I take a shaky breath and grab my purse. I don’t want to do this, but I’m going. They need me. And maybe I need them, too.
Loud music, dim lights, the smell of bodies pressed together, and the sticky feeling under my feet of spilled beer are my welcome to the bar. Yet tonight, the usual place where I allow myself to let loose feels all wrong. The music is too loud, the lights too bright, the smell overwhelming.
I keep checking my phone, half hoping Cohen will text me. But I know he won’t—he’s with my parents, and I’m miles away in this chaotic bubble that doesn’t fit me right now.
I find Rina and Natalie in our usual booth. Theysmile when they see me, but I can tell they’re worried. Their eyes flicker to my face like they want to ask if I’m okay but don’t want to push.
We order the usual—appetizers and gummy bear shots, our ridiculous specialty. I try to focus on the conversations, the way their voices sound like a lifeline. I laugh when they joke. I force smiles, but inside I feel like I’m sinking deeper with every passing second.
That’s when I see him.
Cole.
He’s sitting at a table across the room with Josh and a couple of other guys. I hadn’t expected to see him tonight, especially not here. I haven’t seen him all week. Not since Cohen and I ran into him at Reuben’s restaurant. He’s laughing at something one of the guys says, but his eyes...they keep drifting toward me. Not subtly, either. It’s like he’s watching me, like he knows I’m here, like he’s waiting for something.
I can feel the heat of his gaze even from across the room, and a strange flutter starts in my stomach. It’s not just a longing, though. There’s something more to it, like he knows.
He knows something’s wrong with me.
I quickly turn my attention back to Rina and Natalie, but I can’t stop glancing at him. Even from far away, it’s obvious he’s still looking at me. He looks concerned, even if he’s trying to hide it. The way his brows furrow, the small way he shifts in his seat—it’s like he’s trying to figure something out.
After a while, the pain in my stomach fades enough to where I think I can pretend everything’s fine. Maybe I’ll be okay. But then, like clockwork, it hits me again—hard. The kind of pain that makes my breath hitch, the kind that knots in my stomach and spreads down my legs.
I feel like I’m going to crumble, but I can’t let it show. Not here. Not now.
I stand up quickly, trying not to show how badly I’m hurting.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I mutter, not really waiting for a response.
I can’t even look at them, because I know they’ll just ask if I’m okay, and the answer is always the same. No, I’m not okay.
As soon as I’m alone in the bathroom, the pain takes over again. I don’t even make it to a stall before I collapse onto the cold tile floor, cradling my body in a ball.
It’s all too much. The cramps, the exhaustion, the loneliness. The tears well up in my eyes without warning, but I force myself to stay quiet. I don’t want to make a scene.
I hear the bathroom door creak open, and I hold my breath, hoping whoever it is will just leave me alone.
“Sorry, I’ll move,” I say into the empty room, my voice trembling with embarrassment. There’s nothing more humiliating than being caught in this state, especially in public.
But then I hear his voice.
“Kenna?”
I glance up, and of course it’s him. Of course it’s Cole.
His eyes soften with something that makes my heart ache. He crouches down in front of me, looking like he’s already figured out exactly what’s wrong. His voice is gentle, almost as soft as his touch.
“I’m right here, Sunshine. Your cramps?”
I nod, the weight of the pain and emotion pressing down on me until I’m almost gasping.
Without a word, Cole scoops me into his arms like I’m made of glass. He sits on the floor with me in his lap, and I bury my face in his chest, the tears finally breaking free.
The sobs I’ve been holding in all night spill out, and Cole doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just holds me, rubbing my back in slow, steady circles, stroking my hair with a tenderness I didn’t know I needed.
His presence grounds me, tethers me to something solid when my body feels like it’s falling apart.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I manage to speak through my tears. “I…I went to the doctor,” I say, my voice shaky. “I have dysmenorrhea. It’s the reason the cramps are so bad.”
