Page 101 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

“Sorry, again.”

He runs a hand over his face, clearly agitated, but then he looks back to me with a softened face.

“What do you need? You okay?” he asks softly.

“Oh, I’m fine. I just need Damien’s pain medication.”

His eyes widen and he cocks his head.

“You convinced him to take them?”

“I mean, not really. I kind of just got up and said I was getting them. So now if he doesn’t take them, he’ll feel bad. That’s bad isn’t it? That’s really bitchy.”

He just shrugs and shakes his head.

“Hey, whatever works. He needs them. I’m surprised you didn’t just bat your eyes at him.

You’ve got him whipped.” He walks over to his duffle bag to retrieve them, and I just nod my head, because yeah, I know I do, and it’s one of the best feelings in the world.

He strides back over and hands them to me.

“I really am sorry about Ser.” I gesture down the hallway, and he swats his hand like it doesn’t phase him, but I can see the slight disappointment in his eyes.

“It’s not your fault. We were arguing, and it just kind of…” He trails off, and then shakes his head like he shouldn’t continue. “It’s no big deal. Get some rest.”

I just nod and turn back towards our room.

Hopefully, Ser will tell me tomorrow about what’s been going on with them, but her silence on the matter is concerning me.

It’s clear she cares about him, otherwise, she wouldn’t show him the time of day.

She’s normally a one and done type of woman, but Carter isn’t the case.

Maybe I’ll corner her while she’s staying here and force her to loop me in on what the hell is going on between them two.

As I walk back into our room and close the door, I hear a groan in pain and immediately jerk my head to the sound. Damien is sitting on the edge of the bed, clearly trying to get up. I rush over, grabbing the water bottle already sitting on the dresser nearby.

“Damien, what the hell are you doing?” I call out, and he looks up at me as I approach, looking upset with his balled up fists on the bed. “Baby, lay back down.” I open the pill bottle as I read the instructions.

“No, you lay back down,” he demands forcefully, and I look back at him with a raised eyebrow. “I should be taking care of you,” he says, a little softer this time.

“You can’t take care of me if you're not taking care of yourself.”

“You're in pain, too,” he argues.

“The worst part of mine is over, Damien.

I'm just going to be sore—lying around so much that I'm going to be bored. None of my organs or major arteries were hit, unlike yours.” I gesture to his body, thrusting my hand forward and dragging it in front of his body.

“You, on the other hand, have two gunshot wounds, a stab wound, and internal damage from an explosion.

You weren't even supposed to be walking yet, much less torturing a man for six hours. So, you're going to take your meds, you’re going to lie here with me and hold me for at least the next week, and you’re going to do it because you love me.

I swear to God, if you so much as even think about getting up and doing anything in the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to be so mad at you. Plus, I just walked across the house to get these, so you better take them.” I cross my arms and poke my hip out, hoping that my brat attack will force him to do what he needs to do.

“That guilt trip is bullshit,” he says as he smirks.

“Whatever works.” I blow him a taunting kiss as he smiles at me and holds his hand out, giving into my demands.

The sight has me giddy, and I can’t help but smirk like a spoiled child.

“Thank you,” I say with an attitude before I scrunch my nose and hand him the two small pills.

He takes the water bottle and swallows them as I round the bed, putting the bottle on the nightstand, and getting back under the covers.

The way his body is still shaking drives my worry through the roof, but hopefully the medication will kick in quickly and his pain will fade.

Though, even with how much he's struggling, he manages to wrap his arms around me and hold me close, resting his hand on my stomach like he has for the past few days.

“Thank you for this,” he says quietly, moving his thumb back and forth in soft swipes.

“Hey, thank yourself and your super-sperm. Of course you’d defy the ninety-nine percent effectiveness of birth control,” I tease, and he chuckles, the sound warming my chest .

“The universe just knew what we wanted. Plus, the doctor could guess all she wanted, but today you're eight weeks and five days. I know exactly what day it happened.”

I raise an eyebrow, thinking there’s no way in hell he could know that.

“Oh, do you? Mr. I'm always right?” I giggle.

“It was the night Henry died,” he says confidently, yet solemnly. “I don’t believe in reincarnation, and the only reason I believe in Heaven is because you had to come from somewhere.” I giggle at his cuteness. Yeah, the meds must be kicking in. “But I fully believe Henry sent her to us.”

“That’s really sweet,” I reply, his sentiment creating a warm and fuzzy feeling throughout my body, but then it clicks, and I catch what he said. “Wait, her? It could be a boy.”

He shakes his head and those dangerous teeth shine through a goofy, dopey smile.

“Nope. It’s a girl.”

“You don’t want a hunting buddy or a football player?”

“After my princess.” We laugh and I can finally feel his body start to relax.

He melts into the bed, and his hold on me starts to loosen slightly.

“And if my princess wants to go hunting, we’ll go.

Plus, with how her mom plays football? She can do that, too,” he adds, chuckling softly.

I rub his back in gentle movements, hoping to coax him into sleep as I glance around our bedroom, noticing the new door in the far corner.

I smile softly, still amazed by his thoughtfulness.

“I’m not sure I ever thanked you for putting that door in here.”

He hums barely, a clear sign of his drowsiness.

“Anything you want or need, I'll do it. I want to go to every appointment, I want to run out at two in the morning when you want some type of ridiculous food combination, I want you to sit back and rub your belly as I try to read the terrible crib instructions, I want all of it.” I giggle more and he starts to run his fingers through my hair, soothing me like I’m trying to do for him.

“I'm so excited for this baby,” he admits quietly, clearly fighting sleep.

“I can't wait to feel her little kicks and see you get big and round…”

“Me too.” I stop him timidly and pat his back. “Now go to sleep, you're going to start seeing purple monkeys if you don’t.”

He gasps lightly as a bigger smile breeds on his lips.

“Oh, maybe her nursery theme should have purple monkeys.”

I swat his back tenderly, and thankfully, after a few more huffed chuckles, his breaths even out, and he finally succumbs to the pain medications. Once I’m sure he’s actually asleep, I close my eyes as well, drifting off into peace beside him.