Page 80 of Louder Than Words

I wait a few seconds, turning my words over in my head, careful not to say the wrong thing.

“I know I don’t know a whole lot… but I do know every pregnancy is—”

“Stop,” she snaps, her eyes locking onto mine. Tears well up, and she shakes her head slowly—and I’m fucking gutted. “Please.”

I reach up, brushing my thumb gently across her cheek as my heart cracks into a million bloody pieces. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “I’m just worried, and I think—”

She throws out her hand, palm pressed against my chest. “Iknowyou’re trying to help, Jax, but this isn’t helping,” she says, voice breaking.

My hand moves to her hair, fingers threading through the strands as I draw her close, holding her gently against me while she cries.

I rock her back and forth, letting her unleash everything.

Her breath shakes against me, and I swear I can feel every piece of her soul chipping away—exactly the way I knew it would. And I keep every promise I made and try to become the glue that holds it together.

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” I murmur softly, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

When her breathing slows, I feel her relax into me slightly.

“I don’t want to test and see a negative, Jax. Even though we haven’t started trying, right now I know it’ll haunt me,” she admits quietly into my shirt.

“Okay,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Let me get you some water, at least.”

She nods, and I carefully maneuver my way out of the bathroom. The second the door clicks shut behind me, I drag my hands down my face, then brace myself against the kitchen counter, trying not to kick myself in the arse.

I didn’t want to upset her, but for Christ’s sake, I don’t understand how anyone can throw up that much. The only people I’ve ever seen that sick were hungover lads after a full night of drinking—and I know for bloody certain Allie hasn’t had a drink since that Halloween party. So that’s definitely not it.

I linger outside the door, giving her a few minutes to herself before I have to go in and be the arse again. The one who keeps bringing up things neither of us have control over.

With her water in one hand and a clean washcloth in the other, I ease the door open and step inside. She’s now sitting on the edge of the tub, her hands cradling her face.

I set the water beside her and kneel in front of her.

She looks up, eyes red and puffy, and my heart twists in a million fucking directions.

“I don’t want to know, Jax,” she says, shaking her head.

“I know, lo—”

“I took one—foryou. It’s on the counter, but I don’t want to know,” she says, her sobs cutting her off.

If I thought my heart was twisting before, this completely rips it apart.

Why the fuck did I even say anything? I should’ve just kept my bloody mouth shut.

I lean in to kiss her cheek, but she holds a hand up, stopping me.

“Just look. Please.”

I straighten up, knees heavy like they’ve got cinderblocks strapped to them, and swipe the test off the counter.

I don’t even want to look at the bloody thing. Not when I know how much this is tearing her apart. She says she doesn’t want to know—but the second I have to tell her it’s negative, her whole world is going to crack open all over again.

My eyes flick down, not even needing to linger since the answer is clear as day. I set it back down carefully, then kneel in front of her again with my heart lodged in my throat.

I swallow hard, blinking back the sudden rush of tears as I hold her tight.

She buries her face in my neck, her tears cool against my skin.