Chapter 17 Grant
“Honey, I’m home,” I call out as I drop my keys in the bowl by the door.
Since Taylor moved in last weekend, we’ve settled into a routine.
Each morning we have coffee together before work.
Sometimes we leave at the same time for the office, other times separately—never driving together because Taylor is adamant that no one sees us coming and going together.
When she’s not working with Mary in the communications office on the first floor, she’s working at the conference table in my office or in my home office.
She stayed home today to get some work done for her other clients, and I’ve been ready to come home since I left this morning to simply be with her.
“What smells so good?” I ask, walking into the kitchen and opening the oven to peer inside. The aroma of tomato sauce and garlic waft out, making my mouth water. “Lasagna?”
“I wanted some comfort food tonight,” Taylor speaks from the corner of the couch where she’s huddled up with a book. She looks a little pale and it’s not like her to be so quiet at the end of the day.
“You okay?” I step closer and press a hand to her forehead, noting she feels a bit warm.
“It’s almost time for my period and I’m not feeling well. I’ll be okay though. Dinner should be ready in about thirty minutes.”
“You should’ve texted me. You didn’t need to cook tonight.” I run my fingers through her hair, the waves soft to the touch despite the slightly damp roots.
“I wanted to.”
Palming her cheek, I wait until her eyes meet mine. “Let me take it from here. You’re officially off duty.”
She offers me a small smile. “I won’t say no to that.”
“Can I get you anything?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
“Okay, I’m going to get changed and then I’ll finish dinner.”
Taking care of her is something I’ve missed. I’d hoped her period pain would’ve improved over the years and it kills me she’s been going through it all alone.
I hurry down the hall, removing my suit jacket, vest, and unbuttoning my shirt as soon as I step into the master suite—the only place untouched by her. What I wouldn’t give to bring her to bed and hold her all night, especially while she’s not feeling well.
Since that’s not possible, I do the next best thing—I pull my phone out of my pants pocket and call down to the concierge.
“Front desk, how may I help you?”
“This is Grant Davenport. Is Will working tonight?”
“Mr. Davenport. Yes, sir. This is Will.”
“Hey, Will. I was hoping you could do me a favor. Can you go to the kitchen and see if we have any cookie dough ice cream? On second thought, would you run to the store and pick up a pint of that and a pint of fudge ripple?”
“Of course, sir. Anything else?”
I think back to the combination of snacks Taylor used to crave while she was on her period. “Cool Ranch Doritos.”
“I’ll have that up to you shortly, sir.”
“Thank you, Will. I really appreciate it.” I don’t call in favors from the staff often since I prefer to do my shopping and most other things on my own, but I don’t want to leave Taylor alone, and she said she wanted comfort food, so comfort food is what she’ll get.
I change into a white T-shirt and my favorite pair of worn gray sweatpants then head back to the kitchen. She’s still on the couch, with her head propped in her hand on the armrest and watching a movie instead of reading.
Pouring a glass of wine, I deposit it on the coffee table and take her water glass to refill it.
She smiles gratefully as she takes a sip, and my muscles relax at being able to know what she needs.
I toss together a quick salad while the lasagna finishes cooking and when it’s done, I slide garlic bread into the oven.
The buzzer on the penthouse door sounds and I open it to find Will with shopping bags from the grocery store a few blocks away. Taking them from him, I pass him a couple bills for a tip and send him on his way.
“Who was at the door?” Taylor’s sitting at the bartop where I set up our plates when I walk back into the kitchen.
“I asked the concierge to pick up some dessert,” I show her the two pints of ice cream before pulling the Doritos out of the bag as well.
“My favorites.” She beams up at me, rendering me speechless, and it darns on me just how completely head over heels in love with her I am.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but instead, I say, “I remember.”
The timer on the bread goes off breaking the moment, and I spring into action, pulling the bread out before it burns. I plate our food and serve her across the counter before lowering myself onto the stool beside her.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable sitting up here?” I ask. “I can set you up on the couch instead.”
“Grant, your couch is too nice to risk spilling tomato sauce all over it.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, I do. I’m okay, promise.” She rests her hand on my forearm. Goosebumps spread up my arm at the contact.
“I’m sorry you still have to deal with this every month,” I sigh, placing my hand on top of hers.
“Unfortunately, I’m used to it. Being a woman sucks.” Her self-deprecating laugh has me grimacing.
“It’s not fair. Isn’t there something your doctor can do?”
Taylor lets me go, and as much as I want her to keep touching me, I want her to eat more. Hopefully it helps the color return to her face and gives her the comfort she was wanting.
“Truthfully, we’ve been trying for years,” she says, picking up her fork and shoveling a bite of lasagna into her mouth. The moan she lets out has my cock stirring in my sweats. I shift the stool closer to the counter because gray leaves nothing to the imagination.
“It turns out I don’t just have painful periods or a heavy flow. I have endometriosis. Unfortunately, it’s very common but not well understood and there’s no true cure to it.”
“How did they figure out you had it?”
“My symptoms were the first clue, but the true diagnosis was surgical. Since the tissue grows in the abdomen and attaches to the ovaries and other organs, they had to go in laparoscopically to find it and cleaned it up. But the surgery is only temporary because endometriosis feeds off estrogen. So, it keeps coming back.”
My brain catches on the fact that she had surgery, and I had no idea about it.
I should’ve been there. We vowed in sickness and health, and I’ve failed that miserably.
Yes, the logical part of my brain tells me that I can’t force my wife to let me be there when she ghosted and evicted me from her life, but the heart still hurts just the same.
“I’m sorry you went through that alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. Josh helped take care of me.”
“He didn’t tell me that.” Taylor’s brother and I were still friends, but didn’t keep in touch as much as we used to. Adult life and the distance made it difficult.
“I asked him not to,” she answers, breaking off a piece of bread and tossing it in her mouth. Being intentionally left out of her life in that way sours my gut. It won’t be like that anymore. Now that I have her back, I won’t let her go. Whatever comes our way, we’ll deal with it together.
“Do the girls know?” I can’t imagine if Ivory and Gabby did know that they wouldn’t support her.
“Not really. The surgery helped for a while, and then when things started getting really bad again, I found a specialist to help.”
While we eat, she fills me in on the specialist in Nashville and all the ways they’ve tried to manage her endometriosis over the past couple years.
“But, the IUD had to come out, so we’ve been trying different types of birth control to manage it. It’s either that or surgery, and I’ve been so busy I haven’t wanted to go that route.”
“Would you consider doing the surgery again?”
Finishing the last bite of bread, she talks with her mouth full and shuts down the conversation. “All I’m considering right now is that pint of cookie dough and a movie.”
A look I can’t decipher flashes on her face, but she’s standing and washing her plate before I can push.
Deciding it’s best to let it go for now, I usher her out of the kitchen and back to the couch, then clean the kitchen.
I deliver the pint of ice cream she requested, settling onto the couch with her, and thinking of ways to help her get through the next week in as little pain as possible.