Hook, Line, and Sinker (Flirting with the Zodiac Book 1) Page 8

  Spice assaulted his nose; that was normal. In fact, that was one of the reasons Raoul insisted on this place; it was a hole in the wall, but they served authentic Indian cuisine, spicy enough to make your eyes water and your tongue burn.

  Ty turned away, inhaling again. Val lifted a brow. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” he replied, then turned back to the food. He grabbed at the curry, then promptly dropped it back into the bag and bolted for the bathroom.

  Val wasn’t far behind him. She loomed over him as he dry-heaved over the toilet bowl.

  He sat back at last, inhaling deeply. She closed the door. “You wanna take another test?” she asked, and he turned back and actually puked.

  He heaved a couple of times, then looked at her. “I’m fine,” he said, “I swear. I felt fine before, it’s not like …”

  Val hummed, then grabbed a box out of one of the cupboards. He glared at her. “You just keep those things kicking around?”

  “And morning-after pills,” she said nonchalantly, dragging the test out of the box. “Okay, give me a finger to prick, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “The fuck, Val, that reference doesn’t even make sense—”

  She grabbed him by the hand anyway and forced him to uncurl his fingers. She stabbed him, and he glowered at her as the initial shock faded. She dropped the sample into the developer, then shut it and glared at him.

  They had to wait five minutes, which was agony, because neither of them wanted to speak. They just kept glaring at each other, until Ty finally looked away because he felt dizzy.

  “Val?!” Raoul hollered from the kitchen.

  “Just a minute!” she barked back. She didn’t even take her eyes off Ty.

  The timer on the developer buzzed. The ringing went on and on, until Val finally said, “You wanna open it or …”

  “You do it.” He stared at the wall.

  “Okay.” There was some clacking and shuffling. Then silence reigned.

  “Well?” He looked up at her; she pressed her lips together, then looked down at the result again.

  He gritted his teeth. “Valerie.”

  “You might wanna rethink blazing with us tonight.” She lifted her gaze again. She bit her lip, apparently trying to hold back a smile.

  “Fuck,” he spat, then shuffled to her side, bumping shoulders with her so he could see. Sure enough, two pink lines decorated the box, along with the message “pregnant.” “I tested, like, three days ago, how didn’t it pick that up?”

  Val shrugged and set the test down on the counter. Ty peered at it again, feeling a little lightheaded, like his feet weren’t on the ground. Like he was floating. He swallowed nausea and gripped the counter to ground himself.

  Val regarded him warily. “You gonna be okay? Gonna throw up again?”

  “Maybe,” he murmured. They’d actually done it. They were gonna have a baby.

  Ty turned around, leaned back against the counter so he could rub his hands over his face. It didn’t seem real—like it was something happening to someone else, far away. Not him.

  He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Maybe that it would take a little longer? Not on, like, the first try? That his hormones would need to straighten out and he’d have to have a cycle or two after having been on the ring for so long?

  Figured he of all people would get knocked up first thing.

  “You want me to get Lawrence?”

  He looked at Val, wide-eyed. “Uh.”

  She frowned. “It is Lawrence’s, isn’t—”

  “Yes!” Ty snapped, then dragged hand down his face. “Yes. I guess … I should tell him, huh?”

  “Only if you want to right now. I mean, it’s early, right?” She gave him a guilty look; the implication hung heavy in the air.

  Ty dug his hands into the countertop hard. “Get Lawrence,” he almost hissed, fighting the rising bile in his throat.

  Val darted out of the room; the door bounced against the jamb but didn’t close the entire way. He stared at his feet, curled his toes against the peeling linoleum.

  She was right that he didn’t have to tell Lawrence. Just in case. Didn’t have to get his hopes up, just in case.

  But there was no way Ty was going through that agony by himself again. Last time, he hadn’t had a choice—his Scorpiate fling had only been on Mars for a brief shore leave, departed after two weeks.

  It had really been for the best, but …

  The door nudged open, and Lawrence peeked in. “Fishy?” he asked, and Ty bit his lip because he didn’t think he could manage a smile. He bounced his knee, agitation beginning to build.

