Chapter 23 Nate
NATE
My head pounds. My mouth tastes like shit, and my stomach grumbles at me for whatever I put it through last night. I roll over in bed, reaching for Nora with my eyes still closed because I can’t bear to open them yet.
I pat the bed, but come up empty. “Nora?” My tongue scrapes like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. One eye cracks open, but she’s not here. I must have slept in. I roll back over to my side with a groan and blink at my watch, still on my wrist.
Just after eight. It’s not like Nora to be up early on a Sunday.
I force myself out of bed and stumble into the en suite. Pink knickers hang out of the laundry hamper, and I regret drinking so much last night. I should have been the one to take her knickers off.
My stomach flips. Is Evan still here? That would make sense why Nora’s not in bed. I rub a hand over my face and sort myself out in the bathroom, closing the bathroom cabinet drawer that’s been left open.
I clean my teeth, scrubbing away the taste of last night’s vomit, and pull on a clean pair of joggers, despite needing a shower. First, I need coffee.
The house is quiet as I slump down the stairs, my head thumping and my stomach still mad at me. It’ll forgive me with an egg and bacon sandwich, and my head will be appeased with coffee. I only hope Nora is as easy on me.
The kitchen is cold and not the usual welcoming space when Nora’s around. No cooking aroma or herbal tea lingering in the air, no music playing, and the blinds are still closed.
I flick on the light. Her beautiful dress sits wet on the draining board. Shit. Did I throw up on her? Fuck. Not on her new dress.
Can today get any fucking worse? I scrub a hand over my face as I trudge into the living room. I stop in the doorway.
Nora’s curled up on the sofa in her fluffy pyjamas, clutching a pillow like a shield, a small blanket tangled in her legs as if she’s been tossing and turning all night. Or probably never slept at all.
She tilts her head.
Our eyes meet, hers red and puffy.
My chest caves in. I gasp for air and strength as I take a step forward, then another, the pounding in my head turning into a massacre.
Her trembling hand swipes at her black-streaked cheeks, her cracked lips quiver, and she sniffles, her nose pink at the tip, her nostrils red like she’s been wiping them all night.
My stomach drops so hard I swear it hits the floor before I do. The open drawer in the en suite. The one where she keeps her sanitary stuff. My throat closes. I’m on my knees beside the sofa as if my legs gave out under the weight of the guilt.
Fuck.
My eyes flick back to her.
Nora shifts, blinking as if her body wants to stay asleep but her soul is already awake and hurting. She opens her eyes fully and looks at me.
My entire body stills.
“It didn’t work.” Her mouth trembles.
“Nora…” My voice falters.
She swallows, her throat bobbing, her lashes fluttering like she’s trying not to cry again because she’s already cried every tear she had. She turns her face slightly into the pillow as if she’s ashamed of being seen like this. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, throat hoarse. “It didn’t… it didn’t work.”
The words are like a punch to the ribs.
My hands find hers, icy fingers in my palms. I bring them to my mouth, pressing my lips to her knuckles as if I can undo the last ten hours with a kiss.
“We can try again.” My voice is raw. Then more guilt hits me because I don’t want to stop whatever this is with Evan.
Her eyes glisten.
I squeeze her hands tighter. “I’m sorry.”
She blinks. “Nate—”
“I’m so fucking sorry.” My throat burns. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve—” I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady, but it breaks anyway. “I should’ve known. I should’ve woken up.”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out. There’s nothing to say. Just the ache between us and our shitty reality.
I press my forehead to hers, my shoulders rising and falling as I breathe through the tightness in my chest.
I want to scream. I want to smash the windows. I want to drag the universe into court and demand an explanation for why the one thing she wants is the one thing we can’t fucking have.
Instead, I rise, bracing one hand on the sofa, and climb onto it with her awkwardly, knees knocking, half tangled in the blanket.
I pull her into my arms, tucking her against my chest, her face pressed into my neck.
She still smells like the perfume she wore last night.
My fingers slide through her hair, smoothing it back. Over and over, like I’m smoothing away the pain. “I’m here,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here, baby.”
A soft, broken wail rips out of her as if it’s been trapped inside all night.
