Being rushed into the hospital on a stretcher again is like deja vu. I’m poked, prodded, and hooked up to machines like I was the last time, and Tristan’s expression is just as terrified too as he holds my hand while we wait for the doctor. “You’re sure you didn’t read anything about what might be happening in the book we bought?” I ask. “Not even under the alien section?”

“Cassie, I’m sure.” He lets go of my hand. “Why are you so positive it’s an alien thing?”

I groan as I get kicked by my baby again. “Because human babies don’t hurt their mothers.”

“And Eroscian ones do?” He walks away from me and rakes his hand through his hair before he turns around to speak again. “I’m going to blame this on hormones, because you’re not being rational.”

“Hormones?” I push myself up to sit as anger spikes in me. “Hormones! That is such a male thing to say.”

“I see you’re back,” says Dr. Carroll in a loud voice as she walks in. She glances between Tristan and me as if she’s checking to make sure we aren’t about to exchange blows.

I look at the doctor as I take a moment to compose myself. Paper rustles as she flips through my chart. “Your baby is kicking hard enough to cause you pain?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m not sure if it’s because he’s half alien or what.” Tristan lets out a noise of disgust, and I glare at him.

“Hmmm. I suppose that’s possible, but let’s have a look and see if it might be something else.” She places her hand on my stomach just as the baby kicks again. Dr. Carroll jerks back. “Whoa.” She looks at me with concern. “How long has this been going on?”

“It started about an hour ago. At first I only felt him move, but then it got more painful.”

“How often is it happening?”

“It seems to be lessening,” I say.

“We frequently see babies get active with spikes in blood sugar, but that’s a pretty powerful punch for a seventeen week old fetus,” the doctor says. “Did you eat anything that could have caused this?”

“I had a pear and a handful of chocolate-covered nuts. Could it have been that?”

Her eyes widen. “Chocolate? Yes. That very well could be the problem. Chocolate has caffeine and—”

Realization dawns on me. “And caffeine affects some Eroscians in extreme ways.” I glance over at Tristan.

“Yes,” says Dr. Carroll. “They exhibit increased energy levels and mood swings.”

I recall how much energy Tristan seems to have even with just a few hours of sleep every night. He’s also prone to angry outbursts I don’t recall him ever having before I started bed rest. Rage bubbles inside me, because of all people, Tristan should know better than to be consuming caffeine when he’s working first-hand with addicts. I lash out, “You’ve been drinking coffee! What is wrong with you?”

His jaw drops in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You think I’m drinking coffee? I’ve never touched the stuff.”

“It would explain a lot!”

He throws his hands up in the air. “You’ve got serious issues. Maybe you’re the one on drugs.”

“Nice,” I say as my voice gets louder. “Go ahead and try to turn the blame on me. You’re the—”

“That’s enough!” yells Dr. Carroll. She looks at Tristan. “I’m very sorry, but it’s against the law for me not to test you for caffeine if there is any doubt.”

His jaw gets tight as he scowls, but he manages to stay calm. “You won’t find anything,” he says between his teeth. “I know I’m clean.”

The doctor turns to me. “I’m ordering you not to consume even the smallest amount of caffeine either. I think your baby has a problem with it.” I nod because I think she’s right. She says, “Tristan, come with me.”

After they leave I lie back, and tears fill my eyes. My emotions are all over the place with my pregnancy, and I can’t seem to control the feeling of despair that washes over me. What am I going to do if I’m married to an addict? I flash to the horrible news stories of an Eroscian who chopped up his wife and new baby with a meat cleaver, and I picture Tristan in a wild rage before he returns with Dr. Carroll.

She approaches me with supplies used for a blood draw. “Cassie, I’d like to test your caffeine levels too. The data I collect could be helpful for diagnosing this in the future.”

I sniff back my tears. “I’m sorry. Of course.” I inhale a shaky breath. “I’m not sure why I’m crying.” Tears are still streaming down my face as I reach for Tristan. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

He comes to my side and leans in to kiss my cheek. “I apologize for getting angry too.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Two weeks ago I was a force in the courtroom, and now I flip flop between crying and yelling.”

Dr. Carroll smiles at me, and a needle pinches my skin as she inserts it. “Pregnancy hormones can do that.”