  Lawrence crowded into the tiny room, shutting the door behind him. “Hey!” Val cried, but they ignored her.

  “What’s up?” Lawrence asked, planting his hands on either of Ty’s shoulders, blue gaze boring down into Ty’s.

  Ty pointed, watched confusion ride across Lawrence’s expression; recognition smoothed his features again. “Oh,” he said finally, and Ty could feel his hands trembling.

  “Yeah. Oh.”

  The taller man sucked in a huge breath, then looked at him. “Um, are … you feeling okay?”

  “Okay enough,” Ty answered, still bouncing that knee. “Little nauseous, I guess.”

  “You been feeling off for a few days now?”

  Ty shook his head. “Felt fine until you brought in the food. Tested a few days ago, didn’t think …”

  Lawrence inhaled sharply again; his gaze was fixed on the test. Ty’s laughter was shaky, caught in his throat. “Good thing Val made me, I was gonna blaze with everyone tonight if I wasn’t, figured …”

  Lawrence crushed him into a hug, strong arms wrapped around him, and Ty could scarcely breathe. “Starfish,” Lawrence practically breathed into his hair, awe and reverence and a little bit of trepidation in his tone.

  Ty clawed at his back. “Don’t,” he snarled, “don’t you dare.”

  “Oh my God, Ty.”

  “Shut up, Lawrence.” He dragged himself back, scrubbing at his own eyes. “You’re a jerk if you make me cry.”

  “Guess I’m a jerk then,” Lawrence murmured, and Ty shut his eyes tight, gritted his teeth.

  “You assholes done in there?!” Raoul hollered.

  “Some of us need to piss!”

  “Fuck off, Ali, they’re having a moment!”

  “Val, I swear, if they’re banging in there—”

  Lawrence hung his head, and Ty rolled his eyes skyward, dragged his hands down his face.

  Eleven

  Lawrence insisted on accompanying ty to the doctor on Monday. After that, they were going to drop off invitations to Ty’s parents in Southside. At least, that was the plan, but Ty had spent most of the weekend throwing up, so they weren’t sure that they wouldn’t be going home or maybe even to the hospital.

  Ty didn’t remember the last round being so awful, but then, it had been six, seven years ago and he hadn’t just come off some kind of birth control. So maybe he’d changed. Or maybe it had been this awful, and he just didn’t remember it.

  He puked again before they left, and Lawrence kept a steady hand on his shoulder, his back the entire trip to Dr. K’s office. The day was one of the balmier ones they’d had so far—seemed someone had finally remembered the thermostat in the spheres could be turned up, that they didn’t have to live in snow and cold for six months of the year.

  The snow was melting and the sound of water rushing away down the streets was almost invigorating. The breeze was warmer, gentler, and the simulated daylight was brighter somehow.

  They took the L train six stops up, to what was vaguely known as the Aquifer, where immigrants from Piscea, Ceteron, and Harriot congregated. The Piscean embassy wasn’t too far. They walked the three blocks to the shoddy buildings where Dr. K’s office was located. Lawrence milled awkwardly about the waiting room, trying in vain to look interested in some of the artwork, only to balk when he realized it was of loosely disguised vaginas. Ty signed i
n and wished Lawrence had stayed home. He did not need to be anxious about what everyone in the room was thinking, but there he was, acutely feeling all eyes on him.

  They sat quietly in one corner of the waiting room, Lawrence looking at him quizzically, and Ty refusing to speak in case he threw up.

  Finally, the nurse called them in. He frowned at Lawrence, but said nothing when Ty all but dragged the other man along with him.

  Lawrence sat primly in one of the chairs, while Ty settled himself on the examination table. “Doing okay, fishy?” Lawrence asked when the door was closed.

  “Mm,” Ty replied, because he still wasn’t sure of his stomach. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to talk to the doctor if he thought his guts were gonna spill out on the floor.

  The door ripped open, and Dr. K stormed in, a flurry of stethoscope and cardigan. “Good morning,” he said, then paused and pointed at Lawrence. “You know it’s one patient at a time, right?”

