Crush - Kelsie Rae Page 0,67
decides.
“Ben, I hate needles and would prefer to keep them away from my body for as long as possible. Please? I promise I’m fine. I just have a headache, and I’m pretty sure that’s normal when you’re pregnant and are running on no sleep.”
“Have you not been sleeping well?”
“Oh, so you haven’t felt me tossing and turning all night?” I quip, my voice laced with sarcasm.
“Good point. Still, I think––”
“I’m fine, Ben. Seriously. I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially if I knew you were going to make me get my blood drawn. And now that I think about it, I’ve also been staring at a computer screen all day because I’ve been editing the pictures from our trip. That usually brings on a headache if I do it for too long.”
Hesitating, he checks my records another time, then turns to me. “Have you had any pain in your side? Any vomiting?”
“Nope.”
“Peeing less than normal?”
I laugh. “What’s a normal amount?”
“Marce,” he groans. “You know what I mean. Just answer the question.”
“I haven’t noticed any difference with my peeing amount, which is something I never thought I’d have to say out loud, by the way. I’ll go home. Take some Tylenol. Take a nap. And I’m sure I’ll feel much better. Would that make you happy?”
His arms are crossed over his chest as he releases a wary sigh. There’s a moment of hesitation before he comes over and brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Keep your phone by you. If it gets worse or you have any of the symptoms I just asked you about, I need you to call me immediately. Understand?”
“Yes, Dr. Bennett. I’ll call you if there are any changes.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
Eyes narrowing, he mutters, “Go get some rest. I’ll pick up take out on the way home.”
Home. My face stretches into a shameless grin.
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too, Marce.”
I don’t feel better. I feel pretty crappy, actually. My back is aching. My neck is tight. And I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head. Stomach rumbling like a bottle of soda that’s been shaken for ten minutes, I shove a pillow under it and release a slow breath.
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
The front door opens, and I roll onto my side on the couch in the front room of his house. I’ve been staying here pretty regularly and have only gone home to grab a change of clothes or to edit pictures. And even editing has become a rare event on my desktop. I’ve been using my laptop at his house instead.
After my appointment, I followed my doctor’s orders and went home, popped a couple of Tylenol, then fell asleep on the couch while watching The Office reruns on Netflix. But now that I’m awake again, I can tell that this isn’t my average editing and lack-of-sleep headache. This is so much worse. Still, if I could prevent a needle from being jabbed into my arm today, I’ll take it as a win.
“Hey,” I greet Ben, forcing a smile while I watch him unzip his jacket.
He freezes at the entrance and studies me carefully. I’m sure I look like a mess as I try to push myself into a sitting position, but I don’t want him to worry. The jabbing at the base of my skull makes me squeeze my eyes shut. I take a deep breath and wait for the pain to subside, but it feels like it isn’t going anywhere.
“How are you feeling, Marce?” his deep voice rumbles. I squint my eyes open and look over at him. There’s something in his gaze that ratchets up my pulse. It’s fear.
“Not so hot,” I admit. The room is so quiet you could literally hear a pin drop.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move a muscle as he accuses, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I just woke up.”
“Can you get in the car?” His voice is monotone. Numb. It’s not even his doctor voice. It’s more detached and robotic. As if my Ben has disappeared.
“Umm…yeah.” Wincing, I push myself up and walk toward the door while cradling my stomach with my arms.
I am seriously going to hurl.
He watches me carefully, but looks lost in his own thoughts. Or maybe it’s his past that’s holding him hostage. Regardless, I am officially freaking out right now.
“Ben?” I murmur once I’ve reached him.
The paper bag slips from his grasp and hits the floor at our feet.
“Let’s get you in the car.”
“Ben?” I repeat.
Pressing his warm hand