag my keys before taking out the trash.

Locking her inside my place while I’m gone for two minutes might be crossing the line from protective to psycho over the top, but now that I have her, I’m not risking losing her to anything.

*





Axelle





I shut the bathroom door behind me, and now that I’m safe behind the closed door, I grip my stomach.

It took everything I had to remain casual when the truth was, once the smell of cooking eggs hit my nose, I was fighting throwing up. I’m sure I have some stupid stomach bug. I guess I should be happy that the only symptoms so far are a lack of appetite and a little nausea.

I strip off my clothes and turn the shower on hot. My body is sensitive, and if I’m being honest a little sore from last night. The hot water will do wonders to loosen up my tight muscles and hopefully to drown out the smell of scrambled egg.

My throat floods with saliva, and I hold my fingers over my lips and breathe through my nose. What the hell?

Once under the hot spray I feel a little better. I wash my hair, my body, shave with Killian’s kick-ass razor—seriously, why is it that they make men’s razors so much more effective than women’s?

I linger a little longer even after I’m finished until I’m finally feeling back to normal. Turning the spray off, I push out and wrap up in a towel. The mirror is fogged, but I can see the pink glow on my cheeks. Whether it’s from last night or the hot shower, I don’t know. My guess is a combination of the two.

Reaching for the second drawer, I grin when I find all my things divided into sections of a cool plastic divider tray. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, there are even cotton balls and Q-tips. I grin when I see a special square filled with black ponytail holders. He stocked up just for me.

Something in the back of the drawer catches my eye. I lean down and see several brands, boxes, and packages of tampons and pads. He kept all those from last month? I cover my mouth to muffle a laugh. He’s way too good to me.

I grab my toothbrush and get to work on my teeth. That night after Clifford’s birthday, if I’d only known— My hand freezes. Clifford’s birthday.

January 11th.

Foam drips from the corner of my mouth.

Today is February 16th.

I yank open the drawer and stare at the boxes in the back as if they hold the answers I’m looking for.

Over a month ago.

I should’ve had a period by now.

I drop my toothbrush into the sink and do a quick count on my fingers. No, that can’t be right. I count again. And again. Then one more time to be sure.

Oh my God.

I’m pregnant.





Eighteen





Killian





I’ve cleaned my entire studio apartment, which isn’t saying much since the place is the size of a matchbox.

I stare at the bathroom door, wondering why the shower turned off over thirty minutes ago and she still hasn’t emerged.

I’ve heard women take a long time to get ready. I’m sure that’s all it is.