Page 25 of When She Needs Them Most
So, how the hell is Chelsea going to handle not having a proper nest?
She’s about to pop.
The door opens, and Chelsea comes out, running her hands down her sides. The closer she gets, the easier it is to spot the dark circles under her eyes.
“Thank you so much for letting the repair guy in,” she says, giving a weak smile. “I’m usually a light sleeper. I can’t believe I slept through him knocking or ringing the doorbell.”
“It’s no big deal.” I pat the bed at my side. “Come sit with me.”
She scurries closer in her thick white socks and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress.
Twisting to face her, I say, “None of us liked the idea of you having some strange person in the house. It was a vicious game of rock, paper, scissors, but I won.”
“Wait, you stayed home from work to keep an eye on me?” she asks, squinting.
“Yup. Friendships were tested, but I won, so here I am.” It’s a lie but a little white one.
She laughs, but it sounds weak.
My hands twitch as my instincts scream to pick her up and set her in my lap. She might not want to admit it, but she looks like she feels miserable, and my system seems convinced that snuggling her will help.
Chapter Eleven
Chelsea
Pregnancy is rough. Sometimes when I stand up too fast, my vision goes spotty with little fuzzy stars. My old OB told me it was because all the blood flow goes to the placenta and away from the brain. It can be scary, but it usually passes within a few seconds. The shooting pain that strikes my cervix when I sit down wrong is a whole different type of misery. Add in the swelling, tender breasts, and stretch marks, and it’s hard to view pregnancy as the miracle everyone claims it to be.
Shaking my head, I exhale heavily and try to get myself together.
“Talk to me.” Linc’s jaw flexes, and he doesn’t ask before running his hand over my stomach. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug.
Oh, nothing. I just couldn’t sleep for hours last night because it felt like someone was watching me. The urge to nest is so bad, I don’t even know what to do with myself. And, on top of all of that, I woke up with a headache.
If I start talking, I’m afraid I won’t stop. That all my complaints will come spewing out.
My eyes ache, but I refuse to cry.
I spent most of last night trying to talk myself out of calling the police.
They didn’t take me seriously in Richmond—why would they here?
That led me down a rabbit hole of, would anyone even notice if I was dead? Like, if Emmett came in and murdered me… How long would it take for someone to notice? It’s a terrifying thought because that snowballed into worrying about what would happen to Luna if something happened to me. Her dad dying was a huge wake-up call that our health can fail us at any time.
My mom knew her job could be dangerous, but she always promised she was as safe as possible. And she died on me too.
My head shakes.
No, I can’t give in to those thoughts.
They get you nowhere.
Warm hands brush my sides, and Lincoln lifts me and places me in his lap. I hold myself up on my knees, but there’s nothing to be done about the baby belly pressing against his stomach. His forearm pushes down on my lower back, and my weight comes to rest on his thighs.
A heavy thump fills the air as he kicks out of his shoes. He stretches back, leaning against the pillows. “Okay, now that we’re comfy, go ahead and tell me everything you were just stressing about.” My eyes widen, but he chuckles. “You don’t have a very good poker face.”
My mouth opens and closes, and I desperately try to keep myself from sounding like I’m losing my shit.
