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now telling Emmy that she was going to win you back.”
    Braydon cleared his throat loudly but Ben remained quiet. I wanted him to argue, to shout and curse and swear that it was never going to happen. But his silence permeated the air, making my stomach turn in little somersaults.
    “You think this is healthy for her? Being with you? Having to deal with this shit?” Ellie whispered coarsely.
    “I don’t know,” Ben answered.
    I wanted to argue with them, to tell them I was fine. Or that I would be once this damn limo stopped spinning. It was like a magic-carpet ride from hell. But I stayed quiet, trying to piece together their cryptic, murmured phrases.
    Ben cursed under his breath. “I’m not giving her up. As long as she wants me, I’m here.”
    I vaguely heard Ben instruct the driver to bring us home first then drop off Ellie and Braydon after. I hoped they would be okay alone together. For some reason they mixed about as well as oil and water. But I didn’t have time to worry about that. My attention was focused solely on praying that the contents of my stomach would stay put. By the time the limo rolled to a stop in front of Ben’s building, I’d lost the use of my legs. Well, shit .
    Ben lifted me in his arms and carried me. When we reached his apartment, he brought me inside and set me down on the couch then removed my shoes. “Are you feeling okay?”
    I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure. God, why did I drink so much?
    “I’ll go get you a glass of water and some pain reliever,” he said.
    His words barely registered because the second he was out of the living room I was on my feet, darting for the bathroom. The liquor in my stomach churned violently and just as the toilet came into view I lost it, sinking to my knees and getting sick.
    Ew . I hated throwing up. The coughing, the smell, the violent way my stomach kept convulsing long after I’d emptied it.
    After I had thoroughly expelled everything from my system, I collapsed onto the floor in a heap. It was only then that I noticed Ben was beside me. Shit . He pushed the hair back from my face. I tried to focus on his perfect face but he was too blurry. The bathroom was tipping and spinning rather annoyingly. I was vaguely aware of his arms coming around me and lifting me off the floor before the world went black.

Ben
    Emmy was dead weight in my arms. I hated seeing her like this, knowing she felt like shit. I placed her on my bed and went about removing her dress, bra, and panties. I dressed her in a pair of my boxer shorts and a T-shirt. My lucky Yankees shirt. Maybe it would make her feel better.
    She curled into a ball in the center of my bed. “Benn . . .” Her arm failed out, her hand searching for me in a grabby motion.
    “I’m right here, baby.” I gripped her hand, sliding my fingers between hers. “Shh. I’ve got you.”
    “My head hurts,” she croaked.
    “Let’s get you settled.” I shifted her so that she was positioned higher up on the mattress and slid a pillow underneath her head, then I pulled the comforter around her. “How’s that?”
    She didn’t answer right away, and I was wondering if she’d passed out.
    “You saw me barf.”
    I suppressed a chuckle. “You were sick, honey. I wanted to take care of you.”
    “I’m s-sorry. . . .” she groaned.
    “It’s okay, pretty girl. Just rest, okay?” I smoothed the hair back from her face. She looked so sweet, so vulnerable, passed out drunk against my pillow, dressed in my Yankees T-shirt. I continued just watching her, caressing her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear.
    She mumbled something unintelligible. “Bennn . . .” she groaned.
    Shit . I was about to lift her up and carry her back to the bathroom just in case she was going to be sick again. “Yeah, baby?”
    Emmy pouted, her bottom lip jutting out like she might cry. “She looked really pretty . . . she had a cute tummy. . . .”
    What?
    Oh.
    Pregnant Fiona.
    Emmy’s brow crinkled in