When the doctor is applying a bandage to my arm a nurse comes to the doorway for her, and Dr. Carroll excuses herself. A chair scrapes across the floor as Tristan drags it over so he can sit by my bed. He says, “I know I’ve been short with you lately, and it’s because—”

“Tristan Nichols,” barks out a man as he and another enter the room, and I immediately recognize them as police officers. I gasp when one holds up a pair of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for caffeine consumption.”

“That can’t be,” says Tristan. He stands up. “This is insane.”

Oh my god. My husband will lie to the police too? He grunts in pain as an officer yanks his hands behind his back and the cuffs click shut. “There has to be a mistake,” says Tristan. “I would never consume caffeine. I work with—”

Tristan may be stupid enough to be hopped-up on caffeine, and I really want to scream at him for it right now, but he is also the father of my child. I quickly morph into lawyer mode to cut him off. “Stop.” I say. “Tristan. Don’t utter one more word. Not a single one. Got it?”

My husband looks at me with fear in his eyes, and I get it. Our prison guards fear aliens and treat them harshly. The officer proceeds to read Tristan his rights as my mind races with what to do. When the officer is done I say to Tristan, “I’ll get you counsel. Sit tight and we’ll figure this out.”

“I’m not consuming caffeine, Cassie. You have to believe me.”

I nod at him as my eyes fill with tears again. Addiction is a disease, and my husband can’t help himself. But I also know he can get clean, and no matter how pissed off I may be, I still love him. I say, “It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

The moment Tristan is gone I grab my phone out of my pocket. I have dozens of colleagues I could call, but I only trust one person to do what needs to be done. I call Henry Wyatt.

“Cassie Nichols, my favorite attorney. I’ve missed you, my dear.”

“Thanks, Henry. I’ve missed you too. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“No. It’s never a bad time for you.”

I take deep breath. “You might not say so after I tell you why I called.”

His voice takes on a serious tone. “What is it?”

“It’s Tristan. The police just took him away for caffeine consumption.”

“He’s been charged?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous. The young man has never touched caffeine.”

I love that Henry thinks so highly of my husband, and I let out a small noise of pain before I say, “He tested positive, Henry.” Dr. Carroll is listening to my conversation as she waits to speak to me, and she crosses her arms with a scowl on her face as if she thinks I’m defending an abusive man.

Henry says, “Something’s wrong here. Very wrong. I’m glad you called me, because your husband is going to need the best counsel he can have. Other than you, I believe that’s me.”

I smile at his ego and his flattery. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“Can you meet me at the station?”

“Yes.” I glance over at the wheelchair sitting in the corner. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to worry. I hate to lose.”

I let out a dry chuckle. “I know. I’ll see you at the station.”

Once I end my call, Dr. Carroll speaks in a calm manner. “Cassie. I witnessed Tristan’s outburst, and the tests don’t lie. He’s got a problem.”

I say, “I’m aware of that, doctor.” I’m disappointed in Tristan, and myself, because apparently after all those years of doing my best to avoid it, I married a man similar to my father. I wonder if perhaps that’s the only kind of person I’m capable of loving. It saddens me I may have to relive a version of my childhood, but at least I’m no longer a helpless teen struggling to get by. I take in Dr. Carroll’s judgmental expression and want to smack it off her face. I say, “He’s my husband.”

“You can get another. My advice to you is to send him back.”

I stare at her in disbelief. I’ve encountered a fair number of racists in my line of work, but it still surprises me. I say, “Please bring me my paperwork. I’m not staying.”

Dr. Carroll shakes her head as if I’m a stupid girl. “If you go, understand it’s against medical advice.”

“I accept full responsibility.” I cock an eyebrow at her the way I do a petulant paralegal, and the doctor glares at me for a moment before she leaves to do as I asked.

I think about how Tristan reacted when the truth about his addiction came out, and I recall the way my father refused to admit he had a problem until it was too late. I’m going to have to lay down some laws for my husband. He needs to take responsibility for his actions. But before I draw my line in the sand, I need to get him out of jail. I glance up when a nurse walks in with my paperwork and ask, “How much does it cost to rent a wheelchair?”