Dinner is loud but fun, with everyone talking and laughing over each other. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed doing shit like this. It reminds me how long I’ve been away and that we need to do this more often.
At some point, my hand finds Savannah’s knee, and I spend the entire meal massaging circles into her flesh. I’ve never been like this with a woman before, needing to touch her in some way at all times, and it only helps to cement my newfound truth: I want more with Savannah.
Chapter Seventeen
Savannah
I wake up to cramps strong enough to make me double over in pain. I tuck my legs up to my chest and stare at the wall, not wanting to get up, because I know that when I do, I’ll sit on the toilet to go pee and wipe crimson.
My period has arrived.
I’m not pregnant.
I should be ecstatic.
Ben and I played a game of Russian roulette and dodged the bullet.
Yet my heart hurts.
Because as a woman who has wished and hoped and prayed to one day start my own family, I was hoping by some miracle I was pregnant. I knew the chances were slim, and really, it’s for the best since Ben isn’t the man I’ll be spending my life with—but a part of me still wanted to be pregnant. To carry a baby in my womb, to feel him or her kick, to see the creepy yet beautiful skeletal face and body on the ultrasound screen, and at the end of the nine months, give birth to the most precious baby in the world.
The pain in my lower belly worsens—like a subtle reminder that I’m not pregnant—and I squeeze my eyes closed, wanting to go back to sleep and wake up in five days when my period is over. For most women, a period is a necessary annoyance, but for those like me who can’t conceive, it’s like a flashing neon sign that points out month after month that I’m broken.
And with that thought, I find myself lying here, wondering where the hell I’m going and what I’m doing with my life. What kind of person am I to wish for a man, who has no desire to have any more kids, to impregnant me? And of course this is the same man I’m falling for—hard and fast.
No strings, my ass.
My thoughts go back to the past few days, to the way Ben held my hand and kissed me. We haven’t had sex in over a week, not since our gym session, yet somehow after this weekend, it feels like we’re closer than ever. I’m not sure how kissing and holding hands can feel more intimate than the act of sex itself, but with Ben, it does.
I should break things off, tell him I’m done, but every time I think about doing so, sadness blankets me. Because with every kiss, every touch, every look he gives me, I’m falling deeper and deeper. I know it’s going to end with my heart broken, but I just can’t find it in me to walk away. God, I’m such a masochist.
The alarm goes off on my phone, and I shut it off, not wanting to get up but knowing I need to. Until I take some pain reliever, the cramps won’t lessen, and I don’t want my clothes and sheets to be stained red. I roll out of bed and head straight to the bathroom.
Sure enough, my period has started, and my underwear is coated red. I peel them off and throw them into the sink so I can try to keep them from staining. Then I jump in the shower to rinse off. Once I’m out, I pop a couple of pain pills. I can already tell this month’s cycle will be bad, and mixed with my feeling sorry for myself, I’m in no mood to go to work. After pulling up Sharp’s employee website and putting in for a sick day, I crawl back into bed, tucking myself under the blankets, and go back to sleep.
I wake to Ben staring down at me, his features marred by a deep V in the middle of his brows.
“I was worried about you. What are you doing in bed?”
I glance around, taking in my surroundings. “How did you get in here?”
“Brianne. She let me in on her way out.” She was still asleep when I decided to stay home, so I didn’t tell her, not wanting to wake her up. “You didn’t show up at the gym this morning. You okay?”
I think about his question for a moment… Am I okay? Physically, yes… Emotionally, not so much. But how do I explain that to him?
No, Ben, I’m not okay. Remember when we had unprotected sex? Well, I didn’t get pregnant, and now I’m heartbroken. That’s one way to push him away. Hell, if I told him that, he’d probably run the other way.
When I don’t answer right away, lost in my head and heart, he sits on the edge of the bed and tips my chin up so I’m forced to look at him. “What’s wrong, Sav?”
“I’m not feeling well. I’m…” I take a deep breath. “My period started, and I have bad cramps.”
He nods once, then dips down to kiss my forehead. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s okay,” I mutter. “Only the first day is bad. I took pain pills and—”
His eyes lock with mine. “Not about that.”
I was already on the verge of crying all morning, so his words—the fact he’s apologizing I’m not pregnant when he should be throwing a party—push me over the ledge. Hot, fat tears well up, blurring my vision, and then spill over, sliding down my cheeks.
“Hey,” he coos, sliding his thumb across my cheek to swipe a tear away before he stands, kicks his shoes off, and then climbs onto the bed next to me—still dressed to the nines in his business suit.
He pulls the blanket off me, envelops me in his arms, and then throws it back over us. I nuzzle my face into him, and in his warmth and comfort, allow myself to cry.
He doesn’t say a word the entire time, just rubs circles on my back and holds me tight while I cry for the baby I want and may never get. For the family I never had and crave. For the love I desire and wonder if I’ll ever truly experience.
When I’ve cried all the tears and have calmed down enough to think rationally, I tense up, embarrassed I’ve just spent who knows how long crying on Ben’s shoulder—literally.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into his chest. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”
His thumb and forefinger pinch my chin, lifting my face so I’m looking at him. “Maybe not, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
His words confuse me, but I’m too exhausted—mentally and physically—to ask him what he means, so instead, I just nod once and slide out of his arms. “I need to use the restroom.”
I spend several minutes in there, using the bathroom, taking some pain pills, and washing my face, and once I feel like I’m halfway decent, I go back out. My bed is empty, and I find Ben in the living room talking on his phone.
“I won’t be in today. Grab the permits on my desk and have a courier drop them off.” He pauses to listen to whatever is being said on the other line, and then he says, “Yes.” Another pause. “Perfect, thanks. Only call if it’s an emergency.”
Without so much as a goodbye, he hangs up and glances over at me. “You okay?”
I shrug. “I will be. Who was that?” I nod toward his phone as he’s putting it back into his pocket.
“Lenora.” His assistant. Bless her heart, I don’t know how she’s worked for him as long as she has. “She sounded a bit too happy when I told her I won’t be in today,” he says dryly.