Chapter 14
Declan Buchanan
My aggravation grows as the emergency meeting drags on.
I’m losing her. I don’t know what happened, but ever since she visited her father, she’s been distant. No matter how much I pamper or worship her, she won’t let me back in.
Don’t get me wrong, the sex is amazing, and she never refuses to cuddle afterward, but she inevitably falls asleep before we can reach the pillow talk.
She’s also pushing herself too hard at work.
I’ve adjusted my schedule to spend most mornings in my home office so I can see her before she heads out, but her hours are almost more brutal than mine.
Yesterday she barely made it through the front door before almost fainting.
I sat her on the front bench, removed her shoes, and carried her to bed.
Her appetite is all but gone, too. I know it doesn’t mean much because she typically spends lunches and dinners with clients, but I haven’t seen her eat a full meal in over a week.
After a little math in my head, I realize she should have taken the different colored birth control pill the day before yesterday, which means she should be on her period.
I can’t approach her about it without causing suspicion.
Self-disgust rips through me as I remember the prescription bottle I found tucked in with her birth control. How could I have forgotten to research something so important?
As another manager stands to say the exact same thing the previous speaker mentioned, I open an incognito tab on my phone’s browser and type in the name of the medicine.
My cupcake takes antidepressants. The bubbly, smiley woman who uses sweetness as a weapon sought a doctor’s help for depression.
My stomach churns.
I’ve failed her. I’ve had her by my side for weeks and have no idea what demons she’s fighting. I even let her return home alone. She’s given me no indication her family was abusive like mine, but that doesn’t mean it’s harmonious or loving.
My cupcake deserves a happy, safe home. I may not know from experience what that’s like, but with her, I know it’s possible. It must be. I need her. I want her.
I love her.
My nausea grows as I replay the last few weeks. I’ve shown her with my actions and assumed she knew, but I haven’t said the words.
Karey needs them. I see that now. We swept so many things under the rug—including my harsh words in middle school—so of course she has doubts.
I silently curse, close the tab, and turn my phone screen off before confirming all matters are settled before ending the emergency meeting and stalking out the door.
My frustration grows with every step I take, so instead of heading back to my office, I take the elevator to my car and rush home.
The hairs on my nape rise as I enter the apartment. My instincts scream for me to hurry, but to where or for what, I have no idea until I turn into the hallway.
Karey lies balled up on her side in the middle of the hardwood floor.
My heart shoots into my throat and fear ices my veins. I dart forward and call her name.
Sweaty, pale, and trembling, she barely slits her eyes open before closing them again. I drop to my knees beside her.
Her uncoordinated swat when I grab her doubles my terror.
“Karey, baby, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head and points down the hall. Her phone sits on the floor.
I pick it up to call 911, but the number for Boy Toy #1 fills the screen.
“Call Matthew,” she whispers.
“No, cupcake, you need medical help.”
“Won’t help. Tried. Get Matthew,” she pleads.
I curse and hit send.
Matthew answers on the second ring.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
I grit my teeth at his familiarity with my woman, still struggling to accept his lack of interest in her perfection, and brush a lock of hair off Karey’s clammy cheek.
“She won’t let me call 911,” I growl.
“Shit. Send me the address. How bad is she?”
“She’s curled up on the floor in pain,” I snarl. It hurts to see her like this.
“How bad is the bleeding?”
Alarm rips through me at his question.
“Bleeding? What bleeding?”
I run my hands over her but find nothing.
“So not yet, then. Put me on speaker. Let me talk to her,” Matthew demands.
I hate every passing second without answers, but I put the phone on speaker, set it down on the floor about a foot from her head, and add my free hand to checking her for injury.
“You there, hun?” he asks.
Karey grimaces, pushes at my hands, and grunts.
“That bad, huh?”
She nods.
Even without a verbal response, he seems to understand.
“How long this time?” he asks.
“Three,” she whimpers.
“Do you want me to come get you or—”
“Stay,” she gasps and curls into a tighter ball.
“Okay, I’m on the way. Declan, do you have NSAIDS, a heating pad, and menstrual pads?”
I pause and study her pained expression. This can’t be because of her period. Matthew has lost his mind.
