Chapter 33
thirty-three
Kate
The good news? The condoms have been doing their job.
The bad news? I haven’t had a period this painful in over a year.
The medicine I have with me hasn’t done a damn thing to ease the pain, and when the cramps hit, I can barely stand upright.
Unfortunately, if there’s one thing I know for certain about this industry it’s that “the show must go on,” so I put my big girl panties on and get myself dressed for the day, groaning when my jeans barely zip over my bloated stomach.
We arrived in Kansas City yesterday, and today, the band has two radio interviews and a photo shoot at a local animal shelter.
I’m hoping that there’s some time for me to slip into a drug store to either grab some stronger over-the-counter pain killers or bribe the pharmacist for the really good shit behind the counter.
“Ready?” I ask, standing in the doorway between our rooms.
“Yeah,” Josh says, looking up at me after lacing up one of his boots. “Are…are you?”
“Yep,” I say, nodding and forcing a smile.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just don’t—” another wave of pain hits me, and I brace myself against the doorframe while I try to breathe through it. “I don’t feel well today.”
“Kate,” he says, crossing the room to me and wrapping an arm around my waist. “It doesn’t seem like nothing. I just watched all the color drain from your face, and you can barely stand. Come on.” He makes to move toward his bed, but I wave him off.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Don’t do this,” he argues. “Don’t lie to me. You are not fine, and if you won’t go on your own, I will fucking carry you to that bed.” I scoff, and before I know it, he’s scooped me into his arms and is, indeed, carrying me to his bed.
He sets me down gently before sitting next to me and placing his hand across my forehead.
“You’re not warm.”
“It’s not…I’m not sick,” I say, curling into a fetal position to try and relieve some of the pain.
“Oh, is it your period? Are they bad for you?”
“Josh, I’m not going to gross you out by talking about my periods.”
“It’s a period, Kate. It’s not gross.”
I blink at him. In all my life, I have never been with a man who wasn’t grossed out by periods. Anthony didn’t even allow me to keep supplies in the ensuite bathroom. When it happened, I was shunned to the guest bathroom in the hallway and forbidden to even mention it.
“What?” Josh asks, pulling the comforter up and over my body, tucking it gently around me.
“Nothing.”
“Alright, well then, get some rest.”
“But the interviews and—” I try to get up, but he places his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“Kate.” His voice is firm, but the worried look in his eyes breaks my heart. “Rest, sweetheart. Please.” He cups my cheek in his hand, and I nod. He smiles and leans down to kiss me. “Do you need me to get anything while I’m out?”
“No,” I say, curling into myself further. He looks at me skeptically before rising from the bed. I watch him walk into my room and back out a minute later, phone in hand. He tosses a pair of my sweats onto the bed beside me.
“Get those damn jeans off and into something more comfortable.” I smile at him and nod my agreement. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, kissing me one more time and heading out the door.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I wake almost four hours later to the sound of the door clicking shut as Josh rounds the corner carrying a shopping bag.
“How do you feel?” he asks, sitting on the bed beside me and setting the bag on the floor between his feet.
“A little better,” I admit, stretching. “I must have slept the entire time you were gone.”
He smiles and kisses my forehead. “Good,” he says, his lips brushing lightly against my skin. “I brought you some stuff.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, rising to a seated position and propping myself up against the headboard. “I told you I didn’t need anything.”
“And I know you were lying.” He leans forward and starts pulling things out of the bag. “The box of tampons on the counter in your bathroom was almost empty, so I got more of those,” he sets the box on the bed next to him, and I feel the sting of tears in the back of my throat.
“I also got you these.” He sets three different types of pain relievers next to the box of tampons.
“I wasn’t sure what you usually take, but the lady at the pharmacy said that this one is for when it hurts a little, this is when it hurts a lot, and this is when you feel like your uterus is being fed into a woodchipper,” he explains, pointing to each box in turn.
I let out a laugh as I stare at everything on the bed beside me, tears lining my eyes.
“Also,” he continues, leaning back over to dig through the bag. “I wasn’t sure if you were a sweet or a salty snacker when you’re in this predicament, so I covered all the bases.” He pulls out bags of barbeque chips, pretzels, Doritos, Sour Patch Kids, dark chocolates, and a pint of ice cream.
“And,” he reaches into the bag one more time and holds up a heating pad. “I didn’t see one of these anywhere, so I grabbed one. Thought it might help with the pain.”
Tears fall down my cheeks when I blink.
“Josh,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. I swipe the tears from my face, but it’s pointless because they just keep falling.
Damn hormones.
I want to tell him how much this means to me, but my throat feels too tight and the only words my brain can summon are, “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” he says, taking my hand in his and threading our fingers together. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to be the one who takes care of you.”
He gently runs the back of his fingers down my cheek, and I lean into his touch. His thumb wipes the last tear away before he shifts his focus back to everything laid out before me.
“So, what’ll it be?”
“Definitely some of this,” I say, grabbing one of the bottles of pain reliever. “This,” I snatch up the ice cream. “And that,” I say, pointing to the heating pad he still has in his hand. He smiles and starts opening the box.
“Lay down.” I do as I’m told without argument, watching as he takes the heating pad out of the box and plugs it in at the bedside table.
He switches it on and lays it on my stomach before tucking everything I didn’t want right now back into the bag.
I sigh with relief as the heat slowly sinks deep into my abdomen.
“All I want right now is to crawl into that bed and hold you, but I don’t know how you’re feeling, and I don’t want to make it worse. Do you want space, or would it help to have me close?”
I answer by smiling and lifting the comforter off the bed. He grins, sighing with relief, and slides into bed next to me, propping himself up on the extra pillows.
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
“Right there,” I say, tucking myself against his side. His arms wrap around me as I lay my head on his chest and close my eyes.
In the quiet that settles between us, something occurs to me—I’m not used to being cared for.
Not like this.
Not in the quiet, thoughtful way Josh does it.
Without fanfare, without expectation, without trying to earn something in return.
Without words. Of course Josh is good with words, he has thirteen Grammy awards that prove just how skilled he is at using them to make people feel something.
But it’s more than the words he says. It’s the way he is with me—patient. Kind. Adoring. Protective. Obsessed.
Doting.
It probably shouldn’t feel revolutionary, but it does.
I’ve felt attraction. Infatuation. I’ve occasionally felt safe or appreciated, but I’ve never felt this. This deep, slow, all-consuming warmth blooming in my chest like something is trying to grow where I didn’t know there was space.
If this is what love is—what love feels like—then I know I’ve never truly loved anyone.
And I know that no one has ever truly loved me.