  “I’m the insurance,” Lawrence explained, and the doctor’s eyebrows shot into his hairline as he twisted to look at Ty. “Besides,” Lawrence continued, “I think you’ll be treating two patients at once for the next little while.”

  “No,” Dr. K basically gasped, and Ty clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting all over his shoes.

  “Took a test Friday night,” Lawrence said.

  “Positive, I’m assuming.”

  “Urk,” Ty managed, then shook his head when both of them looked at him.

  “Throwing up since then,” Lawrence finished, then grimaced as Ty slipped off the bed and ducked his head into the sink. “With disturbing regularity.”

  Ty couldn’t hear them over the sound of himself vomiting. It echoed in the basin, and that just made him puke harder.

  “Trouble keeping fluids down?” Dr. K was asking when Ty finally resurfaced.

  “Yeah, pretty much everything’s coming up.” Lawrence sounded worried.

  Ty swallowed a couple of times, and someone handed him a paper cup full of water. He rinsed his mouth gratefully, then slunk back to the table. “So, kiddo, that doesn’t sound so good.”

  “Mm,” Ty agreed.

  “You managed to keep anything down over the last three days?”

  “Little bit,” Ty replied. Raoul had dropped by last night with some electrolyte mix or something. He’d apparently asked his sister—a nurse—when Lawrence had been texting him about moving a planned gaming session because Ty couldn’t stop throwing up.

  “Nothing solid,” Lawrence said.

  “Water?”

  “Pedialyte.”

  Dr. K nodded, but his face was a grimace. “You’ve lost weight?”

  Ty gave him a tired look. Dr. K glared. “I’m trying to make a diagnosis, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Get fluids into you, keep your diet bland, eat what you can stomach, basically. If you can’t keep anything down, go to the hospital, get some fluids.”

  “Okay.”

  The doctor turned back to his notes, grumbling a little. “I told you not to get knocked up first go,” he muttered.

  “Is it really his fault?” Lawrence asked.

  “Completely,” Dr. K replied. He looked at Ty. “We’ll do more testing when it’s a little further along. No sense stressing you right now, not with your history of miscarriage.”

  Ty couldn’t even help the noise he made; he felt like someone had punched him.

  “His what?”

  Ty covered his face with his hands; he wasn’t sure if he was going to puke or cry. Honestly, Dr. K was such an asshole sometimes.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the doctor said sharply to Lawrence. “Right now, you’re focused on letting him rest and relax, okay, Mr. Insurance Policy?”

  “Excuse me—”

  “Bland diet, lots of fluids, lots of rest, no stress,” Dr. K said, rising to his feet. “You start bleeding, you go to the hospital immediately.”

  Ty nodded; the doctor left the room. He felt Lawrence staring at him as he slid back to the floor.

  “You’ve had a miscarriage?” Lawrence sounded both awed and pained.

  Ty bundled himself back into his jacket, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “This is important, what if it’s genetic or—”

  Ty slammed the door as they stepped out of the exam room. Lawrence wisely kept his mouth shut as they trudged through the waiting room, gathering up their slushy footwear. They didn’t speak in the hallway or the elevator.

  “Ty,” Lawrence said finally, catching his hand as they stepped out into the street.

  “I was eighteen and stupid, Laz, leave it alone.”

  That hand squeezed his tightly, and Ty tried to jerk away. Lawrence held him fast. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was soft.

  “I don’t have to tell you everything,” Ty spat, then yanked his hand out of Lawrence’s grip and stalked off down the street. He slowed his pace as he approached the intersection, the noise and the scent of hover-vehicles and the cool March breeze too much for him. His throat constricted, and he stood there trying to breathe as the nausea crawled up his spine. He sat down on someone’s stoop.

  Lawrence towered over him, and he hid his face in his hands, because he didn’t want to talk about this, not at all.

  “I’m just concerned,” Lawrence murmured. The wind whipped some dry leaves from last fall by them.

  “It wasn’t like this,” Ty murmured, “not at all.”

  Lawrence considered him, then asked, “Did you still want to go to your parents’?”

