Page 71 of Heart of Stone

The pounding on my front door matches the pounding in my head.

"Go away," I croak, but whoever it is can't hear me from the bathroom floor where I've been camping out for the last hour.

Adam's pitiful cries echo from his crib in the next room, while Amy's occasional sleepy whimpers remind me I have another sick baby to tend to. Only Abby has been spared so far, though her croup cough still rattles in her chest.

The pounding continues.

I try to push myself up, but my arms shake too much. Whatever stomach bug Amy picked up at the hospital, she’s shared it with devastating efficiency.

A crash from the front of the house has me jerking upright, instantly regretting the movement as my stomach rolls.

"Andi?" Hawk's voice carries down the hall. "Where are you?"

"No," I moan. "Not now."

But heavy boots are already heading my way, following the sound of retching children.

He appears in the bathroom doorway, filling the frame with his massive shoulders. One look at me on the floor and his expression darkens.

"Jesus, babe."

"What are you doing here?" I try to ask, the sound rough from my aching throat.

"Looking after what's mine." He crouches down beside me, gently tucking a stray, limp hair behind my ear. "You doing okay?"

"We're not yours," I protest weakly. I try to summon the energy to get up, to stand, to walk him to the door and kick his ass to the curb.

My stomach decides to lurch instead. I twist, more bile coming up.

He holds my hair as I heave, emptying whatever is left in my stomach.

"Here, little lamb. I got you." He hands me water to rinse my mouth and a damp cloth. He smells of cologne and leather, and looks like a million bucks.

"You should go."

"Mmhmm. Just as soon as I get you into bed."

Adam's cries grow louder, joining Amy's whimpers and my rolling stomach in a symphony of misery.

"They need me." I try to stand again.

"They've got me." He crouches beside me, one large hand settling on my forehead. "You're burning up."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are." He scoops me up before I can protest, carrying me to my bedroom. "Stay put. I'll handle the kids."

"Hawk—"

"Stay." His tone brooks no argument. "Let me take care of you. All of you."

I want to argue. Want to tell him we don't need him. But Amy chooses that moment to start crying in earnest, and my stomach lurches again.

He is already moving, heading for the kids' room with purpose. I hear him murmuring to Amy, his voice low and soothing. A moment later, Adam's cries quiet too.

I must have dozed because the next thing I know, Hawk is back with water and crackers.

"Small sips," he orders, helping me sit up. "Amy's sleeping. Adam too. Abby's watching cartoons with some juice."