When his gaze dipped to where my fingers were untying the next section, I saw him swallow. When I skimmed my finger down the center of my chest that was, no joke, twice the size I had before getting knocked up, he stepped toward me.
Another thing that had seemed to double in size since getting preggo—my-eggo? My sexual appetite. Which was really unfortunate timing considering Jesse had pretty much declared a freeze in that department because he was freaked out that the combination of being pregnant and orgasming would send my heart into catastrophic overdrive.
Seeing that look in his eyes though . . . matched with the way I felt . . . I found myself checking the door to see if there was a lock. Damn.
Not that I would let that stop me.
When he took another step closer, I lowered my feet to the cool floor and stood. A moment later, I was sitting again, though I didn’t make a conscious decision to do so.
“Rowen?” Jesse rushed toward me, but not in the same way I’d hoped he would. Instead of hunger pulling at his expression, it was worry.
And denied . . .
“I’m fine,” I almost snapped, more because I was frustrated with myself and my overactive hormones and his don’t-break-the-ticker-with-sex policy. “I just got up too fast.” I wanted to reach for my head when another wave of dizziness hit me, but I knew better. If I grabbed my head and closed my eyes after collapsing back down on the exam table, Jesse would stick his head out that door and holler for a doctor to come STAT.
“Lie back down. I’ll get someone.” His hands dropped to my shoulders and he started to guide me back down, but I resisted.
“I’m. Fine.” I focused on his boots, waiting for them to stop going in and out of focus.
I knew what the feeling was. I’d experienced it before. It was a side effect of having a heart that couldn’t deal with too much too fast. The further along I got in the pregnancy, the more frequent the dizzy spells became. Jesse had only been present for a couple of others, but I’d experienced dozens more when he wasn’t around. Jesse had brought it up at our last heart doctor appointment, and he’d recommended I take it easy and try to limit sudden moves to a minimum, which I had, but it was getting worse. How could I limit getting up and down to a minimum?
I felt worry flex its bony fingers around my gut and squeeze, but I didn’t let it show on my face. Jesse’s worry monster was showing enough for the both of us.
“I really think you should lie down,” he said, his hands moving all around me as if he couldn’t figure out what to do but knew he had to do something.
“And I really think you should calm down before you have the heart attack you’re so worried I’ll have.” I took a slow breath then another. Eventually the dizzy haze burned off and I could make out the stitching on Jesse’s boots. “Just give me a hand up, will you?” His hand found mine before I finished my sentence. “Having a stomach the size of Tibet has a way of tipping a person off balance.”
When my eyes met his, I knew he saw through me, and he knew I knew. He knew I was trying to protect him as much as he was trying to protect me. The tricky part for me was that I had to keep my emotions veiled in order to protect him. He had the luxury of letting them go full tilt, which he took advantage of. Frequently.
Hiding my emotions might have been a skill of mine that a ninja would have admired a few years earlier, but I’d lost my edge since meeting Jesse. It was kind of like prying open a clam. Once they’d been broken open, you could try to close the pieces back together, but it was just an appearance. To look inside, all you had to do was lift the top. I thought Jesse knew that, and I loved him all the more for not taking the easy way and just sticking his head inside my closed curtains and looking to see what I was really feeling.
When I was standing beside him, he wrapped his other arm around my waist to steady me should I need it. His eyes were thick with worry, so I concentrated on draining mine of all traces of concern before I let him meet my gaze.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his eyes running down the length of me before returning to mine.
I felt it again—a brief wave of dizziness right before my vision blurred. It passed almost as quickly as it came on though. I nodded and put on a convincing smile. “I’m okay.” My voice sounded strong, just as I’d intended. “Are you okay?”
Jesse swallowed, his throat bobbing as he studied me with heavy eyes. “I’m okay,” he said in the same tone. It was strong, but the kind of strong that was only conjured up to hide what we were really feeling. Scared. Helpless. Weak.
Neither of us would be “okay” until we made it through the next three months. Until we all made it through the next three months.
TRAVELING THREE HUNDRED fifty miles in one day as a pregnant woman was not what I’d consider an ideal situation. Traveling those hundreds of miles while six month pregnant in Old Bessie . . . fell even a few rungs lower on the ideal ladder. The suspension wasn’t bad, but the seats . . . they didn’t recline or decline or any’cline at all. I’d learned to get really creative with a pillow, but each trip got worse. I’d breathe a few sighs of relief once we’d made our temporary move out here in the next couple of weeks and the next time I traveled an endless stretch of I-90 would be sans baby in my stomach.
My doctor appointment had run extra late, so by the time we made it into Missoula, Garth and Josie’s engagement party had already started. After a quick stopover at Willow Springs to unload the luggage and change into clothes less wrinkled from travel and stained with drive-thru Mexican food, we were back in Old Bessie and cruising toward Garth and Josie’s farmhouse, where the festivities were already well under way.