whipped around and hurled into the toilet.
And Jensen was right there the whole time, holding my hair back as he rambled on about baby names over the sounds of my retching.
Shane
Twenty years old
I knew something was wrong the moment Jensen walked into the apartment. He slammed the door behind him and stormed into the kitchen. From my place on the couch I watched in confused surprise as he moved right to the fridge, yanked the door open, and pulled out the six-pack of beer from inside. He proceeded to pop the top on one can and down the entire thing in a matter of seconds before starting on the second.
By the time I was able to push my big, pregnant ass off the couch and waddle into the kitchen, he’d already crunched the second can in his fist and cracking open a third.
“Everything okay?”
“Had a shitty day,” he grunted, slugging back a big gulp of the third beer.
“You want to talk about it?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothin’ to talk about. It was a shitty day, now I’m gonna drink until I pass the fuck out. End of story.”
Moving as quickly as my beach-ball-sized stomach would allow, I crossed the kitchen and grabbed hold of his arm as he started lifting the can back to his lips. “You can’t drink until you pass out. We have our prenatal class tonight.”
He let out a sharp curse, turning his head and raking a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “I’m really not in the mood tonight. I’ll go to the next one.”
“But you said—”
“Jesus Christ, Shane!” he barked, his voice so loud in the small space it rang inside my skull. “Cut me some fucking slack, just for one goddamn night. I told you I had a bad day, so lay the hell off. If that class is so damn important go by yourself.”
My chest was puffing up with each rapid inhale. My eyes stung with rage tears, and I was about two seconds away from losing my shit completely, something that probably wasn’t good for the baby. I counted to ten and tried to calm my breathing before speaking in an even tone.
“Look, I’m sorry you had a bad day. I don’t know what happened, and I wish you would’ve talked to me about it instead of coming in here and acting like an epic dick. You want to be mad about something? Go for it, but you will not talk to me like that ever again. You understand me? I won’t put up with—”
Before I could finish the sentence he cut me off, looking around the kitchen with a pissed-off glower on his face. “You haven’t made dinner yet?”
He did not just say that. My head was going to explode. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I spat out sardonically. “I thought, after working a shift at the diner this morning, then going to school and taking three exams, all while carrying around a million-pound watermelon in my belly and peeing on myself every five steps, that I might take a load off for a second after I got home. You know, kick my feet up in the hopes that the swelling in my ankles would go down so they’d stop looking like elephant trunks! Please forgive me for not having your dinner ready and on the table when you got home!”
He looked at me with flat, emotionless eyes. “No need for the sarcasm. A simple no would’ve been enough.”
“No, asshole, I didn’t make dinner! If you’re so damn hungry you can make something yourself.”
I whipped around, my belly knocking the pretty candle holder I’d picked up for only fifty cents at a garage sale off the counter. It fell to the floor and broke into pieces, but I didn’t bother stopping to clean up the mess. I kept going, snatching my purse off the couch on my way to the door.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“I’m going to my prenatal class, jackass! And by the time I get back, you better have checked your mood, or so help me God, you’ll be sleeping in your truck tonight!”
I slammed the door behind me with a satisfying bang and stomped over to my car. I’d give him this time to cool the hell down and take it for myself to do the same. I knew we’d be fine once I got home, but I was going to make him suffer for a bit, then grovel a lot before I let