Chapter 29 Lottie
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
LOTTIE
There’s a loud banging coming from somewhere, interrupting the much-needed sleep my body is craving. Ignoring the disruption, I squeeze my eyes shut and burrow myself deeper into my pillow, willing the noise to go away. Only it gets louder.
“Lottie! Lottie, open the door!”
“What do you want?” I yell back, brain foggy, not moving an inch from my safe, comfy haven.
The cramps aren’t as bad my last period, but the pain is bad enough that it’s spread all the way down to my legs, the stabbing feeling in my abdomen leaving me in a crippled state in bed, making it nearly impossible to move.
“I came to see whether you’re okay. Please let me in,” he says through the door.
I groan, throwing myself back on the bed, burying my face in my favorite pillow. “Go away,” I moan, not wanting my super-hot, young… friend-with-benefits? Situationship? Casual boyfriend? God, who even knows at this point—to see me like this.
“Not a chance. Open the door.”
I take a deep breath through my nose, exhaling through my mouth.
“Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to.
” I haven’t been able to move from this spot for the past two hours.
The nausea combined with the pain have made it so bad I’m scared to get up.
A problem, seeing as I stupidly left my pain medication on the counter of my bathroom.
Though I know inviting him in probably isn’t the best idea, the temptation of my prescription grade medication far outweighs my mortification. “The key is under the mat,” I call out, rolling onto my back, cradling my swollen abdomen with both hands.
Back in the days when I was still trying to get pregnant, I’d get through the worst of my period pains by doing exactly this.
Imagining that I was growing a child inside me, that I didn’t get pregnant that month because it would be the following one when it happened.
I told myself it was the universe’s way of getting us to want this even more, so when the child would inevitably come, it would be loved more than any kid ever had.
I looked at every possible silver lining I could think of so as not to feel the absolute crush of failure at not being able to conceive, and resentment toward my body. But none of it mattered, in the end.
Positive vibes and “manifesting” aren’t what get you pregnant. It’s fucking biology.
I hear the slide of the key into the lock, the click as he turns it, and the soft way he enters my loft before gazing up into his concern-stricken eyes.
“Hey,” he says softly, his brows pulled together as his blue eyes trail all over my body, curled up under my favorite fuzzy blanket in a fetal position. “You okay?”
All the shits I swore I didn’t give suddenly make an appearance. Mortified by how I must look—matted hair, no make-up, puffy red face from crying, and, god, so bloated he must think aliens impregnated me between now and the last time he saw me.
“Super. I’m super.” I adjust the heating pad under my blanket and over my stomach, hoping it helps hide the big bump.
Knox removes his shoes, tossing them by the rack at the door before walking over with purpose, a man on a mission, to my bed. He kneels beside it before speaking. “I got worried when you didn’t show up this morning.”
“Oh my god, I completely forgot! I’m so sorry. I should’ve texted you.”
“Shh, it’s okay.” The back of his hand comes gently to my forehead, a look of deep concentration on his face as it does. His scent and touch and mere presence are soothing, like a balm. It’s not enough to make the pain disappear, but enough to give me a small boost of energy.
Enough to want to stay awake for a moment longer before I very kindly ask him to fuck off.
“I’m not—I’m not feeling well.”
He nods and rounds the front of my bed, pulling the blanket up, slipping in beside me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, horrified.
“Uh, settling in?”
“You cannot settle in.” My voice rises an octave, the panic creeping in.
“Are you contagious?”
In spite of myself, I laugh. “No, but you shouldn’t be here. We… This isn’t part of the deal.”
“The deal?”
“Yeah, I mean…” I scratch my forehead, trying to form the words, but the exhaustion is getting to me. “Like, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Plus, I have the universal cure right here for you.” He wiggles his eyebrows, that lopsided grin on his face.
Irritation courses through me. “God, why is it that all men think their sperm is this universal cure? The last thing I want is—”
“Whoa, Lottie, hey.” Any hint of humor disappears from his face, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, fingers digging into my hair.
“I was just joking. I’m not here to offer my magical cure.
I’m here because I was worried about you.
You didn’t show up and— I just wanted to make sure you were okay.
Maybe take care of you if you needed it.
Make you some soup, get you some cough syrup.
Though…” He looks down at the long cable poking from under my blanket, the Dove Dark Chocolate wrappers everywhere, and the empty cans of ginger ale lined up on my nightstand like fallen soldiers against period pain-induced nausea.
