His Best Friend’s Offer

Chapter 1

NORA

“I’m pregnant!” Jenny shouts.

All the blood drains from my body, my head dizzying.

I stumble into a chair. Steaming hot tea splatters my hand, and the mug drops to the floor, my grip failing as Jenny’s news chokes the air from my lungs.

Two words.

That’s all it is. Two simple little words I’ve longed to say for years. It should be me. I’ve been married for twelve years, trying for eight.

Jenny isn’t even engaged. I didn’t even know she was trying. It’s most likely a happy accident.

Voices muffle. The room spins. The chill running the length of my spine is at odds with my clammy skin. All the women in the office fawn over the new mother-to-be.

There’s an aching void in my chest where the love for my future baby should reside. Each negative test, each new period, carves away more of my heart.

“Nora. Are you okay?” Evan distracts me from the torturous scene playing out in front of me. “Cal, get a mop plus a dustpan and brush, would you?” Evan squats down in front of me, collecting the shards from my mug.

The words I’m an illustrator, not a magician stare up at me from the broken ceramic, and I wish I could prove them wrong.

“It slipped from my hand.” I give the office my brightest smile, despite the dagger twisting inside me. “Congratulations.” I nod to Jenny and the girls.

Why can’t it be me?

“You’re bleeding.” Still crouched at my feet, Evan pulls a handkerchief from his jacket and wipes a trickle of blood from my ankle like a red tear rolling along my skin.

I hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s nothing.” Another fake smile. I bend to help clear up the mess, but Cal bustles in from the staff room with a dustpan and brush, shooing me away.

“Clean yourself up. We got this,” Cal assures me, tucking his long dark hair behind his ears.

“Thank you,” I whisper, gripping the side of the table as I rise on shaky limbs. My small heels click against the wooden floor, echoing in the studio as I rush past the oooohing and ahhhing, straight to the restroom.

Even the gender symbols on the restroom doors taunt me with the baby I can’t have. I press my hand to my chest as sobs threaten to choke me.

Of course, this week had to be the week Nate’s test results came in. He always had a low sperm count, but there was still a chance.

But with his latest diagnosis of azoospermia, our chances are like the results from a Eurovision Song Contest. Nil Poi.

In other words, impossible.

Stepping into the empty restroom, I freeze in front of the mirror.

I smooth my hands over the wet patch of tea on my bust, then clench them at my stomach, hating the way my dress accentuates my chubby frame.

It’s as if my clothes are mocking me, making me look pregnant with my round stomach, when we both know it’s a lie.

Even after losing three stone, it’s still not enough to qualify for IVF.

Closing my eyes, my mind races with all the things I should’ve done. Should’ve lost weight sooner. Shouldn’t have let myself get fat in the first place. Should’ve gone abroad and paid privately.

I yank a handful of paper towels and lock myself in a cubicle right as the dam breaks. Hot tears burst past my lids, running down my cheeks like a river. A pained cry escapes my chest. What am I doing? I can’t be discovered in this state.

My shoulders shake, but my cries are locked up tight inside my chest, just as they have been all week. I drop onto the toilet seat with a clatter, and snatch more tissue, pressing it to my nose.

I am happy for Jenny, really, but why does it have to hurt so much?

I can’t walk down the street without someone stroking their round belly. It’s as if the universe is goading me with what I can’t have.

The door creaks.

I hold my breath.

“Nora, you in here?” Evan calls, a note of concern lacing his words as his shoes squeak against the tiled floor. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” My voice cracks and I wince. I’m not fine, but the last thing I want is to appear like a complete bitch because I can’t be happy for a colleague.

A shadow fills the gap at the bottom of the cubicle door. “You don’t sound good. Are you hurt?”

I choke down another sob. When I’m emotional and someone’s nice to me, it heightens everything. “Just give me a minute.”

“Are you… crying?” Evan’s familiar deep voice is soothing, his concern a balm, only I can’t make the tears stop.

He doesn’t deserve this craziness from me.

Evan’s my husband’s oldest friend and business partner in our marketing and sign-making business, NEN Creative. He knows me as well as my husband does. There’s no hiding from him, but I’m not sure he knows about our recent fertility tests.

“Shall I get Nate?”

“No!” I spring from the toilet. “Please don’t tell Nate.” My heart thuds against my ribs.