When I don’t respond, he says my name again.
“I have ibuprofen,” I answer.
“That’ll do for now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
Get her off the floor and as comfortable as possible.
Either hot water bottles on her stomach and back or a warm bath if she’s up for it.
She could start at any time, so put a towel under her, and I swear to god if you shame her for this I will make sure you never see her again,” he says.
He’s serious.
Karey opens her eyes and implores me to understand. Her lower lip trembles as she slips them closed again.
I gently pinch her chin and wait for her to lift her lashes again.
“I could never,” I vow.
Tears glimmer in her glazed honeyed orbs. I kiss her brow and demand Matthew stay with her while I retrieve the ibuprofen. He agrees and blabbers on about nothing, just to let her know she isn’t alone.
When I return he’s complaining about slow walkers in convenience stores, and I realize he’s buying whatever supplies she needs to get through this.
Guilt wraps barbed wire around my heart. I shouldn’t have tampered with her birth control. I don’t know if that has any effect on what she’s experiencing now, but she’s so miserable I need someone to blame, and I could never point the finger at her, so I take it out on myself.
As I prop her shoulders up on my lap, rest her head on my stomach, and coax her into taking the medicine, I give Matthew the code to my apartment and end the call.
“Bath or bed?” I ask her.
“Bed,” she whispers.
I lift her off the floor as though she’s made of glass and carry her to the master bed. After taking off her shoes and wrapping her in the comforter, I turn to go make hot water bottles, but she grabs my wrist.
“Don’t go,” she begs.
“I won’t,” I vow without hesitation.
I simultaneously toe my shoes off and strip down to my underwear and suit pants before climbing in behind her. She pulls my arm around her, urging me closer, so I plaster my front to her back and prop her head on my bicep.
I should have changed her out of her work clothes, but her body remains locked in a battle I can’t fight for her, and pulling her this way and that would be too torturous.
She presses my hand to her abdomen but flinches, so I try to pull away, but she curls around me and traps my palm to her stomach.
“What do you need, Karey?” I ask.
“You,” she says through gritted teeth.
For long, horrible moments, I lie helplessly beside her as she trembles in pain. When she begins slowly relaxing, I regulate my breathing and give a lopsided half-grin when she matches my breaths.
Matthew and Fabio barge in just as Karey slips into a doze, but I forgive them for interrupting her rest when I see their arms overflowing with bags from the store.
They lower their voices and take over my apartment.
After an initial wave of indignation, I forgive them for that too when Matthew works around us instead of pushing me away.
He removes a new heating pad from the packaging, plugs it in, and offers it to me.
“I can’t take it,” I murmur.
“Is it okay if I lift the blankets and put it where she likes it best?” he asks.
After a moment of consideration, I give him permission with a nod.
I’ll never deny my cupcake her support system, especially not when she’s in so much pain.
He lifts the covers and smiles.
“Looks like she found a living, breathing heating pad. Good job, Declan. I approve, although we should still get this on her for a little while. It really does help,” he says.
“Whatever she needs,” I declare.
Karey whimpers and tightens her hold on me when I try to lift my hand. Matthew chuckles and slips the cloth-covered pad under my arm at her side before gently wiggling it between my hand and her stomach.
“Is that the highest setting? Will she be okay with it this hot?” I ask in a low, quiet voice.
With an amused chuckle, he nods.
“It hasn’t even had time to warm up. The hotter the better, at least when she’s feeling this bad. No more than twenty minutes at a time, though,” he instructs.
I hate how helpless and ignorant I feel in this moment and vow to do whatever it takes to never be so ill prepared again.
I’ll use my best resources—Matthew and Fabio—for now but will also conduct my own research once we get Karey through this cycle. This can’t be normal no matter how much they all act like it is. Whatever she needs, I’ll provide it.
Guilt seeps in through my determination. I never want to find her curled up on the floor again.
I’ll never forgive myself if she’s like this because I changed her medication, and the only way to know if I caused it is to tell her the truth. She may never trust me again, but I meant it when I swore I’d never leave her again.
She’s mine in sickness and in health.
I need to marry her. Now.