Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Luna
Fuckety-fuck.
I’m an absolute disaster, and of course, Rage couldn’t possibly listen to me and just go home. I hoped he would stay in Los Angeles tonight, but no. The big, sexy lug had to rush back here. To me.
Well, he’s in for a big disappointment tonight.
I stare at myself in the mirror and nearly shudder at the sight looking back at me.
I am truly a mess right now. My hair is sticking up, my face is blotchy and red from crying, and I’m wearing the most hideous old sweatshirt.
It actually has holes in it, and the collar is so worn it falls off one shoulder.
That might be sexy under any other circumstances, but not the way I feel right now.
I manage to pull a comb through my hair and put it in a ponytail. I brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face but that’s all the effort I’m going to put into how I look. I’m too tired and sad and frustrated to worry about how I look.
Even if the world’s sexiest man is coming over expecting to get horizontal.
Ugh.
I pad back into the living room, where I’ve been camped out all night, and stare at the chaos on the coffee table and the floor.
Tissues. Pain meds. The heating pad. One empty bag of chips on the floor and a half-eaten bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups on the table.
I’m not even going to pretend I care about my diet or my weight tonight.
I just don’t have it in me.
And exactly five minutes after Rage hung up, I hear his knock on the door.
I know it’s him not just because I have the security feed up on my phone, but also because he knocks with intent—he’s not going away until I open up.
No matter what I say. So I pad over there, disarm the alarm, and turn the locks.
I take a small, shuddery breath and then open the door.
He’s standing there like a veritable hunk in muscle-bound armor, and I blink, suddenly on the verge of tears yet again.
“Don’t cry, princess—I’m here.”
Without waiting for me to say a word, he reaches out and engulfs me in his arms.
And I let him.
I burrow into his shoulder, holding back a sob.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” He backs us into the apartment and kicks off his shoes. Then he scoops me up and carries me to the couch. If he notices the mess, the half-empty soda, or the crumpled tissues, he doesn’t say a word. He merely sinks down, with me in his lap, and holds me tight.
“Will you talk to me, princess?”
I swallow.
“I…” Fuck, this is so stupid.
I’m ridiculous for being this emotional.
I was prepared to not get pregnant for a long time.
Potentially a couple of years. But being mentally prepared and actually getting your period are two completely different things.
Especially when getting a period for me can mean I’m in for weeks of hell.
Weeks of pain and bleeding and discomfort.
Weeks where I can’t make love with the man in my life.
“I got my period!” I blurt, bursting into tears.
To his credit, he seems to instantly understand.
“Shh, it’s okay.” He strokes my back and presses kisses on my temple. “We knew it wouldn’t happen right away. Come on. Don’t cry.”
“I got my period!” I repeat. “Which can sometimes last for weeks…even a few months. And that means we can’t—”
“You think I’m going to be turned off by a little blood?
” he asks incredulously. “That’s what showers are for.
But anyway, even if you can’t, it’s okay.
I can wait. It won’t last forever. This is how it works for you, right?
You don’t get a period for months and then when you do, it lasts for a while. But then it goes away. Yes?”
I nod miserably.
“Okay. So, nothing is wrong, per se. You’re just disappointed.”
“And everything hurts,” I whisper. “The cramps are so bad this time.”
“What did you take?”
I give him the list of medications my doctors prescribe, and he nods.
“Did you eat?”
I motion wildly to the mess of empty bags and wrappers. “Yeah. Kind of.”
“That’s not nutrition, honey. That’s junk.”
I start to protest but he cuts me off.
“And it’s totally fine to indulge in junk when you’re feeling like this. But only when it’s in addition to nutrition. You need some protein. Maybe some soup to soothe your stomach. What if I run to the diner on—”
“No. I don’t want you to leave me.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight. “Will you just hold me?”
“I will. As long as you need.”
For the first time since I felt the first twinges from the cramps, I start to relax.
Although, now that he mentioned soup, I would be down for the matzo ball soup from the diner he was about to mention. It’s really good. Total comfort food. But delicious.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, after we’ve sat there for at least ten minutes. “My periods really throw me for a loop. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I knew intellectually I wouldn’t get pregnant this fast but…”
“But you were hoping you would. I know. Me too.”
Him too?
Is that even possible?
I frown and tilt my face up to look at him. “You’re…disappointed?”
He frowns back. “Well, yeah. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I wasn’t excited about making a baby. Should I not be disappointed?”
“No. I mean, yes.” I sigh. “I mean, I didn’t think you’d be disappointed this soon, that’s all. I figured it would take six months or so before it started to sink in that I’m broken and that this might take forever.”
“You’re not broken,” he says gruffly, taking my chin between two fingers, forcing me to look at him. “Luna, you’re perfect just the way you are. This stopped being about a baby the first time I made love to you.”
I stare into his sapphire eyes wondering how I got so lucky. Not just in finding him but in a guy who isn’t afraid to admit his feelings. We started this relationship backwards, beginning with the quest for a baby and then slowly building something real. And he keeps showing up.
Even on a night like tonight when I didn’t want him to see me at my worst.
It feels too soon to expose my own vulnerabilities, yet he never hesitates to show me his.
“I’m going to be hormonal and cranky for a few days,” I whisper when the silence stretches out. “Maybe longer.”
“I’m going to be cranky and hungry for a few weeks,” he counters. “So we’ll be even.”
“Hungry?” I ask in confusion.
He nods. “I’m training for a fight now, so no alcohol, no sugar, lots of food I don’t love.”
“Meanwhile, I may be eating everything that’s not nailed down.”
“You do what you have to for your mental and physical health, honey. Don’t worry about me. This isn’t my first time prepping for a fight. I’ll be fine.”
I curl back into his arms and close my eyes. “I’m sorry we can’t do anything tonight.”
I feel his sigh of exasperation. “You think that’s the only reason I came over? When you expressly asked me not to? I knew something was wrong, and I came because I care. This wasn’t a booty call.”
“I know but—”
“There are no buts. I don’t know what I have to do to make you trust me.
I’m in this for the long haul. I can’t see into the future, but I see you—beautiful and sweet and hard-working.
Clawing your way out of the shit hand life dealt you and coming out the other side.
Your fortitude is something to be proud of.
And the way you deal with everything is remarkable. I think you’re remarkable.”
I truly don’t understand how I got so lucky.
This guy is the whole damn package. So far, I haven’t found a single fault, which should have been scary. Instead, it’s just making me fall harder. Faster. Completely.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says when I can’t come up with an appropriate response.
“Okay.” I’m about to climb off his lap when he does what he always does—stands up with me in his arms.
Like I weigh nothing.
He’s done it a dozen times or more at this point, and it never gets old.
I might have to consider keeping him around—permanently.