FORTY-TWO
JORDIE
The mattress dips behind me, and then Callum is there—fitting himself along my back, one arm settling over my waist. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and his body goes loose all at once, like I’m the thing that lets him exhale.
I could pretend to stay asleep. Wrapped in blankets. In my guilt.
I wanted to go.
Got dressed. Did my hair. Practiced my smile.
But pain doesn’t care about keynote dinners or the man I love finally being seen the way he deserves to be. Instead, it lanced down the inside of my leg—sharp and electric. My obturator nerve, crushed beneath the weight of another rogue endometrioma.
And the idea of standing beside him during dinner, pretending I wasn’t flinching through hors d’oeuvres, counting the minutes until we could leave—
I couldn’t do it.
So I let him go. Alone.
Because I didn’t want to be the reason he left early.
Callum draws me tighter, nuzzling his face into my hair. “You didn’t feel up to it.” His voice is soft, even. “That’s okay.”
I roll over to face him, my fingers curling into the sheets. “I should’ve been there.”
“You’re here now,” he says simply, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone. “That’s what matters to me.”
I kiss him. Slow. Certain. A thank you. A sorry. A don’t stop loving me, please.
His hand tangles in my hair. Fingers trail lower, skimming up my thigh, pushing my nightie higher. He presses closer. I arch toward him, desperate to feel something that isn’t pain.
But a cramp claws at my side. I grit my teeth. Try to breathe through it, desperate to stay in this moment.
He pauses, eyes searching mine. I force a smile. Pull him closer.
I need this. Need to feel like my body isn’t always working against me. Need him to see that I’m not this big failure. Need this—
Fuuuucck . . .
A cramp blooms behind my hipbone, sharper than the last.
He stills.
“Jordie?” he murmurs, voice low, frayed with concern. “Are you in pain?”
“I can handle it.” My voice is a whisper. Wobbly. “I want this. I want you.”
“And I want you,” he says gently. “But not if you’re hurting.”
“I don’t want to ruin the moment.”
Who am I kidding? It’s already bloody ruined.
“You don’t ruin anything.” His voice goes fierce in that way it only ever does when I’m being cruel to myself. “Promise me you’ll tell me next time. Please.” He wipes away a tear I hadn’t felt fall. “I need you to trust me enough to stop when you need to.”
He says it so simply, like stopping is just a pause.
As if it doesn’t chip away at me. Or him. Or us.
Because every time the pain takes something, it takes more than it should. Moments. Intimacy. Control. Hope.
And people.
Like Alec.
Not all at once, but little by little.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke, shame burning through me.
“Hey, stop,” he silences me with a soft kiss. “You’re still my Jordie. Nothing could change that.”
“You’re so annoyingly good at this.” My voice trembles on the edge of a laugh and a sob. “At knowing exactly what to say.”
“I don’t always get it right. But with you, I’ll keep trying until I do.”
My eyes sting. My throat aches from the things I won’t say.
“Hey,” he whispers again, brushing my hair back. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
But I know we’re not.
Not really.
If anything, tonight proves why we can’t be together.
Because oftentimes love isn’t stronger than pain.
And eventually, even the kindest man gets tired of trying to outrun what keeps breaking me.