Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths (Ugly Truths #1)

12. Maggie

12

Maggie

I knew something was off as soon as I woke up.

After Archer ran off, leaving me alone and basically speechless, I showered, made dinner, and curled up on the sofa in the living room to catch up on my reading. Fortunately, even though most of my books were ruined, my e-reader survived.

I try to tell myself that the only reason I’m reading downstairs and not in my room is because I need a change of scenery, but the truth is, I’m waiting for Archer.

He was acting so off before he left, and after what he said last night, I guess I’m just worried.

At some point, I must’ve dozed off, because when I open my eyes, I find myself sprawled on my side, face stuck to the leather sofa. My e-reader is face down on the floor from where it must have fallen out of my hands.

Sitting up, I wipe the drool from my cheek with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. A sharp, stabbing pain twists like a knife in my gut, causing me to double over.

Oh God—Please no…not today. Not now.

Sure enough, I feel that telltale warmth between my legs that alerts me to the fact that yes, I did indeed just start my period. Shit ! I jump up before I can make a mess on the cream-colored sofa and gingerly walk up the stairs to my room.

Once there, I search through my bag in vain, already knowing I didn’t bring anything I need with me.

I dig through the drawers and under the cabinets in the guest bathroom in desperation, in case any female guests left anything of use behind, but no such luck.

Feeling like I’m back in middle school again with a wad of rolled up tissue in my underwear, I go in search of Archer, praying that he snuck in while I was sleeping.

Finding his bedroom door closed, I knock a few times. When he doesn’t answer, I push it open, and my heart sinks when I realize it’s empty. When I see his still made bed, I know he hasn’t been home. A glance at the clock shows that it’s after one in the morning.

Suddenly, I’m hit with a bout of nausea, and I’m not sure if it’s from the cramps or the not knowing what— or who— Archer might be doing right now.

I’m clutching at my stomach, trying not to vomit, when I hear his deep voice say my name.

“Hey. Baby, look at me. What’s wrong?” Warm, strong hands cradle my face, and I could almost cry with relief that he’s here.

“Thank God you’re back. I didn’t have your number, so I couldn’t call you,” I say, trying to put on a brave face as I fight through the pain and nausea. “I need to borrow your car. I have to run to the store to get… some things .”

“What things? Tell me, and I will get them for you.”

I feel my face drain of color, which is definitely not going to help my case at this point. The thought of telling Archer I’m on my period is bad enough, but then having to ask him to buy me feminine hygiene products? Yeah, no thank you. I would rather die.

“Umm…no thanks. I promise I’m good. I just need your keys and—” I try to argue, but he cuts me off.

“Maggie. No offense, but you don’t look good.”

My heads rears backs. Wow, way to kick a girl when she’s down. He must realize what he said, because he’s quick to backtrack.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You are a beautiful woman, you know you are—but right now, you look like you are about to pass out. So, will you please lay down and let me help you?” he pleads, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, palm caressing my cheek.

He sounds so sincere, like he truly wants to take care of me, and for some reason that makes me want to cry. My eyes flutter closed at his touch, and he stands so close, his woodsy-citrus scent invades my nose and makes it hard for me to think.

I try and fail to come up with an excuse, any way to avoid having to tell him the truth, but I know it’s no use. He isn’t going to change his mind.

The tip of my nose burns as tears of pain and frustration prick behind my closed lids .

“I can’t lay down,” I whisper, looking down at my feet. “I…I don’t want to make a mess on your bed.”

“Ah…I see,” he says. “You don’t have anything with you.” Though it comes out as more of a statement then a question, I shake my head anyway.

“Okay. What do you need? I said I would go get it, and I will.”

I raise my eyebrows, sure I misheard him.

“You’re joking right?”

He gives me a bland look.

“No, I’m not joking. It does not matter what it is. It doesn’t change the fact that you need it, and you’re not in any shape to drive.” My mouth drops open, and the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile.

“Don’t look so surprised. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to buy pads. I grew up with a mom and a sister, you know,” he says softly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Not a big deal .

He says it so nonchalant that I struggle to contain the well of emotion that threatens to spill over.

It may not seem like much to him, but it’s a huge deal to me. My ex would never have volunteered to do something like this. Chad was always squeamish about that stuff, thought it was gross when I would get my period. It got to a point that I’d just avoid him altogether on those days if I could.

“So, what do you need?”

