“There are two ways to get rid of milk,” I murmur. “One’s mechanically… but that’s not an option without a pump.” My eyes hold hers.
“The other way?” she asks, blushing like she already knows.
Am I really gonna suggest this?
Caleb would be mortified. He’d come up with a multitude of reasons I’m sick in the head. But he’s always cared more about other people and what they think than I have.
And he’s not here to tell me shit.
This thirst I’ve had has never been sated. Maybe, today, it will be.
Chapter 3
Joelle
I stand like an idiot, arms crossed tight over my chest, trying not to cry out from the pressure building behind my nipples. They’re swollen and aching, and I can feel the milk starting to let down again, warm and slow, soaking into the front of my shirt.
I’d hoped that if I ignored it, the feeling would pass. That maybe distraction would be enough. My body would absorb it. I’d finally be free.
But that isn’t what’s happening.
Wade stands too close, and I’m too aware of his scent, warm and earthy like leather and sun, and the way his stubble shadows the strong line of his jaw. His gaze drops to my chest, for a second, but it’s enough to make my whole body flush hot with shame.
I tighten my arms, like I can hide what’s happening. Like I can pretend I’m not falling apart.
But then the heat rising in my face breaks loosesomewhere else. My throat tightens. My eyes sting. And before I know what’s happening, I’m crying.
Not a tear or two but the kind of emotion that springs from deep down and wells up so fast, it’s impossible to control.
I try to swallow it, to shake it off. “God,” I whisper. “This is so stupid.”
Wade is as silent and motionless as a statue.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I say, breath hitching. “I left my son behind. I don’t have a plan. And now—” I choke on the laugh that wants to rise. “Now I’m leaking all over myself like a damn cow.”
That’s when he approaches me, stepping in and setting his hand on my shoulder, firm and warm, the way someone might touch a nervous animal.
“Joelle,” he says, voice low. “Hey. Look at me.”
I do, because something in the way he says it makes me feel like maybe I’m not unraveling alone. His thumb brushes the tears from my cheek, slow and gentle. He’s so unlike the man I remember that I gape.
“You’re not stupid,” he says. “You’re tired. You’ve been holding too much for too long.”
I shake my head. I don’t know what to do with kindness like this. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re surviving,” he says. “That takes guts.”
I cry harder because no one’s said anything like that to me in a long time. Maybe ever.
He pulls me closer until my forehead rests against his chest and his arms are around me, solid and safe. I don’t even remember the last time someone held me like this, and it feels so good.
“I can’t believe I let it get this bad,” I whisper against hiswarm skin.
“Hell,” Wade says, “I’ve seen men lose their minds over a broken truck axle. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”
His hand comes up, cradles the back of my head. I breathe him in, the scent of him settling something in my chest I didn’t even know was shaking loose.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
