Page 222 of Midnight Curfew

My stomach aches with hunger, and I can feel the grime from the storm lingering on my body. I need food and a shower, but I’m afraid to move. I don’t want to wake him. His breath is steady and warm on my neck, his arm draped over my chest, and I don’t know what time it is, but it must be around six thirty. The gray sky out my window casts a twilight on the trees.

The rain has stopped, an occasional drop hitting the window, but the house is quiet. That usually means the Bay made it through fairly unscathed; otherwise Macon would be dragging us out of bed to deal with emergencies.

I listen to his breathing, feeling his sleeping body rise and fall in my arms. Jesus Christ, I fucking love you.

That older man can go fuuuck himself, because he’s not touching you. I want to kill him for thinking he had a chance.

Moving my arm up and around Callum’s head, I slowly slide out from underneath, letting him settle back onto the mattress.

Sitting up, I tug the sheet back up over him, kissing his shoulder and then his back as I climb off the bed. Throwing on my jeans, I head for the door, punch the parentheses twice, and leave, softly closing the door behind me.

I walk over to the bathroom, but before I enter, I hear coughing and spitting.

Krisjen kneels in front of the toilet, vomiting.

“Shit, are you okay?” I ask, rushing over to pull her hair up out of her face.

She breathes hard, groaning as she rises and closes the seat, flushing. “I’m fine,” she mumbles, her voice shaky.

I give her a hand towel from the neat stack on the shelf and fill a glass of water for her.

“Just pregnant with a vengeful Jaeger,” she grumbles.

I jerk my eyes to her, the cup overflowing with water.

Shit. I shut off the faucet.

She whimpers. “Something tells me this is going to be normal the whole pregnancy.”

Well, that was fast. They just started trying.

I hand her the water. “Macon knows?”

“No, I told you first,” she spits out.

I laugh, glad she’s feeling well enough to joke.

“With everything going on the past few days,” she explains, “it wasn’t the right time to tell everyone.”

Standing up, she swishes a mouthful of water and spits it in the sink.

I take her glass and set it down, coming in and lifting her into my arms.

I carry her to her room, Macon still sleeping in bed as I walk past the severed rafter to my right.

“I knew you were a gentleman,” she coos.

I kick open the door to her bathroom. “No, I need the shower.” I sit her down on their toilet lid. “You have your own bathroom.”

I walk away.

“Dick,” she whispers behind me.

Twisting around, I come back and give her a peck on the head.

“Congratulations,” I tell her with a grin. “You’re the second-best thing to ever happen to me.”

After Callum.