Morning sickness is a misleading term. They should call it all the frigging time sickness. Since I found out I’m pregnant I have not stopped throwing up—at least that’s how it feels. The doctor said it would ease down at the end of the first trimester, but that didn’t happen. She muttered something about being ‘unlucky’ and said I might be one of those unfortunate women who just puke their way right to the end. Yippee, yay me. So for the fourth time today, my head is down the toilet and my dinner is making its grand re-entrance. 

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I’m tired, so tired. I’m supposed to glow, but I’m washed out in a way that no makeup can fix, and dead on my feet. I have no idea how Dean still finds me attractive. I look terrible. With four months still to go, I don’t know how I’m going to drag myself to the end of this pregnancy. 

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I rub a hand over my growing bump, willing my stomach to settle enough for me to get back to the living room and finish our meal. I’m getting fed up of having to duck off all the time to vomit, or pee. Everyone is used to it, but it’s annoying. Tears threaten to spill. Oh, God, I don’t need to cry either. If I’m not vomiting or peeing, I’m sobbing. I let out a shaky breath. 

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“You better appreciate this, kid,” I murmur to my belly. 

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“Darlin’, you okay in there?” Dean’s voice sounds outside the bathroom. 

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Great. Like he needs to see me looking any more unattractive than he already has over the past few months. Daily bouts of projectile vomiting are not sexy. 

“I’ll just be a second,” I tell him, as my stomach contracts and I retch.

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He tries the door, and I’m grateful I locked it. “Liv, let me in.” 

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“I’ll be out in a moment.” I heave again. 

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“Open the door.” 

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A little busy here, babe…

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The door rattles and for a moment, I’m worried he’s going to put his foot to it, so I slide the bolt back behind me and he’s instantly pushing into the room. This is not the best idea, given how big he is, but somehow he manages to get down onto the balls of his feet next to me, one hand going to the edge of the bath to balance himself. The concern in his face both cuts through me and warms me. I hate worrying him, but I also don’t know how to stop what’s happening to my body. I give him a smile I hope is reassuring.

​

“Your kid doesn’t like anything I feed it.” I sound a little wry.

​

He doesn’t laugh. His lips stay pulled into a tight line. “Maybe we need to go back to the doctor. I don’t like that you’re chucking up like this all the time.” 

“I’m not enamoured with the idea much myself,” I admit. “But what can the doctor do anyway? I’m pretty sure this is part of the gig.” 

His fingers wrap around my neck, stroking the skin gently and I relax into his touch. “Do you think you can get up? Or do you still need to puke?” 

I assess what my stomach is doing. It seems to have settled out of critical levels into a safer area since that last round of heaving. “I think I’m done.” 

Dean, my handsome man, holds his hands out to me, and helps me to my feet. He’s so gentle, so careful getting me up off the tiles. “Don’t lock the door when you’re being sick. I don’t like you being in here on your own.” 

“Throwing up isn’t really a team game, Dean.” 

He scowls at me, and boy, can he scowl. “Darlin’, I can be with you while you’re doing it, holding your hair, rubbing your back, getting you what you need. I can’t do that if you lock the fucking door. What if you pass out or something? Beautiful, I need to be able to reach you.” 

He’s so sweet, he makes my heart ache. I stroke his face, his beard scratchy beneath my fingers. “How’d I get so lucky?” 

“It’s me who’s lucky. I’ll take care of you, darlin’, always.” 

“I know, but I’m okay. Me and your spawn are both okay.” 

This makes him laugh a little, and his tattooed hand strokes over my stomach. “You need to give your mum a break, kid.” 

My heart swells hearing him talking to our baby—a baby that was one hundred percent not planned. I had no idea I was pregnant when Simon came into my house and hurt me. If I had known, I would have fought harder than I did to protect us both. As it was, I hit him over the head and managed to escape the house while he was out cold, but I didn’t know I had a little life nestled deep in my womb.

When the doctor told me about the pregnancy while I was in the hospital, I panicked. Dean and I hadn’t been together that long. I had no clue if he wanted kids, if he wanted kids with me. I was terrified he would leave me. I should have known better. He’s been the best partner I could have hoped for, better than I could have dreamed of. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to believe Dean is real, but I figure he’s the universe’s way of making up for the hell it put me through with Simon. Years and years of abuse, of pain, of fear. I was owed a break. I didn’t expect to find love again. I certainly didn’t expect to find it with a man like Dean. 

My thoughts scatter as he leans forward and kisses my forehead. “I’d kiss your mouth, but you have vomit breath.” 

I blink at him, then I laugh. “Is this the end of the honeymoon period?” 

But he’s not wrong. My mouth tastes disgusting. I reach in the cabinet for my toothbrush and the toothpaste.

He leans against the opposite wall while I clean my teeth, wash my face and redo my hair, watching me in the mirror over the sink as I work. He’s so gorgeous, and I can’t help the desire pooling between my legs as I study his reflection. I never thought I would find tattoos and a beard attractive, but Dean is so hot, he makes me squirm. I love everything about him, right down to the copper flecks in his dark facial hair and the ring through his nose. 

When I’m done, he comes up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist to rest under my belly, his nose going to the crook of my neck as his mouth presses to the side of my throat. 

