Shay:
It had been 2 weeks since the accident. Saint was getting better day by day. Things would get back to normal, or so I thought. I barely had time to open my eyes before the nausea hit me like a freight train. My stomach twisted painfully, and I shot up from the bed, barely making it to the bathroom in time. I gripped the toilet, dry-heaving before the real wave hit, leaving me gasping for air.
"Shay?" Saint’s groggy voice came from the bedroom. I heard the rustle of blankets before his heavy footsteps approached. A second later, he was kneeling beside me, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back.
I groaned, resting my forehead against my arm. "This f*****g sucks, Saint."
He chuckled softly, pushing my tangled hair out of my face. "Morning sickness, huh?"
I shot him
