Page 33 of Sugar
Kasey nods. “Of course.” His expression is sharp, gleaming like the edge of a knife. “My opinion is I’d rather not create any expectations over what my wife chooses to do with her body.”
The words hit me like a freight train.
“Bathroom?” I ask, standing abruptly from my chair. The legs whine against the hardwood floor.
Pastor Brown’s brows bunch. “Down the hall, to the left.”
I race across the room, pushing through the office door so hard it nearly slams against the wall. Covering a hand over my mouth, I will my stomach to hold it in, to give me just a few more seconds to get to the toilet.
“Ava?” Kasey’s raised voice comes from somewhere behind me.
I find the sign for a bathroom hung on a wooden door with a brass knob and crash through it. Inside is a single toilet and sink, and I make it just in time.
“Ava!” Kasey shouts again over the sounds of my retching. I have a distant awareness of him coming through the door. “Shit,” he says, voice laced with panic. Warm fingers skate gently around the curve of my neck, pulling my hair back and away from my face as the contents of my stomach begin to spill out of me.
It feels like it goes on forever, but hardly anything comes out. I haven’t eaten since dinner last night—a mistake, I know—so it’s just bile and acid working their way through me. My throat burns raw by the time things seem to settle down.
“Hang tight,” Kasey says, and then his hands slip away, and I feel the loss of him like an old, festering wound. I close my eyes, letting the darkness take root as I heave into the toilet again, but nothing comes out. There’s just the sound of the sink faucet turning on and off again, of shuffling boots against the linoleum floor.
And then he’s back.
One hand wraps around my shoulder, coaxing me back to lean against the broad expanse of his chest. Kasey reaches to push the lever on the toilet and flush away my sick, and then he’s pressing a cool, wet paper towel to my forehead, to my lips. “You all right?” he murmurs softly in my ear.
He’s warm and solid and smells like wind, like pine and grass and Texas skies. I close my eyes again, basking in the feel of him, in the feel of this. “I think so,” I say back. “Sorry . . . I must have eaten something?—”
“Don’t apologize,” he counters, voice stern. But his hands . . . his hands aresogentle as they soothe over me, running up and down the length of my arms, dragging across my collarbone and the top of my shoulder. I sink deeper into him, letting him hold my weight.
“Thank you,” I say. It comes out in a whisper.
His cheek presses lightly against the top of my head as he lets out a slow breath. It’s only now I realize his heart is flying, pounding through the front of his chest against my spine. “What do you need?” he asks. I feel his rough swallow, the tension in his fingers.
“I need to eat something,” I admit. “I’m starving.”
His hand stills in the crook of my elbow. “Your stomach is upset, and you want to eat?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah . . . sometimes this happens though. When I’m hungry.” I pray he doesn’t question it further.
“Okay.” He shifts to get his feet under him. “Maybe some crackers and soup? Something gentle?”
“That’s perfect.” I smile. “But . . . I don’t think we’re done with our session.”
“Fuck the session,” he mutters. He helps me stand, keeping his arms around me for support. “That guy’s pissing me off.”
“At least go tell him I’m not feeling well. Maybe we can reschedule.” I bite my lip. “We need this ceremony.”
I turn to face him, finding his expression still tinged with worry. He’s quick to shutter his emotions. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees. His thumb swipes against the inside of my wrist before letting me go. He fishes his keys out of his pocket, handing them to me. “You okay to get to the truck on your own?”
I nod. “Yeah. Definitely”
“I’ll go talk to Pastor Brown. Meet you there soon.”
CHAPTER TEN
KASEY
My palms sweat as I hurry down the aisle through the heart of the church, aiming for the heavy double-doors that lead out to the parking lot where Ava waits. I’ve already taken too long. Pastor Brown was visibly frustrated with us having to end this appointment early, but he was reasonable enough to understand that we arenotgoing to force Ava to continue a meeting when she’s not feeling well. He said we’d gotten through enough, and anything we missed can be added to our second session.
When I get to the truck it’s already running. The air conditioning is cranked high, and Ava’s leaning forward so the cool air blows right in her face. “Sorry,” I rush out as soon as I open the driver’s side door. “You okay?”
