No one should blame me.I was lonely.I wanted to feel something.I wanted to be touched like I mattered instead of like I was a problem to solve.Spoiler alert: I did feel something.Empty and worthless because no matter what it’s always empty touches and yearning that fills my soul when I try to forget them.
Cally’s voice breaks the silence first, soft like he’s trying not to spook me.“Ves ...?”
I hate how careful he is.I hate that he sounds like he’s already bleeding internally on my behalf.
Monty’s arm stays around my waist.As if he refuses to let me fold in a bathroom that costs more than my car.
“Do you have any idea?”he asks.
“I don’t get periods,” I say, aiming for breezy and landing on brittle.“Depo did me a solid and took that entire monthly disaster off my schedule.”
Cally’s eyes narrow like he’s trying to do math through panic.“Okay ...but you’re current.”
Monty’s gaze doesn’t move.Blue-gray, direct, too awake.“You’re current,” he repeats, like he’s testing the sentence for cracks.“Right?”
My stomach rolls, sour and fast, and my mouth waters in the least romantic way possible.I would like to unsubscribe from my own biology.This is definitely not the plot twist I ordered when I said I’d like my life to be emotionally compelling.
“I ...”My voice thins out.“I missed my last dose.”
Suddenly, the room has less oxygen.
Cally’s hand drops to the counter, fingers splayed like he needs the edge to keep his control.Monty’s arm tightens around me, not squeezing but they feel like a claim.Almost.
“Then, when,” Monty says.“When was your last shot?”
I should answer like an adult.
Instead, I do what I always do when I’m terrified.I talk faster, brighter, louder, like volume can rewrite biology.
“I’ve been traveling,” I say, too quick.“Time zones mess with everything.Stress messes with everything.My dad?—”
“I’m not judging you,” Monty cuts in, and his voice does something dangerous: it softens.“I’m trying to protect you while figuring out what’s wrong with you.”
Cally makes a small sound—half laugh, half disbelief—like he’s offended Monty thinks he’s the only one allowed to care.“Welcome to the club.”
Monty doesn’t look away from me.“How late are you?”
I swallow, and it feels like my body is resisting even that basic function, like it knows the truth and it’s punishing me for making it say it.
“I’d have to check,” I whisper.“Check my phone to see my appointments.”
That’s a total lie.I know it’s been at least three months since the last shot.Probably more.If I think about how September is almost half a year away ...well, I’m technically fucked.Maybe not.Maybe it’s just an ulcer.Maybe it’s nerves.Maybe it’s me.Because these two men are trying to figure out my health without having a medical degree.
Cally’s face shifts—wide-eyed shock to dark to wrecked in the span of a heartbeat, like he’s trying to organize a thousand emotions into one acceptable expression and failing.His gaze flicks to my stomach and back to my eyes, like he’s trying not to look there and cannot help it.
Monty’s hand spreads over my middle.It’s protective.Possessive in a way that should make me furious.
It makes me want to cry.
“No,” I say automatically, because denial is my favorite hobby and I’m very talented at it.“No.It can’t be that.It’s stress.It’s travel.It’s—Finland.I probably caught some weird Nordic germ that hates clusterfucks, timing, and probably personal growth and?—”
“Ves.”Cally’s voice drops, pleading.“Baby—” He stops like the word burns him.His eyes flash with panic at what he almost called me.“Ves.Look at me.”
I don’t want to.
Because if I do, I’ll see hope.
And Cally’s hope is a wildfire.It spreads.It takes.It decides it’s entitled to everything.
