The movement replayed in slow motion in his mind. Willow stepping toward Victor, her weight shifting slightly as if she had already chosen the direction long before he arrived. Then her hand resting over her stomach. That single gesture burned into him with merciless clarity, a truth he did not know how to touch and could not breathe around.
His stomach cramped so violently that he folded forward over the steering wheel, gripping it like it was the only thing stopping him from drowning. The pain bent him in half. His breath punched out of him in a ragged burst while his fingers clawed at the leather, knuckles scraping against the stitching. He curled over it until his forehead nearly touched the wheel again, trying to hold himself together with strength he no longer had.