“Though I think your thing isn’t a cold, am I right? ”
After a moment’s hesitation—because aren’t all guys scared of periods?—I say, “You’re right. So you can leave now. As you can see, it’s shark week and I’m closed for business.”
He looks affronted by this, almost recoiling at my words. “Periods don’t gross me out. And I’m not gonna stop talking to you just because you’re on it. I’m not that kind of guy. Plus, the relationship we have goes beyond that.”
I shrug, considering his words. He’s not wrong; we are business partners, after all.
Friends, even. I feel like nowadays he’s my only friend.
My best friend who has sex with me and stays over and wakes me with soft kisses in my neck, pulling me into him every morning like he’s scared of letting me go. Totally normal, friendly relationship.
“I guess you’re right,” I tell him, and for some reason my answer makes him beam.
Though I’m sure I’m imagining it.
He kisses the tip of my nose and smiles. “Good. Now, tell me what you need.”
“I don’t need anything,” I grit out, my hands fisting the sheets below me, trying to hold back a groan as another wave of pain runs through me.
“You’re such a bad liar.” He laughs softly. “Do you need help getting to the bathroom? Need me to get you some painkillers?”
My entire body lights up at the suggestion. God, pain killers and a shower—better yet, a bath—sound unbelievable right now.
Knox watches my expression shift with a satisfied smirk. “Shower? Pain meds?”
“Bath and pain meds.” I groan, trying really hard to stay in the moment and not think about how nice it is to have someone around.
This situationship with Knox is a one-time thing; him taking care of me is a one-time thing.
In just a few weeks’ time, he’ll be off to god-knowswhere and I will have used the money from the sale to move back to New York and rebuild the old life that came crashing down years ago.
“Let me help you to your feet,” he offers.
But I throw the covers off, toss the heating pad onto the ground, and make to get out of bed.
He stops me in time, scooping me up and into his arms. I squeal in fear and mortification—I am not a dainty girl.
I have real curves and can gain up to ten pounds while on my period.
Yet Knox scoops me into his arms as if I were as light as a stuffed animal.
“What are you doing?” I ask, mildly terrified as he carries me to the bathroom.
Ignoring my question, he takes me to the bathroom and sets me gently on my feet.
“Sit,” he commands softly after putting down the lid of the toilet seat.
I do what he says partly because I don’t have it in me to argue, and partly because it’s been years since I let someone take care of me and… it feels nice.
“I’m going to run you a bath and get some water for you to take your meds.
” I watch him in awe as he kneels by the tub and adjusts the knobs on the wall until he gets the temperature just right.
Once he plugs the tub, he gets to his feet and disappears out of the bathroom, only to come back with a glass of water. “Pain meds? Ibuprofen?”
“Naproxen,” I point to the orange container.
“One pill?”
“Two.” He hands me the pills and the glass, which I take with a happy sigh. Partial relief is coming. I pop them in my mouth and down the hatch, keeping my wide eyes on him as I let the cool water lower my heated skin.
“Do you need help getting undressed?” he asks as I hand him the empty glass.
His question is genuine—not a hint of a suggestive tone in his voice—but the tenderness of the moment, the way it’s rocked the foundation of whatever the hell it is we’ve been building, shakes me.
“Of course you’d say that,” I snap back.
“No, I don’t need any more of your help.
You can go now.” The words are like ice and venom and a sharp blade all at once, and I regret them as soon as they leave my lips.
But I don’t take them back. I can’t let myself accidentally hope for something more—not with Knox, and definitely not when I’m wanting to leave this place, too.
He stares back at me for a beat, both of us quiet without saying a word, before he nods in understanding. “Gotcha. I’m gonna head out, then, if you don’t need help in the tub.”
“I don’t,” I say, my voice cracking, my eyes stinging with the tears I know I’m going to start shedding the moment he walks out that door, maybe to never come back again.
Knox leans down to press his lips to my forehead, and nods once before leaving the bathroom.
I wait until I hear footsteps walk toward the front door, open it, and close behind him.
A wave of grief washes over me, of despair and disappointment at myself for being so cruel to a man who only wanted to take care of me.
God, I’m such an idiot. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and undress myself, easing into the hot water with a heavy heart, wishing with every bone in my body that I could just let myself be happy for one second.