“Oh. Um—it’s…” I try to think of a way to explain a menstrual disc to this man where I will still be able to look him in the eyes in the morning .

“How about this,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it before handing it to me.

“What’s this for?”

“Put your number in.” I take it adding my number to his contacts before I hand it back. He types something out before slipping it back in his pants.

“There. I just sent you a text, so you will have my number. Send me a picture of what it is you need, and I’ll get it for you,” he says, turning me around and guiding me to my room. “In the meantime, please lay down or take a bath. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

After he leaves, I send him a message with pictures included of what I need and decide that a shower sounds nice. I stand with the hot water beating on my back for so long, it starts to run cold.

When I finally get out, I see Archer is back, and there are several bags piled in the middle of the bed. What is all this?

I dig through them to find that not only did he bring me exactly what I asked for, but also an industrial size bottle of ibuprofen and bags of snacks, both sweet and salty.

My heart skips at his thoughtfulness. I know it might not seem like much to him, but it’s a huge deal to me.

When you grow up with someone who suffers with a chronic illness, you tend to minimize your own needs. Your problems aren’t as big, so they are not as important. I know that’s not true, but that’s how it feels sometimes. You spend so much time and energy worrying and looking after others, you forget to take care of yourself .

I must say, it’s really nice to have someone care for me for once.

Immediately, I feel guilty for even thinking that. Of course, Jane cares for me, and I know she did the best she could. But I can’t say there weren’t times when I needed someone, and it felt like no one was there to help me.

Just as I’m crawling underneath the covers, I hear a soft knock at my door.

“Come in,” I call, and Archer pushes it open, a large glass of water in one hand and what looks like a heating pad in the other. He walks over to the bed, handing me the glass before opening the bottle and shaking out some ibuprofen for me to take.

“Thank you,” I say as I swallow them down.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“A little better. The shower helped. It’s mostly just my back now.”

“Roll over,” he tells me, and I’m not sure where this is going, but I do as he says.

He plugs in the heating pad, positioning it underneath me so that it rests just under my lower stomach. His hands skim around my waist, gripping the hem of my t-shirt in order to lift it up. “This ok?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pulls my shirt up to just below my breasts, exposing my bare back.

I lay in anticipation, waiting to see what he’s going to do, when I feel his big, warm palms on my skin as he starts to massage my back .

His firm touch feels like heaven as he rubs and kneads at my aching muscles. When he hits a particularly tense spot, I can no longer stifle the moans that escape.

“Good?” he asks, his voice thick like gravel. I am so blissed out by his magic hands all I can manage is a nod in response.

I’m not sure how long he continues to rub my back like that, but it’s long enough for the pain meds to kick in and my lids to grow heavy. The cramps have now subsided, replaced by a low, thrumming pulse of desire.

He continues his path, slowly trailing up and down the bare skin of my back over and over, leaving little licks of fire in his wake, making me throb with want.

His rough fingers move over a particularly ticklish spot on my side that makes me squirm and causes the sheet to shift lower on my hips, exposing the top of my panties.

He pauses for a moment, his hand resting low on my spine, before continuing his downward path until he reaches the lace band. He lingers there as he strokes left to right over and over before dipping a finger just underneath the material.

Goosebumps erupt to cover my exposed skin, and I let out a needy whimper.

He stills, and I lay there with my eyes closed, waiting to see what he will do. I’m unsure what I’m hoping for—whether for him to stop or to keep going, I don’t know. My mind and my body warring with each other.

It’s evident my body wants him, considering how wet I am from just his simple touch, but he has made it clear he isn’t looking for a relationship, and I’m not sure I can do anything less, especially not when it comes to him. If tonight has shown me anything, it’s that despite his cold exterior, he has a warm, and caring heart underneath.

He may think he isn’t a good man, but everything he has done for me has proven otherwise, and if I’m not careful, I can see where it would be really easy for me to fall for Archer Wilder.

With a heavy sigh, he removes his hands, leaning down to feather a soft kiss over the small of my back before righting my shirt. As he stands, he pulls the blanket up over me and tucks me in.

“Archer,” I whisper, and he pauses at the door. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t look back; he just nods once before flicking off the lights and walking out the door. Just before it closes, I hear him say, “Sweet dreams, my Little Rose.”

As I lay there in the dark, muscles relaxed and eyes heavy with sleep, I wonder just how I’m supposed to guard my heart when he goes and does sweet things like that.