CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TAKING CARE
Elise
I wake up to cramps that feel like someone’s twisting a knife in my lower abdomen and the sticky realization that my period arrived a day early.
Perfect timing. Absolutely perfect.
I’m in Wyatt’s bed again—third night in a row because he sleeps better when I’m there and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sleep better wrapped up in him. But right now I need to get to my room, find tampons, and maybe die quietly under my own blankets.
I try to extract myself without waking him but his arm tightens around my waist.
“Where you going?” His voice is rough with sleep, face buried in my hair.
“Bathroom. Go back to sleep.”
“You okay?” He’s more alert now, lifting his head. “You’re tense.”
“I’m fine. Just—girl stuff. Need my room.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Your period.”
“Gold star for you. Now let me up before I bleed all over your sheets.”
He releases me immediately and I make a break for it, grabbing one of his hoodies on the way because it’s right there and I’m not thinking clearly through the cramps.
I make it to my bathroom, get situated, then curl up on my bed in the fetal position because that’s the only thing that helps. The cramps are bad this month—stress probably, between Grant’s confession three days ago and trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with three guys who all want me.
A few hours later, there’s a soft knock on my door. “Elise?”
Jordie. Of course.
“Come in.”
He opens the door, takes one look at me curled up in a ball, and his expression shifts immediately. “Period?”
“Does everyone in this house have ESP now?”
“Wyatt texted the group chat.” He’s already moving to my bed, sitting beside me. “What do you need? Heating pad? Painkillers? Ice cream? All of the above?”
“I don’t have a heating pad.”
“That’s a crime. Hold on.” He’s up and out the door before I can respond.
Another knock. This one more hesitant.
“It’s open.”
Grant appears in my doorway and the sight of him makes my stomach do something complicated that has nothing to do with cramps.
We haven’t really talked since his confession.
He’s been giving me space, careful not to push, but I catch him watching me sometimes with an expression that makes my chest tight.
“Jordie said—” He stops. Clears his throat. “Do you need anything?”
“Apparently Jordie’s on a heating pad quest.”
“Right. Yeah.” He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable. This is new territory for him—care and softness instead of distance and walls. “I could… I don’t know. Make you food?”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Tea then. My mom used to make ginger tea for cramps.”
The mention of his mom, the vulnerability in offering something from his childhood, makes me soften. “That would be nice. Thanks.”
He nods and disappears. Thirty seconds later Wyatt appears with a glass of water and two Advil.
“Take these.” He sits on the edge of my bed, waiting until I swallow the pills. “How bad?”
“Seven out of ten.”
His hand finds my lower back, starts rubbing in slow circles that actually help. “This okay?”
“Yeah. That’s good.”
We sit in silence for a minute, just his hand moving on my back, grounding me through the worst of the cramp wave. Then Jordie returns with what looks like a professional-grade heating pad still in the package.
“Where did you even get that?” I ask.
“I ran down to the drugstore at the end of the street.” He’s already plugging it in, adjusting the settings. “Also got you these.”
He pulls out a bag. Chocolate. Three different kinds. Midol. Organic tampons.
“You remembered my tampon brand?”
“I pay attention.” He arranges the heating pad on my stomach, gets the temperature right. “Better?”
“Better.”
Grant reappears with tea in my favorite mug—the one with the sarcastic quote I bought at a thrift store. He sets it on my nightstand, then hovers awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “All of you. This is—you didn’t have to do all this.”
“Of course we did,” Jordie says, like it’s obvious. “You take care of us. We take care of you.”
Wyatt’s hand is still on my back, steady and warm. Grant’s perched on my desk chair, watching with an expression I can’t quite read.
“I should leave you alone,” Grant says. “Let you rest.”
“You can stay.” The words come out before I can second-guess them. “If you want.”
His eyes meet mine, searching for something. Then he nods. “Okay.”
Jordie’s already making himself comfortable on my bed, propping pillows behind his back. “Movie? We could watch something mind-numbing. Nothing that requires brain cells.”
“I’m not really in the mood—”
“Not asking.” He’s got the remote, scrolling through options. “You’re watching something. It’s non-negotiable.”
I roll my eyes but I’m smiling. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
Wyatt shifts, carefully rearranging me so I’m leaning back against his chest, the heating pad still in place. Grant’s still in the chair, maintaining his distance, but his eyes keep flicking to me with concern that he’s not quite hiding.
Jordie picks some action movie with explosions and zero plot. Perfect for my current brain capacity.
Twenty minutes in, another cramp hits and I curl up reflexively. Wyatt’s arms tighten around me, one hand replacing mine on the heating pad to hold it steady while the other traces soothing patterns on my hip.
