Page 42 of Pucking Secret

Nothing.

I knock again.

There’s movement on the other side of the door, a shuffle, then the sound of locks clicking. The door creaks open, and Stacey appears.

She looks like hell.

She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt with her hair thrown into a messy bun, and her eyes red-rimmed and tired. There’s a sizable stain on the front of her shirt that I quickly recognize as puke.

Shit, I was right. Something is wrong.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: TUMMY ACHE

STACEY

Owen is lookingat me like, well… like I have puke on my shirt. His eyes widen as he looks me up and down. What the hell is he doing here, anyway?

“Hey,” he says, at last. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I grumble. “Millie is not, and it’s 3 am, so if you don’t mind, I need you to leave so I can go take care of her.”

His brow furrows in concern. “Millie’s sick?”

Swallowing, I nod. I’m so tired and anxious about Millie that I really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with him right now. I need to get back to her.

“Yeah, she is.” I run a hand across my sweaty forehead. “I was just about to give her a bath, so…”

“I can help,” he declares.

I blink, caught off guard by his offer.

“What? No, that’s not necessary?—”

“Mommy!” Millie suddenly calls out in a shaky voice. “Mommy, where are you?”

“Coming, baby!” I yell back. Turning to Owen again, I say, “You should really go. I really don’t want her to get you sick.”

He appears hesitant but then nods. “All right, I’m sorry...”

Suddenly, Millie’s little feet are hurrying down the hallway toward us. She comes into the foyer wearing her little hooded elephant robe, complete with ears and a trunk. When she spots Owen, she gasps in delight.

“Owen!” she exclaims, more energized than she’s been all night.

“Hey, Mills,” he replies, smiling down at her. “I heard you weren’t feeling very well.”

She nods, leaning her head against me. “Yeah, I have a tummy ache.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He sounds so sympathetic, it makes my heart skip a beat. “I wish I could make you all better.”

She lifts her head and gazes up at him with wide eyes. “Can you stay for a little bit? Mommy was going to give me a bath, and that’ll help me feel better. Can you come too?”

“Millie, Owen doesn’t need to stay,” I say. “He can come play with you sometime when you’re feeling better.”

She turns her eyes up to me and sticks her bottom lip out in a stubborn pout. “I want him to stay now! He said he wants to make me feel better, and staying will make me feel better!”

I frown down at her and shake my head. “That’s not how this works, Millie. You need to rest. Now say goodnight to Owen and get to the bathroom?—”

“No!” Millie stomps her foot and scrunches up her face in anger. We’re both so tired, so low on patience, but I struggle to keep my temper under control as I face down her tantrum. “I want Owen to stay!”

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