Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

No answer, though. I sent a text, letting him know I was
awake, and he could call.
Walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window, I peered out
at the master bedroom balcony, taking in the blanket of fresh
snow falling, making it look like cake frosting on the stone
railing as the wind howled outside, making the trees creak.
Picking up the cigarettes on the table, I pulled one out and
slid it under my nose, smelling the tobacco and cloves. My lips
burned, and I stuck it in my mouth, rolling it and feeling the
comfort of its feel already.
Winter was trying to get me to quit. It was a non-option for
much of the argument. I wasn’t a non-smoker.
But then she mentioned kids and it being on my clothes
and how secondhand smoke kills, and do I really want the
baby to smell like shit?
Ah, fuck it.
I walked over to the French doors, picking up my lighter
off the table, and sparking it up as I put on my shoes and
opened the door to go out, but then I heard her sleepy voice
from across the room.
“Hey,” she said from the bed. “Anything wrong?”
I growled silently, tearing the cigarette out of my mouth
and crushing it in my fist.
Dammit. She would’ve smelled it on me when I came in,
but at least I would’ve gotten a smoke in.
I tossed the lighter and broken cigarette on the bureau,
kicking off my shoes and heading over to her.
“Everything’s fine,” I soothed, sitting on the bed and
leaning down to kiss her.
“You were trying to smoke, weren’t you?” she said, sitting
up.
I sighed, setting my phone back on the bedside table. “I’m
dying here, babe.”