55
Amanda didn't go back to her desk after they left the doctor's office.
She went straight to her phone and began quietly clearing Ericka's schedule for the rest of the day. One by one, meetings were canceled, rescheduled, or passed off to department heads with a few choice words: "Something's come up. We'll follow up tomorrow."
No one questioned it. No one dared.
Amanda was precise, calm, and methodical—exactly how she needed to be right now. Because she knew what was coming. Not in the medical sense—not the charts, or the procedures, or the scheduling.
She knew what was coming for Ericka emotionally.
The crash.
And Amanda was going to catch her before she hit the ground.
By the time they walked into Ericka's apartment, the late morning sun was spilling across the floor-to-ceiling windows. But it didn't feel like daylight. It felt... hollow. Like the air was too still.
Ericka dropped her coat on the back of the couch and stood there, unmoving, staring into nothing.
Amanda stepped past her quietly.
"Go to the bathroom," she said gently.
Ericka blinked, barely processing the words. "What?"
Amanda walked backward, her voice calm but firm. "I'm running you a bath. You're not allowed to say no."
Ericka tried to protest. "Amanda, I don't need—"
"Bath. Now," Amanda said, turning on her heel.
She didn't wait for a response.
The faucet was already running when Ericka appeared in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, jaw clenched like she was trying to hold something together with nothing but willpower.
Amanda tested the water temperature and added a few drops of lavender oil, swirling it through the steaming water with her fingers. She reached for a small bottle on the shelf—rose and cedarwood bath milk she'd gifted Ericka weeks ago but hadn't seen her touch.
Until now.
Ericka watched her in silence, something unreadable in her eyes.
"I don't know how to just sit in a tub when there's so much happening," she said quietly.
Amanda turned and stepped closer, reaching for her hands. "That's exactly why you need to."
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ericka's forehead.
"I'll be in the other room. Clothes and everything will be waiting for you when you get out. Don't make me drag you in there myself."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Ericka's lips.
"I wouldn't hate that."
Amanda gave her a wink and left the bathroom door open just a crack, letting the sound of water do its job.
When she returned to the bedroom, she moved like she had a checklist—but it wasn't professional. It was personal. Intimate. Reverent.
She laid out a pair of soft leggings, a pale cotton t-shirt Ericka had once said was her favorite, and thick knit socks. Nothing fancy. Just comfort.
By the time she heard the water stop, Amanda was sitting on the edge of the bed, folding back the covers with care.
Ericka emerged moments later, hair damp, wrapped in a towel. Her skin was flushed from the heat of the water, but her eyes were heavy. She looked... lighter. But only by a thread.
Amanda didn't speak.
She simply walked over, took the towel gently from her, and helped her dress—slowly, like the moment deserved more than words. Like each motion was a promise: I've got you. You don't have to do this alone.
Ericka didn't resist.
She let Amanda guide her toward the bed, where the sheets had been freshly fluffed and turned down. She hesitated at the edge, uncertain.
Amanda pulled the blanket back further and patted the mattress. "In."
"I don't know how to shut it off," Ericka whispered. "If I lay down, it's going to come out. All of it."
Amanda stepped closer, her voice low and sure. "Then let it. This is your space. And I'm not going anywhere."
That broke something.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a single tear, sliding silently down Ericka's cheek.
Amanda reached up, wiped it away with her thumb, and gently pulled her into bed. Ericka laid down like her body had finally surrendered—like she was too tired to fight whatever this was anymore.
Amanda climbed in beside her, pulling her close, wrapping her arms around her like armor.
They lay there in the quiet, nothing but the hum of the city beyond the windows and the soft sound of breath catching between them.
Then Ericka whispered into the space between them.
"I'm so scared."
Amanda pressed her lips to her temple. "I know."
"I've never let anyone see me like this. Not ever."
Amanda tightened her hold. "Then let me be the first."
That's when it happened.
The first sob was almost soundless, shaking through Ericka's shoulders. Then another. And another.
She buried her face into Amanda's chest and broke.
Fully. Deeply. Without apology.
And Amanda held her—steady, patient, fierce in her softness.
She didn't try to stop the tears. Didn't try to talk her through it.
She just whispered over and over again:
"You're safe."
"You're allowed."
"I'm here."
_____________________________________________________
Amanda lay still, her body curved protectively around Ericka's sleeping form.
The rise and fall of Ericka's breath was soft and even now, her face pressed against Amanda's shoulder, lips slightly parted in sleep. Her lashes still glistened faintly from the tears she'd finally let fall.
She was finally resting.
Amanda didn't dare move.
Instead, she stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, mind racing.
It was happening.
The battle that wasn't hers—but one she had every intention of standing beside Ericka through. Not just in spirit. In every way.
But as her fingers traced gentle patterns against the bare skin of Ericka's back, the real question started to press harder at her chest:
How am I going to protect her from everything else while she fights this?
Six weeks of radiation. Maybe more if the pathology changed. Early mornings, fatigue, possible side effects. And the press. The board. Her staff. The vultures who would circle if they caught the faintest whiff of weakness from the woman at the top.
Amanda swallowed hard.
Ericka couldn't afford for the company to see her vulnerable. She couldn't afford to appear distracted—especially now, with two new collection deals in development and a licensing partnership still in negotiation.
And that meant Amanda had to do more than just be there emotionally.
She had to cover for her.
Flawlessly.
She turned her head slightly and looked down at the woman sleeping beside her.
Ericka—so strong, so sure of herself in every room—had finally allowed someone to see her cracked. And Amanda wasn't about to let that moment go to waste. She had earned her trust. And now she was going to use it to build a fortress around her.
Even if that meant pulling some late nights.
Or very early mornings.
Or both.
Amanda mentally began mapping out a plan, letting the shape of it form around the rhythm of Ericka's breathing.
First step: The schedule.
If radiation would happen daily, it needed to be done when no one at the company would notice. Early mornings were best—before most people arrived, while the building was still quiet and her absence could go unnoticed.
Amanda would shift the executive briefing time, move standing meetings out of her mornings. A few emails. A few authoritative calendar blocks marked "executive planning." No one would question that.
Second: Delegate without exposing.
Amanda would take point on the Bravari partnership meetings herself. She already knew the ins and outs. She'd been sitting in on calls, shadowing Ericka's strategy. If she played it right, Ericka wouldn't even need to attend most of them in person.
And for the rest—Amanda would present Ericka's notes, her decisions, and if needed, her voice. No one needed to know the difference.
Third: Control the narrative.
If Ericka had to leave midday—bloodwork, side appointments, whatever came—Amanda would build invisible buffers. Make it seem like strategy sessions, off-site consults, interviews. Every hole would be filled before anyone could ask.
Her job would be to protect Ericka's time, her image, and her energy.
Her dignity.
Amanda let her fingers slow as she thought about what the next six weeks might look like.
Sleep deprivation. Strategic lies. Fierce loyalty that might raise eyebrows if she wasn't careful.
So what.
She'd do it all.
She'd wear both their masks if she had to.
Amanda turned slightly, brushing a kiss against Ericka's temple.
"You just worry about getting better," she whispered into the quiet.
"I'll handle the rest."
And in that moment, Amanda wasn't just Ericka's assistant. Or her girlfriend. Or her protector.
She was her anchor.
Her quiet architect.
The one building the plan that would keep her standing—until she could do it on her own again.