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I refused to fill it with chatter, with fragmented thoughts I’d built up since first moving into their home. My desires hadn’t changed toward either man, but the timing definitely wasn’t right to discuss forward progress until we had answers.
But…
Insecurity hounded my mind over Ashton’s desire—obsession, perhaps—to find a woman who was willing to carry his children. The timing…that would answer at least one question hounding my brain.
“Was Ashton showing any signs of sickness before he met me?” I asked quietly, hating to even hear my voice in the room but too disturbed by the idea to stay silent.
Rhett didn’t answer right away as he studied Ashton’s still face, and I grew agitated, antsy, for an answer.
“I—I keep thinking that maybe he doesn’t really love me, that he just wanted to have a child as quickly as possible—and I know I shouldn’t be worried about myself right now, but there’s so much going on inside my mind…”
Rhett’s dark eyes roamed my way, the pain in their depths once more hitting me like a truck and causing my eyes to well with more tears. “He met you first, Skylar.”
My breath escaped in a rush, and eyesight hazing, I nodded. “He—he has to be okay, right? I mean, his symptoms could be dozens of things,” I blurted. “Stress. Ulcers. A stomach virus. Maybe he’s developed a food allergy or something.”
I chewed on my thumbnail again to shut up even though Rhett didn’t tense like he usually would over my chattering. Nervousness made it so damn hard to keep quiet.
Someone from imaging came moments later and wheeled Ashton away.
Rhett stood. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” he said, his gaze on the floor.
Since he hadn’t invited me, I didn’t ask if he wanted company.
“I’ll wait here for them to bring Ashton back,” I whispered.
He nodded and left me alone with my full mind.
I had assurance Ashton truly liked me for me, not just the fact I had a womb.
But my biggest worry, the possibility of cancer, tangled my thoughts until tears of frustration and worry once more dripped onto my lap.
Ashton was awake when they brought him back to his room.
“Hi,” I said, smiling through a fresh round of welling eyes as they locked his bed’s wheels into place.
“Hi back.” He grinned and blinked slowly, reaching for me.
I scooted my chair close and wound our fingers together before kissing his hand.
“My sunshine,” he murmured, sounding drunk.
“How are you feeling?”
His eyelids fluttered closed as the nurse moved his IV stand. “Fine.”
“Ashton.”
“Hmm?” He opened his eyes and struggled to focus on me.
“What happened?”
“I got sick and wrecked the car. Hit my head. I have cancer like Archer.”
I glanced toward the nurse, hoping for some sort of sign or at least words for me to not worry.
She gave me nothing but frowned at Ashton. “We haven’t gotten any test results back, Mr. Blackwood.”
“What makes you think you have cancer?” I asked Ashton while smoothing down his wayward hair.