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Bellamy   I cried myself to sleep. When I woke, the room was still just as dark as when I’d succumbed to grief. Automatically, I reached for Liam, but the space where he normally slept was cold and bare. Feeling slightly disoriented, I pushed into a sitting position and glanced over at the clock. Seeing that I’d literally only been asleep for an hour made me deflate faster than a cut balloon. Sudden nausea rolled over me as if I were a passenger on a boat at stormy sea. Gagging, I nearly fell out of the bed, racing into the bathroom where I emptied my already empty stomach. I was only a few weeks along, and already I’d puked more than I had my entire life. After cleaning up, I went back into the bedroom, standing in the center of the dark room, just staring at the door. God, it seemed like a lifetime since I’d seen Liam. The longing I felt to even just lay eyes upon him was enough to send me quickly toward the door. I didn’t open it, though. Instead, I leaned my forehead against it, palm flattening on the smooth wood. What he must be going through. Out there. Alone. I shut myself in here, thinking it was what he wanted, that it would be easier for him. His father was dead, and I was the reason. I wanted to go to him, to offer comfort and whisper it was going to be okay. I held back, regardless of the itch in my palms, the tug in the center of my chest. Cold air drafted beneath the door, making my bare toes curl under. I gasped quietly and shoved back. My God! Liam was out in the living room. The very place where two men were killed and his own father ...