The cramp passes. I relax back against him.
“Better?” Jordie asks, pausing the movie.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” His hand finds my ankle, squeezes gently. “Not your fault your uterus is an asshole.”
That startles a laugh out of me. Grant’s lips twitch—almost a smile.
“I’m going to get you more water,” Grant says, standing. “And maybe some crackers. You should eat something even if you’re not hungry.”
He leaves before I can argue. Jordie raises an eyebrow at me.
“He’s trying really hard.”
“I know.”
“It’s kind of sweet. In a repressed, emotionally constipated way.”
“Jordie—”
“What? I can admit when Captain Asshole is being less of an asshole.” He grins. “Character growth. I’m mature like that.”
Wyatt snorts against my hair. “You’re many things, Dickson. Mature isn’t one of them.”
“Says the guy who sleeps with every light on.”
“Not anymore.” Wyatt’s voice is quiet. Significant. “Haven’t needed them. Not since—”
He doesn’t finish but he doesn’t need to. Since me. Since I started sleeping in his bed, helping him through the dark.
Grant returns with water, crackers, and somehow he’s also found a banana. “Potassium helps with cramps. I think. I might have read something—” He stops. “Anyway. Eat the banana.”
“So romantic,” Jordie deadpans.
“Shut up, Dickson.”
But Grant’s sitting closer now. Not on the bed—that’s still too much, too soon—but he’s pulled the chair right up beside it, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
We go back to the movie. Jordie keeps up a running commentary that’s more entertaining than the actual plot.
Wyatt’s solid and warm behind me, his breathing even, and I realize he’s not tense at all.
Usually there’s this coiled energy in him, this waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop vigilance. But right now he’s relaxed. Present.
Happy.
By the time the movie ends, the Advil has kicked in and I’m feeling almost human again. The cramps are still there but manageable. And I’m surrounded by three guys who dropped everything to take care of me in their own weird, over-the-top ways.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For all of this. The heating pad, the tea, the tampon shopping, the banana, the—everything.”
“Anytime,” Wyatt says simply.
“Literally anytime.” Jordie stretches, then flops dramatically across my legs. “We’re at your uterus’s service.”
Grant’s watching us with that expression again. The one I’m learning to read. It’s not jealousy exactly. More like… longing. He wants to be part of this. Part of us.
But he doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
“Grant.” I wait until he meets my eyes. “Thank you. For the tea. And the banana. And staying.”
Something in his expression cracks open. “Yeah. Of course.”
“You know what she needs now?” Jordie announces. “Junk food. Real junk food. Not healthy bananas.”
He’s already pulling out his phone. “I’m ordering pizza. And breadsticks. And those cinnamon things you like.”
“I didn’t say I liked—”
“You ate four of them last time. I counted.” He’s typing with his thumbs, completely focused. “Wyatt, you want your usual? Grant?”
Grant hesitates. Like he’s not sure if he’s included in this. If he gets to be part of the casual intimacy of knowing each other’s pizza orders.
“Pepperoni and mushroom,” I say.
Grant stares at me. “How did you—”
I shrug. “I pay attention too.”
The look on his face makes my chest tight. Like I just gave him something precious instead of remembering a pizza order.
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “That’s—yeah. Thank you.”
Jordie places the order, then settles back on the bed. We end up in this tangle—me against Wyatt, Jordie’s head on my thigh, Grant still in the chair but closer now, his hand resting on the edge of the bed near mine.
Not quite touching. But close enough.
We start another movie. Something with car chases and explosions and zero emotional depth. Perfect.
And somewhere between the pizza arriving and the credits rolling, I realize something.
This works. The four of us. In this weird, complicated, unconventional way—it works.
Jordie makes everything lighter. Wyatt grounds me. Grant challenges me. And somehow, together, they fill in all the spaces I didn’t know were empty.
I don’t know what this means. Don’t know if I can actually do this—be with three people who all want different things from me. Don’t know if Grant can handle sharing when he barely handled me being with the other two.
But watching them now—Jordie arguing with Wyatt about whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie, Grant almost smiling as he listens—I think maybe we can figure it out.
Maybe we’re already figuring it out.
“Stop thinking so loud,” Wyatt murmurs against my ear. “I can feel your brain working overtime.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Try.” His arms tighten slightly. “Just be here. Right now. That’s all.”
So I do. I let myself sink into this moment—the warmth of the heating pad, the sound of Jordie’s laughter, the weight of Wyatt’s arms, the careful presence of Grant finally letting himself stay.
Just this. Just now. Just us.
Whatever comes next, we’ll deal with it tomorrow.
Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.