Page 156 of Into the Dark

Oh god, seven months more of this.

I’m there for a few minutes with my eyes closed and my head propped up on my hand on the toilet seat before I hear him behind me. He wraps my bathrobe around my shoulders and smooths a hand over my hair. Then he lowers himself onto his haunches beside me. I’m scared to look at him, scared the forgiveness he promised me last night might have been rescinded, distorted, while he slept. Maybe his rage and fury at my betrayal recovered their energy overnight and rose up between us again.

But when I lift my eyes, I see immediately that I’m wrong. His gaze is warm and filled with love and concern.

“Tell me what to do,” he says. His hair’s still wet from the shower, the longer lengths styled back from his face, and his beard rugged but neat.

“You’ve already done your bit,” I jest, pointing at my stomach.

He gives me a guilty sort of look before taking a brave peek into the bowl. “Can you stay home from work?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I still have things to organize for Sam’s replacement. Anyway, I’m not sick, just pregnant.” God, I feel sick.

His concern doesn’t fade. “Have you told them yet?”

“I haven’t even told my parents yet,” I point out. “No.”

“Well, they need to know, Alex. They need to be looking after you.” He shifts closer and rubs his hand in a small, comforting circle over my upper back.

I sigh in pleasure. “Mmm, that’s nice,” I tell him after a few seconds. “I feel better.” I’m not sure I feel less queasy, but having him touch me like this has its own kind of restorative power.

When he stands, he lowers his hand out, and I let him pull me up from the floor, his eyes still heavy on my face.

“I’ll let them know after we have the first scan in a few weeks,” I assure him.

He looks like he might disagree, but he just gives me a nod. “I’ve made coffee,” he says. “Can you try to eat something? Toast?”

“I’ll try. I’m not really drinking caffeine—could you do some tea instead?”

“I can do that.” He turns to go from the bathroom. “Shower and then come down. I’ll have it ready for you.”

“Jake,” I call before he disappears from the room. I swallow before speaking. “Are we okay?” I hold in a breath. I don’t want to tell him I’m sorry again. Not because I don’t mean it, but because I’ve said it so much I’m scared it’s going to lose its meaning.

His response is immediate, and it floods my body with warm relief. His mouth falls into a soft smile, and he comes back to wrap me in his arms. “Course we’re okay,” he murmurs gently, touching his nose to my hair. “Nothing gets to touch us, okay? Nothing.”

I squeeze my eyes closed tight and lay my head against his chest, pulling my arms tight around him. “Okay,” I whisper, inhaling the scent of him deep into my lungs. “I love you so much.”

He makes a deep, soft contented sound like the purr of a large cat. “I know you do, baby. I know you do.” He kisses me hard, long and slow. “I love you too. It’s you and me, yeah? Nothing gets to touch us,” he says again, pressing his nose against mine before he leaves me to shower.

It’s amazing the power his words have over me. How strongly they affect my mood and emotion and even my body. As I climb into the shower I feel a thousand pounds lighter than I did when I opened my eyes, the last residual tension melting away in the steam.

I nibble on a piece of faintly buttered brown toast as he sits across from me slicing into one of his egg-white omelets. Today, it looks far too soft from where I’m sitting, the sight making my insides feel like someone’s stirring them with a large wooden spoon. Lowering my toast, I pick up my breakfast tea instead, lifting my eyes to his face and away from his horrifying plate.

“You’re taking Caleb to nursery today?” I ask, swallowing carefully.

He nods. “Yeah, I need to head off soon.” He glances up at the kitchen clock above my head. “Getting him after too. Then I’ve got some stuff on…so it could be a late one. I can stay at home tonight if you want, so I don’t wake you up.”

“If I want?” Something panicky moves over me. He’s barely left me alone for a moment since I told him about the baby, but tonight he’s suggesting staying at home? After what I did? Am I being paranoid? It’s certainly possible. My head is a thick, bubbling gloop of panic and paranoia these days.

“Yeah, I’ve been keeping you up too late,” he tells me. “You need a rest.”

“A rest.”

“Yeah.”

“A rest from what?”

He gives me a look like it’s obvious. “From me.”

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