Page 67 of Scoring Eden

“It’s okay.” Macon shuffles over to his side and pats him on the arm. “She’s not hurt. It’s just her period.”

Brilliant.

“I saw the blood and thought she was dying,” my wonderful, incredibly helpful son explains. “There’s just so much of it. It’s okay, though. Mom told me about periods before, and she said that they’re normal and that if I ever have a relationship with someone who has them when I’m a grownup, then I should buy them chocolate and get them a heat pack.” He pauses then looks thoughtfully up at Alex. “Do you have a heat pack I can give to Mom?”

I’m very much of the opinion that all children deserve to have a voice, but right now, I really need this child to stop talking. “Hey, buddy?” I wince. “Can you go get ready for school?”

He frowns. “What about the heat pack?”

“We can sort that out later.”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “If you’re sure.”

Very much so.

Macon is the center of my entire universe, but he lacks the ability to read a room. And as proud as I am to have raised a son as empathic and well-meaning as him, I fear that any further commentary on the volume of blood I’ve expelled will send me over the edge.

He pads back to his room, and I peel myself off the floor with a shudder.

“I’m sorry about the sheets,” I murmur, cheeks burning with shame. “I’ll replace them.”

If Alex were anything like Sebastian, he’d berate me for ruining his expensive Egyptian cotton and suggest a full hysterectomy to prevent the situation from happening again.

Alex’s expression, though, takes me off guard. Amused without being mocking. Concerned too, though apparently not for the state of his sheets. Concerned for…me?

“Don’t worry about them. I’ve got some hydrogen peroxide somewhere. It’ll sort them right out.”

To my utmost horror, he takes a handful of the sheets and tugs them from the bed. I stare at the splattered material now firmly in his grasp in disbelief.

“You…don’t care?”

He tilts his head to one side. “Why would I? I’ve done worse damage with a nosebleed.”

“But it came out of my vagina.”

He nods once. Slowly. “That’s generally how periods work.”

“And now you’re touching it.”

He chuckles. “I’m not touching the blood. But even if I were, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

I’m so confused.

He’s a man. And in my experience, men consider periods to be the single most disgusting thing they could ever have the misfortune of encountering. As if fifty percent of the human population doesn’t experience it every month. But he’s just standing there, all nonchalant, not a care in the world, holding my ruined sheets in his bare hands.

In my mind, someone holds up a green flag and waves it with vigor.

“It’s a period, Eden. It’s not dirty or gross or shameful. Most women get them, you know? You’re not the only one.”

Well, yes, of course I know that. It’s just a surprise that he does too.

“Right.” I clear my throat. “That’s…yes, well…okay.”

His lips purse together as he fights to contain a laugh. Strangely, it doesn’t raise my hackles, but that might be due to the fact that I’m still processing the chaos of the last fifteen minutes.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m buffering.”