Page 27 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

TWENTY

LIA

Then—Twelve Months Ago

I 'm not crying because I'm hormonal. I'm crying because I've thrown up for the fourth time today and my body has decided betrayal is its new full-time job. Every cell feels like it's staging a revolution against me, and the bathroom floor has become my new best friend.

"I didn't know it was going to be like this," I groan, bracing my forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl.

My voice sounds wrecked, watery and hoarse, my throat raw from bile and regret.

The bitter taste lingers no matter how many times I try to rinse it away. "Nobody tells you it feels like dying."

Devan's on the floor with me, again, his long legs bent awkwardly in the narrow space of my bathroom.

His back is propped against the tub, one hand holding my hair back with the kind of patience that should be studied, the other rubbing soothing circles into the tight knots of my shoulder.

His fingers are gentle despite their strength, and I hate how much I need that touch right now.

“You sure you want to be close to me right now? I’m absolutely disgusting,” I groan. “Repulsive.”

"You're not repulsive," he says for the fifth time this morning, his deep voice a steady anchor in my storm of misery. "You're pregnant. There's a difference. A beautiful, miraculous difference."

"You're sitting next to vomit," I mutter, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. The sleeve of my three-day-old sweatshirt is already crusty with evidence of this morning's earlier episodes. "That's love or masochism, I don't know which. Either way, you should be questioning your life choices."

He chuckles low, a warm rumble that I feel more than hear, vibrating through where our bodies connect. "I've seen Tor get a tooth knocked out and keep skating. Blood everywhere, still finished his shift. This? This is nothing. Hockey players have strong stomachs."

"This is gas and nausea and weird-ass food cravings I haven't even had yet," I moan, dragging myself up enough to slump back against the tub.

The tile is blissfully cool against my overheated skin.

"This is peeing every five seconds. This is mood swings that make me want to kill you and cry over that fact at the same time.

This is my body not being my own anymore. "

"Sounds like you've been reading again." His eyes crinkle at the corners when he says it, that soft look that always makes my stomach flutter.

I glare at him weakly, then groan again as another wave rolls through me, clutching my stomach as it cramps painfully.

Thankfully, it passes without another offering to the toilet gods.

"I have. Those damn pregnancy books are terrifying.

Did you know my organs are literally being shoved aside right now?

My uterus is bullying my intestines." My fingers pick at a loose thread on my leggings, unable to meet his eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," I whisper, not for the first time.

"This isn't your problem. You should be at practice or reading one of your romance novels or literally anywhere but watching me turn myself inside out. "

"Too bad," he says softly, his massive frame somehow making the tiny bathroom feel safe rather than crowded.

"Because I'm already here. Plus, come on, Li-Li, it took both of us to make this little bean, and I'm gonna pull my weight.

Even if that means carrying you to the toilet every time.

Even at 3 A.M. Even during playoffs. Okay, that's if I'm here.

Unless you want me to make special arrangements for you to travel with me. "

My throat tightens again, different this time.

Something warm and fragile expanding beneath my ribs that has nothing to do with morning sickness.

"Even when I'm puking and bloated? Not to mention wearing the same leggings three days in a row because nothing else fits and I can't summon the energy to create something new? "

He leans in, brushing a damp strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips linger against my skin, tender in a way that makes me want to both lean in and pull away. "Especially then. Through sickness. Through bloating. Through, apparently, all the gas you can muster. The whole package deal."

"Don't," I mumble, trying not to laugh as heat creeps up my neck. "It's not funny. Nothing about this undignified mess is funny."

"It's a little funny," he says, grinning as he nudges my shoulder with his.

His broad frame dwarfs mine, always has, but there's something so gentle about how he occupies space next to me.

"You let one rip in your sleep the other night, and I swear Glitzy hissed and ran out of the room like the house was on fire.

That cat's seen some things, but you scared her right out of one of her nine lives. "

"Oh my God," I cover my face with both hands, mortification burning through me. "Why are you like this? Why do you remember these things? Why do you stay?"

"Because I love you," he says quietly, so easily it almost breaks me. No hesitation, no calculation. "Because I care. And because you're not doing this alone, Li-Li. No matter what title I hold in your life. . .or don't, I'm here. All in. Front row seat to this whole beautiful mess."

I glance at him from beneath my lashes. His expression is calm, sure. Like he means every word and I know he does. His brown eyes hold mine steadily, no trace of pity or obligation, just that unwavering Devan certainty that has always both comforted and terrified me.

I lean into his side, resting my head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady thump of his heart. My own personal rhythm section. "I'm sorry if I'm a nightmare. I know this isn't what you signed up for."

He rests his cheek on my hair, his arm coming around me, enveloping me in warmth and the faint scent of his sandalwood cologne. "You're my nightmare. I'll take it. Signed up the moment I met you, whether you believe it or not."

We sit like that for a while, the tiles cold beneath us, the quiet steady between us.

No big declarations. No pressure. Just his hand on my back and his heart beating in time with mine.

The morning light filtering through the small bathroom window, casting everything in a gentle glow that makes even this unglamorous moment feel somehow precious.

I realize I may be scared as hell, my fears climb higher than Mount Rainer, but I'm not alone.

Closing my eyes I let myself sink deeper into his embrace.

For this moment at least, I don't have to scale those mountains alone.

Devan's right here, patient and solid as ever, his quiet strength a counterbalance to my chaos.