Hooked

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Dependent

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Chapter Thirty-Seven: Dependent

Waking up and staying up was the most difficult part. I had constant anxiety that my baby had been harmed during the wreck, and for two days I lay in bed huddled around my stomach, consumed by my own thoughts and guilt.

What if my baby had died? I didn't know what I would do. Even worse, Adrian didn't know the baby existed. I couldn't bring myself to confide in him, worried that I'd only hurt him by telling him that our baby was dead and that he'd never had a chance to be happy about its life. So I kept quiet, and I could barely hold a conversation because my thoughts were rushing through my head so quickly.

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

"Leave that. I'll get it."

I closed my eyes and forced back my sigh of frustration. Placing the dishes back on the table, I turned around and found my mate standing at the door of the dining room.

I opened my mouth but changed my mind. "It's fine. I've got it." I picked up the stacked plates and silverware again and walked past him into the kitchen. I'd barely begun to wash them when I felt his eyes burning a hole in my back. His silence was deafening.

"Baby, stop," he implored me. "Let me help you."

I stared at the hideous yellow gloves on my hands and cursed my affinity to water.  Lost in the offensive color, I didn't hear him move behind me until his chest was pressed to my back.

"Adrian, stop it." I tore off the gloves and slammed them on the countertop. "You've been treating me like glass for a week! I'm not that damned fragile. Getting into one wreck doesn't make me completely helpless."

He didn't let my frustration deter him. Staring into my eyes, unblinking, he said firmly, "Getting into one wreck and then walking around barely saying a word for a week may not make you helpless, but it does drive me insane worrying about you and why you won't talk to me. Did something happen in the car? Did someone drive you off the road? You won't tell me a damn thing."

"Stop. Nothing happened in the car. I'm completely fine," I said, trying not to cry. I was suddenly so overwhelmed and knew the dry-sobs would only upset my stomach more.

He gripped my arms firmly, still careful not to apply too much pressure. "You're out of the bed every morning when I wake up, and I know you go to sleep after me, even though you pretend to be sleeping the second your head hits the pillow. I'm aware that something is bothering you, but worrying about you and trying to figure out how to run this pack are close to making me lose my damned mind. Please, cut me some slack, because I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

I took his hand and directed him to the living room. I sat on the sofa and waited for him to do the same, and when he did, I took a deep breath.

"Nothing is wrong," I said, and I held my hand up when he began to protest. "In fact, I think everything is going very well. The only thing you have to worry about is losing more sleep."

"How is losing sleep something to be happy over?"

"Because it'll make this house a little more full."

He stared at me for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed slightly. "Sophie, I told you we could get a dog. Why would you be so quiet and secretive about that all week?"