I hold her tighter as she falls apart in my arms because I should’ve been the one holding her while she did it last night. And every second I wasn’t, I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
“I thought…” she whispers, voice muffled against my skin. “I really thought—”
“I know.” My eyes burn. “So did I.”
Her tears soak my chest, hot against my skin, and I close my eyes, willing the knife in my gut to ease up a little.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “We’re having a pyjama day.”
She gives the tiniest sniff. “What?”
“A proper one.” I rub my thumb over her cheek, gently wiping the dried mascara track. “No showers, or pretending you’re fine. Just pyjamas.”
She puffs out a small, sniffling laugh. “That sounds disgusting.”
I kiss her forehead. “I feel disgusting.”
“Not gonna lie—you need a shower.” Her mouth lifts ever so slightly in the corner.
I inhale and exhale as if it’s the first oxygen I’ve had all morning, then I shift, careful as I cup her face with both hands, holding her still so she can’t look away from me. “Do you need pain relief? Hot water bottle?”
She shakes her head. “I’m all right for now.”
“Right.” I nod. “How about pancakes?”
She buries her head into my chest, rubbing her nose against the hairs there. “Pancakes sound nice, but just stay here a little longer.”
“We can stay here for as long as you need.” I press another kiss to her temple. “Then when you’re ready, we’ll have pancakes smothered in butter and sugar, and we’ll watch your favourite TV shows all day with ice cream and chocolate.”
“You’re going to watch Heated Rivalry with me?” She lifts her head.
“Yeah.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. I’ll watch it again with you.” I smooth my palm down her spine over the fluffy pyjamas. “We’ll watch it again and again until it rewires your brain into believing life is a romance and not a tragedy.”
Her mouth trembles again, but then she whispers, “All right.”
We hold each other in silence for a long time.
There’s nothing else I can do. I’m fucking useless, but I can make a decent pancake, and I can get her things to ease her period pain, even if I can’t take away the pain in her heart.
I can sit with her while she comfort-watches her favourite TV shows, even if my mind is elsewhere, remembering all the times I’ve failed her.
I don’t know how many more months of this I can stay strong for her, but I have to. I’m the fucking man of the house who should be strong for his wife, despite how each month a little more of my heart turns to ash.
I slide off the sofa, legs stiff, head still pounding, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters right now is making Nora feel safe and loved and less alone in all this.
“I’ll be back in two minutes.” I press my lips to her forehead.
“Thank you.”
I pause in the doorway. “For what?”
“Not making me feel like a failure.”
My heart cracks wide open. I march back to her, crouch down, and kiss her properly this time. “You never have to apologise to me for bleeding,” I murmur against her lips. “Or for wanting a baby.”
Her eyes fill again.
I press my forehead to hers. “I should be the one thanking you.”
Her fingertips graze my cheek. “What for?”
“For not divorcing me after I drank too much last night.” I smile against her lips.
“For not kicking me out after I let you go through this all alone.” Closing my eyes, I silently thank her for loving me even when I can’t give her what she deserves.
I’m the failure and she loves me anyway.
I don’t say it out loud because this isn’t my pity party.
She doesn’t need to hear my struggles when she has her own.
“Now let me make you some pancakes and take this grovel to the next level.”
“This grovel?” She lets out a small laugh, and it’s all I can hope for right now. “Is that why I’m getting pancakes?”
“I’m pulling out all the stops today.” I wink as I rise to my feet and make my way to the fridge.
Fuck.
We’re all out of eggs. I shut the fridge and rest my head against the cold door. Just for once, I wish something would go right. I inhale and exhale with my head resting on the metal. The last thing I want to do is leave, but with barely any food in the house, I need to get some supplies.
I pop my head into the lounge as I pull a hoodie over my head. “I’m gonna nip to the corner shop for milk and eggs. You need anything?”
She stares at the blank TV as if engrossed in a new episode of her favourite hockey rivals. “No.”
“Need anything before I go?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“I won’t be long.”
She doesn’t answer, but her fingers dig into the pillow as if the cotton stuffing can make her whole and fill the void. If only it could. We’d need a lot more pillows to fill the emptiness we both feel.