Page 155 of Angel

The misery subsided only a fraction in the late afternoons.

It was thrilling to be pregnant, and eager to become a mother, but I grew exhausted from the relentless assault.

‘Baby, please stop,’ I whispered to my mound as yet another roiling, turbulent urge to lose my last meal hit. ‘Have mercy on your mother.’

I couldn’t leave the house, drive to town, or accomplish a single task because I felt terrible.

Dizzy spells and deep fatigue only added to my suffering.

Four nights after Angel arrived and remained at my doorstep, my resolve crumbled.

Weak, lightheaded, and thirsty, I dialed his number.

He picked up on the very first ring.

‘Roxy,’ he growled. ‘Talk to me.’

‘Come to the front door,’ I managed, my hand trembling against the phone. ‘Now, Angel, please.’

I’d never locked it since he got here.

He appeared in the kitchen in less than two minutes, eyes piercing and on me as I bent over the counter.

I gripped the edge, the room spinning as the dizziness hit.

Still, I was able to appreciate that my husband was fuckin’ hot.

He was magnificent, a striking contrast to my own beaten and hollow-eyed state.

His thick hair fell in loose strands over his temple, and his gaze burned as he raked me with an intense, possessive look.

‘Fuck’ he murmured, attempting to reach for me. ‘You’re white as a sheet, babe.’

I raised a hand to stop him, and he huffed at the rejection, taking a step back.

He crossed his massive arms over his chest, his biceps flexing hard.

‘What do you need?’

His timbre was tight, laced with hurt.

I had no time for emotions, so I ignored his broken expression.

‘My nausea is ripping through me. Go to the closest pharmacy,’ I muttered in a labored whisper. ‘Get dry crackers, ginger tea, motion sickness medicine, and pressure bands for my wrists.’

‘I’m on it,’ Angel rasped. ‘I’ll get going as soon as I have you in bed.’

His hand took my elbow with one hand, the other arm around my waist as he guided me back to my bed,

Placing a cold glass of tap water on the nightstand, he headed out into the night.

He returned an hour later with a grocery sack of supplies, calling out as he strode straight into my bedroom.

‘Rox, beautiful, I’m back.’

I woke from the half-nap I’d sunk into.

‘I’ve got the goods,’ he growled, sitting on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his muscled heft. ‘I’ll start by slipping these bands onto your wrists right now.’