Twenty
Porter
When I woke a few hours, the first thing I noticed was the pain in my knee. I definitely overdid it last night, but I wasn’t taking a second back.
The second thing I noticed, not even a millisecond after the pain set in, was that I was alone.
Fear gripped my belly as I sat up, looking around.
There was a light on in the main living space of the suite. Not bothering with my brace, I moved to stand, grimacing at the sharp pain that radiated down my leg.
Yeah. Overdid it.
I reached for one of the crutches, propping it under my right arm before moving out of bedroom.
“Asher?” I called out, but she didn’t answer.
The room was empty but then I heard her.
She was retching in the bathroom.
Frowning, I made my way there and pushed the door open. “Asher.” She was sitting on the floor, her legs curled to her side, as one hand held back her hair and the other held her forehead, her elbow perched on the toilet seat, holding her face up.
She dry heaved into the bowl, the horrific sound echoing in the walls. Nothing was coming up.
Of course, it wasn’t.
Last night she fucking vomited water.
There wasn’t anything in her.
I cursed myself for being so fucking insensitive to her. I knew she had an empty stomach. I should have fed her.
I hobbled into the bathroom, leaving the crutch to lean on the sink as I moved to sit on the tub ledge beside her. I reached for her hair.
“What’s wrong, Ash?” The question sounded stupid coming out of my mouth. This was the second time she was puking—trying to—in less than twelve hours. “Are you okay?” Another stupid question, but I was helpless.
She sat back and held the back of her hand to her mouth. “I think I’m fine now,” she managed before her eyes flared and her chin dropped. She turned her face back to the bowl but again, nothing came up.
“Asher, how long have you been sick?”
She shook her head and shakily reached to flush the toilet. “Off and on for a few weeks,” she said.
My world narrowed in, those words bringing me fear and excitement, but I had to know…
“Could you be pregnant?”
Her head turned to me and, with tears filling her eyes—either from puking or the thought, I couldn’t be sure—she shook her head.
“You sure?”
The left-right motion of her head paused, but slowly began again.
“I hoped it was just a bug. It’s just a bug, Porter,” her voice pleaded with me. “I’m on birth control!”
I stared down at her before saying, “This continues, and you’re taking a test.”
“It’s just a bug.”
But an hour later, when I emerged from the shower, fresh with the aftershave she once picked out for me, and she raced for the bathroom again, I put my foot down.
“You’re taking a test, Asher.”
“My stomach just isn’t happy, Porter. I’ll eat something. Toast.”
I could see the thought of food wasn’t very appealing to her, but we ordered room service, the entire time my eyes watching her.
She seemed to get over the worst of it as we sat, waiting for breakfast to arrive, watching television.
What if she was pregnant?
I couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit ecstatic.
Fuck it. I would be fucking thrilled.
So, when breakfast came and her face turned green, my decision was made.
“We’re stopping for a test.”
Asher
Terrified didn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling.
We decided to wait until after we got back to the house, to go to the store and pick up a test. When Nico met us at the truck to leave, everything was status quo—back to the way things were before.
Porter didn’t bring our current thoughts—fears—up to Nico, and he was none the wiser.
Before I got out of the truck, Nico stopped me. “You’re good?”
I gave him a small smile. “I’m good.” I jumped out of the truck but, before closing the door, I added, “Thank you.”
Nico winked at me. “No thanks needed. I was done dealing with his mopey ass.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrugged.
“It’s good to see you again, Ash.”
“You too, Nico.”
I closed the door and, after pulling my suitcase from the bed of the truck, met Porter halfway up the walk. “Can we wait?” I wanted to put it off a little longer.
He searched my face. “Asher, you haven’t eaten in hours. If it comes back negative, you’re going to the doctor. Fuck, it comes up positive, you’re going to the doctor.”
I shook my head, my voice soft but filled with fear. “I can’t be someone’s mom.”
“Just a step at a time, Ash. Let’s drop off your stuff, I’m gonna change, and then we’re heading to the store. ‘Kay?”
