Page 13 of Mine to Worship

I ignore his declaration and focus instead of that piece of information. “You were with Brandon?” Sheer incredulity rises with every syllable, replacing the shock.

He nods and warmth spreads through me, but memories hit like a thunderstorm. I remember what he did.

As if he knows the trajectory of my mind, he slams his lips down on mine, and swallows my protests.

“I love you,” he says after the kiss ends, splaying his fingers against my cheeks.

My nails claw at his hands. I shove him off me and snap.

“You do, huh? When did you find out you love me? When you fucked her?” I wipe his kiss from my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Ellia…” My name rolls out of his mouth in a plea, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Go.” The room spins and I squeeze my eyes shut at the bout of nausea.

“What’s wrong?”

He presses the red button and a nurse bolts through the door. I cover my mouth, trying to control the heaving. My eyes water with the effort. Beads of sweat dot my forehead. I’m in a race against my own body—and I will lose any moment. The nurse hands me a basin. I bend over and vomit, relief loosening my corded muscles. I fall back onto the bed, the bitter taste clinging to my taste buds.

“What’s wrong with my wife?” he asks, desperation etched on his face, his eyes bouncing from the basin to my face.

Austin walks in, takes one look at me, and I prepare myself for what he’s going to say.

“I’m going to put you on some anti-nausea medication. That should help.”

“If not?”

“Let’s take this one step at a time.”

“But my baby will be fine, right?”

I place a protective hand on my belly and clamp my mouth shut when I realize what I just said.

Austin nods in my direction, and retreats. Seconds thunder on as the silence falls over us. Kian stumbles on his feet as if the mountain of a man imploded and is now made out of scattered plates. His eyes zero in on my belly, and when they find mine, it’s a strange mix of devastation and flicker of hope.

My nerves strain to the maximum. He looks more sick than I feel, from his shrunken body to his pale complexion. And that’s saying something. His hair is disheveled from him running his hand through it too many times.

“I don’t need you nor want you here.”

The stubborn ass lowers on the edge of the bed and lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.

“I am not going anywhere,” he says in a gentle tone.

I huff and try to take my hand out of his, but this time he’s prepared and his grip tightens.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I am sorry the baby hurts you. I am fucking sorry for everything.”

His head drops on my stomach and a horrifying, gut-wrenching sound leaves his mouth. My heart squeezes in my chest at his open vulnerability. The imperious man is cracking. Fuck you, Love, I am brimming with weakness for this man. I thread my hand through his hair. His bloodshot eyes find mine, and he says, “I understand if you don’t want to keep it.”

His words slice me open, and I place a protective hand over my belly.

“How can you even say that?”

He avoids my gaze, and fists the ends of the bed. “I hate that you’re in pain. My baby sent you to the hospital.”

I tip his chin up and say, “I am having this baby, our baby, and I will love it. The baby isn’t hurting me. I’m just having a difficult pregnancy and it will pass.”

“When did it happen?” he asks.

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