Page 53 of My Sweetest Obsession
I want to go to her.
I want to make sure she’s all right.
I want to take her into my arms the way I did last night and offer her whatever it is she needs to make it through the night.
But I can’t.
Her sobs only increase the longer I stand frozen by regret and indecision. Each tortured sound that floats through the door hurts more and more until I’m trembling violently to hold myself back from running to her.
Something clatters hard against the tiles, and I jerk my head from the door, my heart racing as worry twists around my spine and forces my hand.
I turn the handle and push it in without considering what I’m doing. If she’s pissed at me for being here, I’ll take anything she throws at me. Because anger is better than her agony.
“Ivy? Are you all right?”
A wall of steam hits me immediately, but as I step in through it, the vision beyond the glass separating us robs me of the ability to see anything but her.
Standing in the shower, water cascading over her smooth skin, face buried in her hands, as sobs continue to wrack her body. “Ivy?”
She doesn’t react.
Doesn’t respond to my abrupt intrusion or questions.
Oh, God…
Acid climbs up my throat.
What if it’s the baby?
I rush forward and slide open the glass door, frantically scanning for any evidence of blood or anything that might tell me what’s happening since Ivy seems incapable.
A razor and bottle of shaving cream lie on the tile at her feet, but as I scan up her legs and over her naked body, the only thing that appears to be wrong is the way mine reacts to her.
“Ivy…” My voice wavers, all the anxious energy I’m incapable of containing leeching out in my words. “You need to tell me you’re okay.”
The water continues to fall over her, running in rivulets down her naked body, across her full breasts and protruding belly, between her legs…the sound of it hitting the tile the only thing that breaks the silence.
Slowly, she lifts her face out of her hands, her eyes swollen, her lips trembling, her thick, dark hair plastered down her back and her shoulders. “I can’t do it…”
“What?”
She could be referencing a thousand different things: going on without Drew, having this baby without him…but another sob slips from her lips instead of an answer, and she squeezes her eyes closed, shaking her head. “I tried, and I just can’t.”
One of her hands slides to her distended belly, and I follow the movement, remembering what it felt like to have my palm pressed there last night, to feel that tiny, fluttering kick, to know the life growing inside her is the miracle she and Drew always hoped for.
“Is the baby okay?”
I hold my breath waiting for the answer, a silent prayer held in my heart.
Please, God, let her be okay…
Ivy nods, trying to control her breathing through her sobs, but they only seem to get worse. Gasping, short pants and a heaving chest that terrifies me for more than one reason. Whatever she’s so upset about, if she doesn’t get herself under control, she’s going to hyperventilate.
Shit.
I toe off my shoes, tug off my socks, and step into the shower before I can question the sanity of the action. The flow from the showerhead soaks me instantly, but it wouldn’t matter if it were fucking acid—nothing is going to stop me from getting to her.
But I won’t risk doing anything that might upset her further by touching her when she’s like this, so close to tipping over the edge of something so dangerous. Something I recognize all too well.
