31. Eric #2
My whole body shifts, craving the contact. I press my trembling palm to the lower right side of her stomach and slide it under her shirt, skin on skin. The baby kicks again, and my fingers jump.
“Does it hurt?” I ask as I pull her from the floor to the edge of the bed, the length of her thigh pressed against mine.
She shakes her head and lies back, holding my hand to her, until she’s propped against the pillows.
The baby moves with her, and I chase the flutter underneath her skin.
The boy is the size of a corn on the cob, and his kicks are light but ripple inside her and me.
I know it can’t be, but I believe he’s telling me I’m already part of his story.
Amanda whispers. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
“Sure.” I scoot up, readying to leave her but struggling to let go. “This mattress is better. You should have taken it weeks ago.”
She shakes her head and cups my face. “I want to sleep next to you. Can I?”
I swallow and remember her words. I’ve also kept her at arm’s length in my own way.
Every time she thinks I’ve rejected her, it was my own belief that I can’t be enough leading me.
I tighten my grasp on her and nod. I have to be done with it.
Amanda shifts, I lean in, and the baby inside moves against my stomach.
I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but we’ve become a unit of three.
I drop my head in her neck and breathe in, whisper into her ear. “I scared you tonight, didn’t I?”
She avoids my eyes but nods.
“I’m sorry, Amanda.” I lick my lips, some strands of her hair stick to my skin, but I don’t pull away. “I should ha—”
“I was jealous and—”
I shake my head against her neck, opening my mouth.
“Listen a minute. I hated having that fear. After the past three months, I didn’t want to think it… It’s there, though, you get me?”
I nod. It’s so much like every self-deprecating thought I carry.
“What I was really worried about, what made it hard to breathe… I was petrified you’d hurt yourself.”
She buries her finger in my hair, and I burrow into her neck.
It’s tempting to lose myself to the train of thoughts to the never-ending list of disappointments I’ve checked with her.
When her fingertips find my scalp and dig into it, I soak it in.
“I don’t want to do that again. Scare you, trigger you. ”
“I know how Diego found you.”
Her heart beats against me, and my throat bobs against the crook of her neck.
“I hate that you know.”
Her breath warms my ear. “I don’t.” She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “I can’t be your partner if I’m left in the dark. And Eric, I’m done playing games.” She tugs at my hair so I don’t break away from her eyes. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re here.” She soothes my scalp. “You’re talking now. You scared the hell out of me today, but… you followed your treatment plan.”
I tighten my arm around her waist. “I’m worried it won’t be enough,” I whisper, the words raw against her skin, as if speaking them out loud will lock them in place.
“I feel—” My breath shudders out, warm against her throat, and goose bumps rise beneath my mouth.
“I’m on a deadline to be ready for him and you, and I—”
“You need more than the two hours a week Val can give you.”
I nod against her and hiss when the movement pulls at my split lip.
Amanda pulls back immediately, both hands cradling my face. Her mouth tightens when she gets a better look at the bruise already darkening beneath the blood. “He got you good.”
I nod once. “He knows what he’s doing.” I glance away, shame dragging heavy in my chest. “And I deserved it.”
She slips off the bed carefully, one hand instinctively steadying the underside of her stomach as she disappears behind the doorway. Something opens and closes in the kitchen. I barely have time to register her absence before she’s back with a washcloth.
Without hesitation, Amanda climbs onto the bed and settles across my thighs, warm and solid over me.
She gestures for me to lean back against the headboard before carefully pressing the cloth to my mouth.
The chill from the ice inside it pierces through my skin, and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, though she doesn’t pull away.
The cold burns at first, then numbs. Meltwater slides slowly down my chin while Amanda holds the compress there with impossible gentleness, her fingers brushing my jaw every time I flinch. It’s one of those moments when I fall in love with her all over again, as if I wasn’t already a goner.
“It’ll bruise,” she murmurs.
“Ice will keep the swelling down.” I have to do better.
She holds my gaze then, serious and unbearably soft. “You’re not on a deadline, Eric. I get the pressure, but I don’t expect you to never get overwhelmed or need a minute.”
Her weight rests against my lap while my thumb drifts slowly along her forearm, tracing absent circles against warm skin. For the first time all night, the shame locked in my body goes from boiling to a low simmer.
“What do you need?”
I stare down at the washcloth in her hand. “I need to… not disappear when I’m in crisis.” My throat tightens around the admission. “When I spiral, climbing is all I’ve got, and I—”
“That’s not true, Eric,” she counters. “You’ve got Diego. Me. Hell, you have Val.”
A smile pulls at my mouth before the bruise protests. “I do,” I say quietly. “But it’s not enough. I still slip too far inside myself.” I flex my fingers against her hip. “And when I do, it’s not just me I drag into it anymore.”
Amanda wets her lips nervously. “There’s a facility we work with for some patients.” Her voice changes slightly when she says it, measured and therapist-like. “It specializes in trauma and abuse survivors.”
I tense beneath her immediately, muscles locking under her weight. Trauma survivors. I stare past her shoulder immediately, jaw tightening beneath the ice pack.
“You were abandoned,” she says softly after a moment. “That’s a trauma.” She brushes her index finger against my jaw. “Somatic therapy is a big component. Body regulation work. They even have climbing on site.”
Amanda watches me carefully, like she’s trying to figure out whether I’m shutting down or actually considering it.
“How long?” I ask.
“Forty-five days.”
I lean my head back against the headboard and stare at the ceiling. “Damn.” My fingers tighten absently against her thigh. “That’s expensive. I wanted my savings for the baby—”
“They work with our university,” she rushes out. “You’re insured with them. It’d be in-network, so mostly covered.”
“And it’s far away?”