“Then open the door and let me help you, or I’m getting your husband.” His stern voice, more dominating than soothing now, is enough of a warning to make me slide the metal lock back and open the cubicle door.

I can’t let Nate see me like this. He has enough to carry without shouldering my breakdown too.

I suck in my stomach as I squeeze between the loo and the door and step forward into Evan’s arms.

Within seconds, I’m engulfed in his spicy scent. Large hands hold me against his broad chest, my wet cheeks resting against the lapel of his navy suit.

My hands slide around his waist, underneath the warmth of his jacket. I let out another sob. This isn’t the first time Evan’s seen me cry. Nor is it the first time I’ve taken comfort in his arms, but it is the first time I’ve wanted his comfort over my husband’s.

He hesitates, his hand hovering over my head. “Let it all out.” Lightly, his palm strokes over my hair. “Have you had a fight?”

Sharing is the last thing I want to do, but I can’t let him think Nate did something wrong.

I swallow the burning lump in the back of my throat and wipe my nose on the paper towels clutched in my hand. “It’s not Nate. I was just upset about Jenny’s news.”

Evan’s head drops, his sigh fanning my cheek as if everything has clicked into place. “Fuck, Nora. I didn’t think.” He holds me tightly against his chest. His heart beats next to mine, the gentle thud calming me along with his warmth and the scent that’s uniquely him.

“Please don’t tell Nate I was upset.” The words are barely a whisper.

He pulls back a few inches with a pinched brow. His steel-blue eyes stare down at me through dark-rimmed glasses. Large hands cup my cheeks and he swipes away the streaks on my face. “But he’d want to know if you’re upset. Why won’t you talk to him?”

I inhale a shuddering breath.

With his black hair, stylishly dishevelled, and his clean-shaven jaw soft against my skin, he’s just as handsome as my husband, but he’s not my Nate.

He hasn't been through what we've been through together these past years, and Nate has enough going on right now, fighting his own demons, without me adding to his worries.

“Because it will upset him, knowing he can’t give me the one thing I want.” I glance down at the floor, my foot stained pink with streams of blood from the nick on my ankle.

Evan follows my gaze. “Shit, let’s clean you up.” He spins me around and lifts my five-foot-six frame onto the vanity unit next to the sink.

I suck in a breath, my head dizzy with how effortless that was for Evan. The last time Nate lifted me, he almost threw his back out.

Focus, Nora. This is not the time to check out Ev’s muscles.

He runs the tap and wets a bunch of paper towels. “You’re still trying, though? There’s still a chance, right?”

I gulp. It’s not my place to tell Evan about Nate’s test results. If Nate wants him to know, he’ll tell him himself. “I’m not getting any younger.”

He takes my leather shoe in hand and presses it against his muscular thigh as he wipes at my stained skin. “You’re only thirty-eight. I know plenty of people who have kids in their forties.”

I press my lips together, not wanting to give anything more away.

Nate’s been on a downer since we got the news this week, and I’ve been trying to be strong, telling him it doesn’t matter and we’ll look into other options.

He’s always there for me. He’s been my rock, and now I need to be there for him. “Are you free tonight?”

“Yeah, why?” He holds the paper towel against the cut on my ankle, applying pressure.

“Come round for dinner. It’ll be good for Nate. We haven’t had a night together for a while. Are you still seeing that girl you met at the train station?”

His face twists. “I’m no good at long distance, you know that. It was a casual thing. We might hook up the next time I’m in London.”

Evan lowers my foot, letting my legs dangle off the edge of the unit. “I think it’s stopped bleeding now.”

“Thank you.” I hop off the counter, a little lighter than before.

“I’ll come around tonight. We can order a takeaway. Save you cooking.” He reaches a hand towards my face, but clenches his fist and stuffs it back into his pocket as if he’s already touched me enough today and doesn’t want to overstep, his lip twitching like it always does when he’s overthinking.

“I enjoy cooking. It’ll take my mind off everything.”

He checks his watch. “I was supposed to be at a meeting five minutes ago, but I can cancel if you need me to.” He boxes me in, one hand resting on the vanity unit, his gaze studying me. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” I dab some tissue under my eyes, making myself look presentable.

There’s that word again. Fine. A word we say when everything seems all right on the surface, while inside we’re hanging on by a thread.

Fine. Fine. Fine.

I blow out a shaky breath before snapping a smile into place, then we both walk back out to the office.

But nothing is fine. Nothing will ever be fine.