I swallowed then nodded. “Okay.”
I walked beside him slowly, even though he did really well with his crutch. I’d rather he used both of them, but he swore he only needed the one.
When Porter unlocked the door, Caine came barreling at us. With a smile, I dropped to my knees and allowed the large pup to run into my arms, his tongue on my face as I squeezed my eyes—my face—tight.
“Hello, Caine. I’ve missed you,” I told him.
“C’mon, Caine, in the house, bud,” Porter said above us and I stood tall, grabbing my bag and stepping into the house.
I knew he’d sent back my things, but I wasn’t prepared for how bare the place looked now.
Gone were the pictures from the walls.
I pinched my lips together and had to look around, trying to find a wall, something, that wouldn’t have me sad with what I tried to give up.
Porter, who had moved into the house and was dropping his keys onto the counter, looked over his shoulder at me. “I couldn’t look at them,” he admitted quietly and I nodded.
What else could I do? How else could I respond?
“We can put them back up,” he added and I nodded again.
“Okay.”
“I’m going to shower.”
Again, I nodded then watched as he took off down the small hallway to the master bedroom.
Caine had moved off to his dog pillow in the living room, happily gnawing on an antler. I propped my bag against the wall that once housed all the canvas prints of us and the rest of the family. I brushed my hand along the currently bare wall and sighed.
Walking into the kitchen, I saw Caine’s bowl water bowl was empty. I bent down and, while his food bowl was empty, the lingering smell had my stomach rolling.
I puffed out my cheeks and tried to fight the nausea.
I’d been feeling iffy the last few weeks, but it really took a front seat these last two days.
It had to be stress.
Just stress.
After the feeling left, I stood with his bowl and filled it, returning it to the mat. I leaned against the counter and looked around, at once feeling both at home, and out of place. I didn’t know what to do.
I heard the shower turn off, followed by a thump and a loud curse.
Eyes wide, I pushed away from the counter and raced down the hall, pushing into the bedroom. “Porter?”
I hesitated by the bathroom door, rapping my knuckles against it instead of pushing through. “Porter? Are you okay?”
“I just fucking caught my bad leg on the lip of the tub,” I heard him mumble. “Fuck, that hurts.”
I pulled my lips in and rested my head on the door. “Can I do something for you?”
“Yeah. Google fucking reno people who can take out fucking ancient shower-tub combos.” He continued to mumble something under his breath and, feeling helpless, I stepped back to sit on the bed.
The room was nearly how it was the last time I’d been in it. My nightstand was now empty of any knickknacks, but Porter’s still had his Bri-bear.
And the small square picture of us.
My eyes filled with tears again and I moved to sit on his side of the bed, picking it up. He removed everything but this picture.
When the bathroom door opened, my head shot up, my eyes locking on his. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” he said grumpily. He’d put on sweatpants but nothing else before emerging from the bathroom, and now he limped over to me, plopping down next to me with a groan. I looked down at his leg, trying to determine if he had his brace on or not.
“Yes, it’s on.”
I lifted my brows and looked up at him.
“I just overdid it yesterday, and catching my foot on the tub didn’t help matters.”
“Okay.” I regarded him before asking, “Will you be able to play at all this season? I know Avery said it was likely, but what do your therapists say?”
“I should be able to. I’ll be starting an aggressive PT schedule next week so long as I don’t fuck it up before then. I’m serious, that tub has to go.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “I don’t know that Jane will go for that kind of remodel, Porter,” I said, speaking of our landlady.
His face turned into a sheepish grin before he looked away. “Yeah, well. We own the place now.”
My brows rose quickly. “You bought it?”
He shrugged and looked down, his fingers picking at his pants. “Yeah. It was your wedding gift.”
“Oh, Porter,” I whispered, and he turned his head toward me, his grin having gone sad.
“It’s good,” he said, blowing it off. “Are you going to shower or are we going to the store now?”
I ought to shower. I ought to buy myself time.
Instead, I swallowed hard. “I guess we should just get this done.”