Page 146 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

Another wave crashes through me, and I grip the edge of the sink hard for support.

Wayne’s right there.

He brushes my hair back from my face without hesitation. One hand goes to the back of my neck, the other braces my shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

I don’t argue.

When it finally eases, I’m trembling. Sweat prickles along my spine. My throat burns.

Wayne reaches for a glass before I even ask, fills it with cold water, and presses it into my hand.

“Rinse,” he says quietly.

He doesn’t need to ask me twice.

He stays close while I wash the bitter taste from my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble hoarsely.

“For what?” he asks.

“For being gross.”

His expression flickers with something that might almost be a smile.

“You think I haven’t cleaned up worse?” he says dryly. “I have a young boy.”

A weak laugh slips out of me.

The room tilts slightly, and I sway.

His hands are on me instantly.

“Hey,” he says, sharper now. “Sit.”

He guides me to the couch as if I might break if he lets go.

I sink down, dizzy.

He disappears for a second and comes back with a damp cloth, pressing it gently to the back of my neck.

The coolness makes me shiver.

“Is this stress?” he asks quietly.

“I think so,” I whisper. “Or food. Or karma.”

He huffs faintly.

“This isn’t karma.”

I lean back against the couch, exhausted, and he sits beside me. Not too close at first. Then closer.

His hand settles on my knee.

“You don’t have to be strong every second,” he says.