The sight of him and the way his tattooed muscles and broad chest are wrapped in a tight black T-shirt, is enough to wake me up a little more, while also unfortunately reminding me that I must look like a sweaty mess right now. A weak, sweaty mess from the way Duke’s pitiful gaze sweeps over me.
Just a little girl who needs saving. Again.
I can barely look him in the eye as heat rises into my cheeks.
‘I’m fine,’ I rasp out. The silver stars are almost gone from my vision, thankfully, no longer threatening to pull me from consciousness.
Duke closes his eyes for a long second, shaking his head. Then he reaches to swipe his black leather biker jacket off the back of his chair and drops to his knees to wrap it around me. I hunch my shoulders as he does.
‘Cherry,’ he says, voice dropping an octave, a commanding depth lacing it. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
My skin prickles and I don’t think it’s a result of the fever. ‘I’m fine, I just felt faint and needed to sit down. Sorry, your office was the closest—’
Another shooting pain lances through my stomach,cutting me off. Water wells in my eyes, making me squeeze them shut, because that one was way worse than the last, but I try to breathe through it as best as I can. ‘I’m also double sorry because I threw up in your bin.’
It’s then that I realise Duke never took his hands away after draping his jacket around me. No, instead he’s gently rubbing my arms up and down as I shiver beneath his hands. My heartrate threatens to skyrocket in response to his gentle touch.
When I finally open my eyes again, they immediately marry with his and I’m almost breathless at the intensity behind how he regards me. Duke’s the beautiful kind of masculine – angled features with soft edges, high cheekbones, and long lashes that frame deep brown eyes. Ones that could say a thousand words even though he’s usually the quietest one in the room.
‘You need to go home. You shouldn’t be covering for people when it’s your time of the month,’ he says.
My lips pop open, and I even shake my head a little because … ‘Excuse me?’
‘Do you have any of your special painkillers?’
‘What …’ My words trail off as I try to comprehend what he’s attempting to discuss with me. What he’s suggesting he knows all about … but the last thing I want to do is get into a conversation about mymenstrual cyclewith my boss.
‘Cherry?’ Duke’s fingers pulse against my upper arms. He’s stopped rubbing them, but he hasn’t let go, still on his knees, leaning over me. Heat radiates off him while his dark, wild eyes flick between mine.
‘How … how do you know about all that?’ I ask, glaring at him.
Duke’s fingers abruptly retract from me, his eyes flashing at where he’d been holding me, before he rears back, increasing the space between us. I pull my knees up to my chest, circling my arms around them.
His eyes flare before he clears his throat. ‘I, uh, spent a lot of time at your house when you were growing up. You used to have a lot of days off school because of it.’
I rub my eyes, desperately wanting the floor to swallow me up. Too many times he no doubt saw me curled up on the couch, unable to make it to school as I was growing up because my period pain was so severe, let alone the hormonal changes and stress of it all only made me more susceptible to seizures and meant I was safer at home on the worst days. Something I found out the hard way when I first started getting bad cramps at thirteen and laboured through a painful day at school only to end up having a fit in the middle of a science class, knocking equipment everywhere. Sure, the birth control, the doctors eventually gave me help to alleviate some of the symptoms by lengthening the times between my periods, but that feels a little bit like slapping a Band-Aid on a broken bone.
Still, I’ve always found ways to manage – heat pads, plenty of extra-strength painkillers, long naps, and staying at home. Though, as much as that worked through school and college, I’m aware companies don’t tend to give every woman a week off each month, so God knows how I’ll manage when I finally have a job. Hopefully, I’ll find some strength somewhere.
Duke asks, ‘Why do you think I always give you a week off every month?’
I throw my hands up with a sigh. ‘Ithoughtthat was because of my epilepsy. Because Wyatt told you not to overwork me. The usual overprotective family stuff, y’know?’ I’d always just been grateful that with the pill I could make sure my cycle coincided with those days off, or at least the worst parts of it. ‘Not in a million years did I think it was because my boss was tracking my period.’
That he was taking notes when he’d ask me when I wanted my first shift to be every time I came back for the holidays or summer, and I’d purposefully make that first day overlap with my cycle finishing.
‘Well, this is incredibly embarrassing,’ I groan, dropping my head into my hands. My hair tumbles down, creating a barrier around me, against the moment I really wish wasn’t currently playing out right now.
Duke’s fingers briefly graze my shins, as if he went to grasp me but decided against it. ‘Cherry, it’s natural, don’t worry.’
‘No, it’s not,’ I snap, my head shooting up.
Duke’s quiet demeanour remains as his unyielding, dark eyes behold me. Tears surge into my eyes again and I try my hardest to blink them away.
‘It’s not natural to be in so much pain, Duke. It’s not natural for your boss to have to give you a week off work every month, so you don’t faint in the middle of the bar. It’s not natural to have to say no to so many things because you’re either too exhausted from your stupid period, or you’re worried you’ll overexert yourself and risk a seizure. It’s not natural to feel so fuckingweak.’
It’s not natural to spend so much time off school.
It’s not natural to have fewer friends because you’ve missed out on socialising and parties growing up.
