Page 83 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

He holds up his hands. “Fine. Fine. But, damn, you really thought this out.”

I rub my eyes. “Wait. It gets worse.”

He stares at me, trying to read me. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, hell. You went and fell for her, didn’t you?”

My door swings open. It’s Dallas. “I wanted to—” He stops talking when he sees our serious expressions “Okay,” he says, stepping inside. “What’d I miss?”

Blake pats the empty chair next to him. “Have a seat, brother. And shut the door.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Regan

I press my cheek against the porcelain throne, exhausted once again from my morning vomit sessions.

Two weeks ago, when I hit the five-week mark, is when it started. As I sit hunched over the toilet, it’s hard to believe it’s actually gotten better. A few days ago, after a call with Dr. Russo, I discovered if I eat crackers in the middle of the night, my morning sickness isn’t as bad.

I chuckle inwardly, thinking how vomiting for a half hour straight is still an improvement over the two hours I was tied to the toilet previously. I wanted this. I brought it on myself. This too shall pass.

The funny thing is, at least having morning sickness is confirmation that I’m actually pregnant. And thereisa tiny baby growing inside me. It’s the thought I cling to when I feel like nothing else can possibly come out of me and then I practically vomit up a lung.

It is strange that, with all the sickness, I still have an appetite. Just not until mid-morning.

I’m sitting slumped against the wall, hoping I’m done for today, when the doorbell rings. I bolt upright, willing myself not to throw up. Because few people know of the hidden doorbell on the back door of the shop.

When I was a kid, there was a group of teenage thugs who would skateboard down the alley and ring the doorbells of every business. My dad got sick of it after a few weeks and disconnected it, only to install a new, hidden one only his wholesale book suppliers knew about.

Oh, no.No, no, no, no. It can’t be my parents. My head slumps into my hands. That would be the absolute worst thing ever. Please let it just be some kid playing around.

When the doorbell rings again, I look at Joey, curled up outside the bathroom door where he sits every morning, patiently awaiting my return to the living. “It’s not them,” I say. “Fate couldn’t be so cruel.”

It rings a third time. I get up off the floor, feeling semi-sure I’m not going to hurl anymore, and slip on my robe. When it registers that it’s only eight-thirty in the morning, my heart sinks. It’s not a bratty teen playing a prank. Teens aren’t up at this hour in the summer.

I quickly swish my mouth out with water and take a long drink. Then I head for the stairs, just as it rings three more times in quick succession.

Is it Lucas? He knows how sick I’ve been. Is he coming to check on me?

No. He doesn’t know about the doorbell. Plus, he’d text. Or just walk in as he likes to do. Then again, I have started locking up for the most part. Unless my pregnancy brain has me forgetting to, of course.

I hesitate as I walk through the shop and approach the back door. I slowly put my eye against the peephole as if the inconsiderate person on the other side might be able to see me. But then, relief envelops me like a warm blanket when I see who it is. I unlock and swing the door open and throw my hands around my brother’s neck. “Ryder!”

He laughs as I hug him tightly. “I wasn’t aware I’d get such a welcoming greeting.”

“Are you kidding? I’m just glad it’s not Mom and Dad.”

“Why don’t you want Mom and Dad here?”

I shake my head, coming up with a plausible excuse. “You know how they can be, wanting to micromanage everything.Trying to tell me how to run the business and all. I just like it better when I see them on their turf, not mine.”

“Fair enough. Are you going to invite me up?”

“Yes, of course. Come in.” I look behind him for his wife. “Where’s Amy?”

“Long story.”

I spot his car parked in one of the two spots reserved for me in the alley. “Youdrovehere? All the way from Colorado?”

“I did. So I’d really appreciate a cup of coffee while I explain.” He follows me to the stairs, taking a moment to look around the shop. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

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