  Ty lurched forward, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Maybe we’ll invite them over,” Lawrence offered.

  Ty shook his head. He had never given his parents his address, and he wasn’t about to, especially not now. Bad enough they had his phone number. He got to his feet, jammed his hands in his pockets. “It’s fine,” he said, “we’ll go see them.”

  Lawrence’s eyes were a sea of concern. “You wanna go home first? Maybe take a nap, see if we can get some more fluid into you?”

  Ty swallowed more bile. “I’ll be fine, Laz.”

  They both glanced around, trying to determine where the nearest bus stop was. “I don’t want you to push yourself.”

  “Lawrence …”

  “I’m serious, Ty.”

  “I can take care of myself. Don’t act all concerned just ’cause I’m knocked up now.” The words were bitter on his tongue, burning at his mouth like acid.

  Lawrence’s eyes widened. “That’s not—Ty.” He sounded so exasperated. “I’m worried about you. You’ve been puking almost non-stop since Friday, barely had anything to eat or drink.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  Lawrence’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously!”

  “Look, cut the crap. You and I both know you’re only concerned because—”

  “Because my best friend is sick and looks like he’s about to keel over! Honestly, you don’t think I’d be worried about you if you got the flu or Norwalk virus or something? God, Ty.”

  Lawrence squared his shoulders, lifted his head. The wind fluttered his bangs, and hell, he looked like one of those noble space explorers in old movies. If Ty didn’t feel like such shit, he would have been so turned on.

  “We’re going home and you’re resting,” Lawrence said. “If you feel better later, we’ll swing by your parents’ place.”

  “Get real.”

  “Start walking or I’ll pick you up and carry you home.”

  Ty wanted to dig his heels in, tell Lawrence to carry him, wanted to be picked up and crushed in Lawrence’s arms, carried home without a choice.

  His stomach curbstomped that idea, and he puked in someone’s bushes before finally saying, “Okay, yeah. Let’s go home.”

  ***

  He crashed as soon as Lawrence got him settled in bed, slept for most of the afternoon. It was better than being awake, feeling nauseated, puking. Lawrence forced him to dri
nk some more of that electrolyte shit when he woke up around four. He curled up on the couch and watched movies while Lawrence made dinner.

  “Dinner” for Ty was just a bowl of oatmeal, some soda crackers, and a banana. “Eat whatever you want, whatever you think you can keep down,” Lawrence instructed, ruffling his hair, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

  Ty tried the banana first, but that came back up, as did the soda crackers after. Lawrence made him sip more of the electrolyte mix, then sat on the sofa and held him, stroked his hair, which was nice. Ty leaned his head on Lawrence’s chest, listened to his heartbeat.

  “You think you need to go to the hospital?”

  “No,” Ty murmured, turned his head and closed his eyes. “Keeping that pink stuff down.”

  “Still …”

  “Wanna take a bath.” Ty looked up at Lawrence.

  “Really?”

  “Mm. I dunno, maybe it’ll help.”

  Lawrence chewed his lip. “I’m worried it’ll de-hydrate you more.”

  Ty dragged himself off the couch. “Do it myself,” he muttered, picking his way across the floor, kicking at an old cardboard box of magazines. “We’ve gotta clean up in here.”

  He made it to the bathroom, turned on the water, then got dizzy as he watched it slipping down the drain. He sank down on the floor, then turned his back to the tub, heaving.

  Lawrence made a face at him, one of those heartbreakingly ugly expressions that suggested he was about to cry because he felt so bad for Ty.

  “Fuck off,” Ty said, because focusing on being angry was better than thinking about how sick he felt.

  “I’m just really sorry,” Lawrence offered, crouching down beside him and plugging the drain. “None of this would be happening if—”

  “Don’t start,” Ty ground out. He didn’t think he could handle it if his friend started apologizing.

  The thundering of the water drowned his thoughts for a moment. He focused on his breathing, then turned back about. “You think the bath will help?” Lawrence asked.

  “No idea.” Ty chucked his shirt across the room. “What.”

  Lawrence tilted his head a little, cut his eyes at the wall. Ty scowled. “Seriously, what.”