Page 42 of Full Out Fiend
Or maybe not.
We’re alone for all of two seconds before another bout of nausea rises up. “Where’s the closest bathroom?” I demand, shooting to my feet and heading toward what I think are the bedrooms.
“Second door on the right,” he offers, catching up to me and placing a hand on my low back to guide me.
I beeline for the toilet, and he doesn’t bother giving me privacy as he follows me and sinks to his knees. He rubs my back reassuringly as I dry heave into the toilet bowl.
“How many times a day do you get sick?” he murmurs soothingly. I close my eyes and inhale—double-checking that I’m not going to gag again before answering.
“I’ve only puked two or three times this week. But I gag, dry heave, or spit up bile every few hours.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
“Breakfast,” I admit. Saturdays are my busiest days. I had back-to-back clients booked from eight until three today, which left no time to stop and eat.
“I wonder if it would help to eat more frequently. Maybe having a little something in your stomach throughout the day would make you less sick.”
He manages to keep his suggestion from coming off as condescending. He’s trying to be helpful, and I can appreciate the care.
I nod mindlessly, checking in with myself and inhaling before slowly rising to my feet.
“I’m okay now, I think.”
He stands, too, towering over me as he peers down. “You’re staying for dinner for sure?”
“Yes.”
I’m not leaving this house without answers. Answers and a plan.
“Okay. You need some ginger ale to calm your stomach. We have all night to talk. Let’s just get you feeling better first, deal?”
I came here fired up, ready to demand answers. I wasn’t expecting to soften so quickly in his presence. But he’s right—we have all night. Knowing he didn’t have his phone on him and that he’s still very much invested in this situation eases the sense of hostility that had been brewing inside me all day.
We have time. Time to talk. Time to figure each other out. I’m here now. He knows I’m pregnant. Maybe he’s stalling when it comes to discussing the videos he knows I’ve seen, but we’ll get to them, and I’m okay with taking things slow.
“Deal,” I agree, taking the hand he’s offering and letting him lead me out of the bathroom toward the back patio.
“I would honestly question your age if we didn’t share a birthday, ya old man,” Fielding jibes at his brother.
“Remember—when he—made us—go—last time?” Maddie gasps between fits of laughter. “You even wore suspenders!” she mocks, lifting a toned, perfect leg to nudge Fielding in the thigh. He catches her by the calf and yanks her so hard her whole body shifts in the pool chair.
“Those suspenders were perfect for a night at the orchestra!” Fielding defends. “And how else was I supposed to sneak in pot and roll you a joint?” Instead of releasing her, he locks his hand around her ankle and tickles the arch of her foot.
“No, no, no!” she squeals. “I’ll pee! You know I’ll pee!”
“You know how to end it, Little Wheeler.”
Fielding keeps up the torture, and Dempsey just shakes his head at their antics. It’s odd to watch them be so physical and affectionate with each other. But Dempsey doesn’t seem bothered, and I’m just getting to know them both…
“Fine! Uncle Tony!” Maddie declares. All tickling and play-fighting stops in an instant. I gulp down a scoff at the mention of my ex-fiancé’s nickname.
I’m both fascinated and curious about their dynamic. Maddie is younger than all of us—she mentioned she’s about to start her last year of undergrad, whereas I’m twenty-six, and I think the twins are closer to thirty. Another thing I’ll need to ask Fielding about eventually.
They’re all extremely affectionate and comfortable with each other, which I like. Fielding and Maddie have a sitcom sibling vibe going on. And she’s obviously head over heels for Dempsey.
She shoots Fielding a death glare before she retreats into her boyfriend’s lap, wrapped in his big arms immediately. He engulfs her in a tender embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then she runs a hand along the stubble of his jaw while he draws little circles near the hem of her shorts.
Their PDA borders on too intimate, and I give in to the urge to look away. But then the only other place to look is at Fielding, and that’s definitely not the safest place for me to focus while I’m trying to keep my wits about me.