“I’m fine,” Emmie murmured, wiping her mouth after having used the air sickness bag for what felt like the hundredth time, but was probably only the fifth or sixth.

I crouched down beside of her where she was sitting beside of Shane. “You haven’t eaten anything today. How can you still be throwing up?”

“I’ve been drinking lots of water and Sprite.” She sat back, leaning her head against Shane’s shoulder as she closed her eyes. “I’m fine, Nik. Really. This is just the air sickness. Not the…” her eyes opened and she met my gaze before looking away again “…baby.”

“Why didn’t you ask the doctor for those patches you usually wear?” Shane asked.

“I was more worried about other things at the time, Shane.” Emmie stood, moving past me without toppling me on my ass. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”

I climbed to my feet and followed her. To the other people on the plane I must have looked like I was stalking her, and it was probably true. But I was worried about her dammit! Fortunately the plane was full of mostly businessmen, and those few that weren’t didn’t seem to recognize me and the others. Except for one of the flight attendants who had tried to tempt Shane into a quickie in the bathroom, we had pretty much been left alone.

When she reached the ladies’ room, she turned and noticed I was right behind her. “I just have to pee, Nik.”

I shrugged. “So pee.” With a huff she slammed the door, and I heard the lock click into place. I stood there, listening intently as I tried to hear if she was vomiting again. I didn’t hear any retching, but she was in there for so long that I started to wonder if she was alright. Raising my fist to knock, I was stopped by Jesse’s hand landing on my shoulder and squeezing. Hard.

“Come on, bro. She’s going to be okay.” I could tell his words were more to calm me than something he actually believed. The worry in those ever changing eyes of Jesse’s told me that he was just as freaked out as I was. “Chill out until we land at least.”

With one last look at the closed bathroom door, I followed Jesse back to our seats near Drake. For once Drake wasn’t swallowing Jack Daniels like it was water, and I wondered if it was because he wanted to be sober so he could kick my ass too. I knew it was coming from Jesse because I had spent the time being subjected to his threats—more like promises—in between checking on Emmie. I also knew that one word to Emmie and she would step in and make sure Jesse didn’t touch me.

I wasn’t going to say a word to Emmie about it. I deserved whatever beating Jesse or Drake or Shane dished out. If I was in their shoes I’d be making promises of a broken and bloody body too.

After we landed, some of Emmie’s color returned. I wasn’t happy until she had kept nearly an entire bottle of Sprite down as we waited for the SUV that Emmie had arranged for us. Once we had the vehicle packed with the smaller luggage and the larger pieces were scheduled for delivery, we all piled into the three row monstrosity of an SUV.

Drake was driving because he handled driving in an unknown city better than the rest of us. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all day so I didn’t voice a protest. Jesse and Shane climbed into the back and I took shotgun while Emmie stretched out in the middle row. She was still asleep when we pulled up to the beach house.

Emmie didn’t even stir as I lifted her into my arms and carried her into the house. I found what I figured was the master bedroom and tucked her into bed. I ached to climb into that big old bed with her but didn’t know how she would react come morning. I was acting like a coward, but I was walking through what felt like quicksand with Emmie and didn’t know how to get out.

I ended up taking the room directly across from the master suite, leaving my door open so I could listen out for Emmie if she needed something in the night. I bounced onto the big, achingly comfortable bed and was practically asleep before my head hit the pillow.

--

The punch to my gut knocked the air out of me and I bent over, trying to suck in some much needed oxygen.

Coughing, because it was proving to be harder to breathe than I had first anticipated, I glared up at the man that had been my best friend for longer than I could remember. “Good one, bro.”

Jesse just glared down at me from his impressive height. “You know what really pisses me off?”

“What?” I wheezed out.

“You’re a fucking pussy! For years I’ve watched you, Nik. I’ve seen the way that you can’t take your eyes off of Emmie. And you know that was okay with me. Out of all of us, you were the good guy. The one that I felt actually deserved her if that was what she decided she wanted. But instead of fighting for her, you hid behind those slutty girls and pushed Emmie away.” Jesse punched me in the gut again and I fell to my knees. “Now you got her pregnant and you’re still acting like a pussy. Grow a pair, asshole, and make sure she knows that you love her.”

He didn’t hit me again. He didn’t have to. While he walked away, I stayed where I was—on my knees with my entire body aching—after the beating Jesse had just handed out. Jesse hadn’t dared hit my face, knowing that Emmie would have torn into him for kicking my ass. But the rest of my body hadn’t been off limits. I was going to be hurting for at least a week.

Thankfully Emmie had been sleeping most of the past two days. Otherwise she would have seen Jesse beating some sense into me on the beach. For an all too brief moment I wondered why Shane and Drake hadn’t come out to add their two cents and a few punches of their own.

But it wasn’t the ass kicking that left me stunned. It was what Jesse had said that was ringing through my ears and left my heart racing. I had been a pussy, a total coward. For years now I had been a silent cry baby and expected Emmie to just assume how I felt about her. I hadn’t fought for her.

With a pain-filled groan I got to my feet. Starting right this minute I was going to man up and fight for the only person I wanted to spend eternity with.

I showered, letting the hot water soothe my aching body. The whole time I stood under the spray of the shower I made plans. Growing up, when I wanted nothing more than to be a rock star, I had done nothing but plan: taking private lessons from the music teacher in middle school; convince Drake that he wanted to be a part of my band, because I knew I couldn’t do it without him; getting gigs at all the hot clubs while we waited to be recognized as talented.

I had wanted the rocker lifestyle more than anything at the time. Now, I was making plans for the one thing that meant more to me than my own life.