“I’m sorry you’re having such a shitty time.” 

My hands meet his on my stomach. 

“It’s not that bad. And the end result is a baby,” I tell him. “It’ll be worth it.”

He splays his hand over my bump. “It’ll be worth it,” he repeats. “Thank you, for giving me this gift, Liv.” 

Tears well in my eyes. 

“You can’t say shit like this to a hormonal woman.” My voice sounds choked.

He kisses my neck. “I love you.” 

“Even though I’m a puking whale who causes you endless problems?” I whisper. 

His body stiffens behind me. “Darlin’… what the fuck? Are you nuts? You’re none of those things.” 

I glance down. “Today kind of suggests otherwise.” 

It was hell. For two hours we were forced to sit in our solicitor’s office listening to our hack brief tell us that six months is not considered a ‘reasonable attempt’ to find Simon so we can serve divorce papers to him. Considering Kingsley Police Force hasn’t been able to locate him either since he disappeared after abducting Beth and Dean, I have no idea how we’re expected to find him. And they have far more resources than we do. 

His hand moves to my chin, forcing my head up, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror. I see the censure there. “Don’t ever say that shit again.” 

The bathroom suddenly feels too small. I need space, I need air, I need to be away from his scrutiny. I release a shaky breath as I try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let me go. 

“No. Don’t you do that. Don’t you push me away.” 

“I’m not.” 

I am. Guilt claws at me. Every mess that has existed in the Club in the last six months, longer in fact, is because of me. And still the pain continues because of me. 

“Liv.” The warning cracks in his voice, but I pull free of his grip. He lets me go, but I suspect it’s only so I don’t hurt myself trying to get away from him. I make it as far as the door before I stop. I can’t look at him, but I hold the door frame, gripping it like a lifeline as I say, “There’s still time, Dean.” 

“For what?” he demands. “Liv, for what?” 

I glance up at the ceiling in the landing, wondering if I can escape this conversation, but I know my man. He won’t let this go.

He doesn’t. He grabs my arm, his touch firm enough to get my attention but not hurt me. He’d never hurt me. Dean is nothing like Simon. For all his tattoos and his swagger and his overbearing alpha maleness, Dean would never use violence against a woman. Against men… yeah, I have no doubt he has inflicted pain, but he has a code. The whole Club does. 

“Liv, look at me.” 

I follow his command without protest and when I turn back to him, he steps back, dropping his hands to his hips. He looks so good standing there, his narrow waist encased in his perfectly fitted jeans, his eyes hard but imploring me to talk to him, his mouth so kissable beneath the scruff of hair covering his face. My feet itch to move to him, but I stay rooted to the floor. 

“Time for what?” he repeats.

I swallow hard. “For you to run, to leave me.” I smile as I say it, but I’m only half-joking. I want to give him an out. I’ve brought him so many problems, most of which stem from my stupid ex-husband. 

His body goes wired tight and his eyebrows draw together. “I’m not going anywhere. Darlin’, I can’t breathe without you.” 

He’s completely serious. It both scares me and warms me that he feels this depth of love for me. I’m not sure I’m worthy of it. 

I sag against the wall near the door. “I wish you could leave me, Dean. It would make your life so much easier, and I wish I was the kind of selfless person who could give you up, but I’m not. I’m selfish. I need you too much.” 

The space between us is closed as he steps into it and draws me into his arms, pulling me against him like I’m his lifeline. “Then quit talking like that. You scare me half to death when you say about me leaving you. You’re mine, darlin’. Mine. And I don’t give a shit what a piece of paper says. Liv Wilson, Liv Lawler—fuck, it doesn’t matter. You are mine.” 

I close my eyes and my stomach roils, and this time not from morning sickness, but from a different kind of sickness. Technically, I’m still married to Simon. After I fled Bedford and our marriage, I was so scared he’d try to find me, I just disappeared. I didn’t file for divorce because that would mean telling him where I was. Safe Shelter, the domestic violence charity that helped me escape and that I now work at alongside my friend and boss Holly, didn’t think it would be a good idea to broadcast my location by filing to terminate our marriage. At the time, I didn’t think I would ever get near another man again, so I didn’t care about a piece of paper saying I was married. Now, I have Dean and I know it weighs on him that I don’t have his name, no matter what he says. He’s put his property patch on my back, but I know he wants that divorce, too. He wants to put his ring on my finger and make me his in every way that matters, but until we can get the paperwork finalised it can’t happen. 

And that is proving difficult. 

We have to jump through the legal hoops before we can get it done. I have no idea how long it will take, but I’m eager to close that chapter of my life as well.  

His hand collars the back of my neck and I lean into his touch. “I’m yours,” I agree. “But you do so much for me, Dean. I wish I could give you this. I know how much it means to you.” 

“You having our kid,” he says as his hand presses against my stomach, “that means more. A name is just a name. You’re a Lawler no matter what a shitty piece of paper says.” He swipes at the tears working down my cheeks. “I love you, do you hear me?” 

I nod. “I hear you.” 

And I do. I hear it because he says it to me daily and unlike everyone else in my life who has said they love me, Dean means it when he says it.