Page 112 of Rebel Hawke

And his constant concern over the last few weeks, since the morning—all day—sickness really kicked in, borders on overbearing at times.

Also, insanely sweet.

I’ve come to accept that Atlas just doesn’t know any other way to do anything but at full throttle. That definitely includes the protectiveness he’s shown toward me since I arrived and even more so since he discovered he got me pregnant.

As I thread my fingers through his hair, he leans into it, seeking to have me drag my nails along his scalp, which hassomehow become his absolute favorite. “I’ll be okay once my body adjusts to the hormones. Hopefully.”

He sighs and shifts up to rest on one elbow, hovering above me, his hand still affectionately and protectively placed over where our baby grows. “Maybe. My mother said she was sick almost her entire pregnancy with Astrid and me.”

A laugh bubbles out before I can stop it. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

One of his brows rises suspiciously. “Why not?”

“Because you’vealwaysbeen difficult.”

Even as a child, Atlas was a rebel.

Never falling in line with the other kids.

Always running around, making trouble.

Seeking new and exciting ways to explore and push his parents’ buttons.

That was what drew me to him—his unbreakable, indomitable spirit.

Which is why seeing him how he was when I first returned was so crushing. Because he was beaten. Maybe not broken butcracked.Threatening to shatter.

I wouldn’t know that now, looking at him, the playful gleam in his eye, the mischievous tilt to his lips.

“Hey”—his hand slides from my stomach over to my side—“what did you just call me?”

His light, teasing tone doesn’t fool me.

Trouble brews in his eyes.

A glimmer of intent I recognize all too well.

I know exactly what he plans, and in my current state, I don’t think I can handle one of his vicious attacks. “Don’t you dare, Atlas.”

He offers a coy look. “Don’t I dare what?”

Before I can even form a response or object further, he starts tickling me. And he knows exactly where to hit me to have the greatest effect.

I double over, trying to turn away from him, but he simply wraps his massive, strong body around mine and cocoons me in, completely at his mercy, with his hand at my sensitive side, covering the scars.

“Okay, okay, okay.” I gasp. “I take it back—”

“Liar.” He finally stops when my breath catches hard. “You okay?”

Releasing a relieved sigh, I glance back at him. “I’m fine.”

Mostly.

I know he’s asking about my damaged lungs as much as he is my nausea, and at the moment, I’m good on both fronts.

The ginger candies Skye suggested have helped somewhat—as has having the chef who does all Atlas’ pre-planned meals during camp constantly trying to find things I can eat and keep down—but I still had to duck out of two classes today before our doctor’s appointment to make a bathroom run and pray to the porcelain god.

If everyone in the classes didn’t already know I was pregnant, they sure did today.

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