Page 142 of Branded
Hopefully, it would be like the doctor said, here temporarily and passing like the wind—or passing like the brief moments of Raph pretending to give a shit about me.
The dizziness would be here again, gone tomorrow.
“You sure?” Pru asked. “I can?—”
“Honey. We’re fine. If something comes up, which it won’t because I’ll take it easy and follow the doctor’s advice and drink seven million gallons of water and retire my tight clothes and eat more—though that’s something I’m not even sure is possible—but if it does come back, I’ll call Marcel and the doctor, and then I’ll let you know.”
Quiet in my ear. Then, “If something happens to you because of me?—”
“I’m healthy,” I whispered. “They’re healthy, and I’ll keep you posted every step of the way. Remember, babe, I wanted to do this for you.” I’d wanted to do something good for my friend, something that would wash away the cloying stench that seemed impossible for me to rid myself of. “I’m okay. I know it’s hard because this isn’t your body, but don’t doubt for one minute that I’m treating these babies like the precious cargo they are.”
“That was never in doubt, Bethie.”
Warmth sliding along cold tile floors, seeping under the bottom of a closed door. “Thanks, honey,” I whispered. “Now, try not to worry, and know I’ll send you and Marcel a bajillion texts today.”
“A bajillion?” Pru asked lightly.
“How about a bajillion and one?”
Laughter in my friend’s tone. “That’s better.”
“Good. Now have fun scouting the players,” I said, a la The Princess Bride and my favorite line from it (“Have fun storming the castle.”).
Pru chuckled and said her goodbyes.
And just for good measure, I immediately sent a text to her and Marcel.
Baby update 1024 We’re comfortably sequestered on the couch.
Pru replied,
Love you, Bethie.
Marcel, man of few words, just sent a thumb’s up.
Quiet. Effective.
A plunk in front of me.
My gaze shot up from my phone screen, saw that Raph had emerged from the kitchen, a scraper in one hand. The other was empty, having presumably carried the large cup of water recently plunked onto the table Pru had dragged over the night before.
“Drink,” my man of few words ordered before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Not my man, I thought, watching him walk, studying the heavy muscles of his legs, the lean strength of his shoulders and waist. Big and tall and strong, but not a behemoth like Smitty, who played defense and could battle along the boards with the toughest in the league. His strength hid a huge, soft heart (that had been wrapped up and passed over to the woman he loved, Kailey, on a puck-colored platter).
That wasn’t Raph.
His heart was buried deep, protected with spikes and armor and a whole forest of cat-o-nines.
Also, he wasn’t mine, wouldn’t ever be.
Biting back a sigh, I glanced down at the glass of water, condensation gathering on its outside, and I picked it up, drank deeply.
Drank and drank until the entire glass was empty.
For Pru.
For Marcel.
