Page 118 of Lose You Twice

By Monday morning, I have decided the kiss was a problem for Future Me.

Future Me is very busy, obviously, but she seems capable. Resourceful. Good under pressure. Excellent at ignoring emotional disasters until they grow teeth and start chewing through drywall.

Present Me has bigger issues.

Like the fact that I wake up at five-thirty with cramps so sharp I have to grip the edge of the bathroom counter and breathe through my teeth.

“Fantastic,” I whisper to my reflection.

My reflection looks unimpressed.

Pale. Hair smashed on one side. Dark circles under both eyes. The overall vibe is less college student and more haunted Victorian child who has seen too much.

A cramp twists through my stomach.

I bend forward, forehead nearly hitting the mirror.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

We are not doing this today.

Today includes class, a shift at the rink, one online quiz, picking up the twins because Mom is on a twelve-hour shift, and pretending I don’t know what Kai Mercer’s mouth feels like when he finally stops being careful.

My body doesn’t seem to care about my schedule.

Rude.

I find painkillers in the medicine cabinet, take two with sink water, then dig through the bottom drawer for supplies. There’s one emergency tampon, three mismatched pads, and a heat patch that expired last year.

Great.

We love abundance.

By the time I make it downstairs, Holden is already in the kitchen, standing in front of the toaster with his backpack on and a piece of bread in each hand.

He looks at me once and frowns. “You look terrible.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“You sick?”

“No.”

His frown deepens. Sixteen-year-old boys are not supposed to be this observant. It’s very inconvenient. “Period?”

I stop halfway to the coffee maker.

He shrugs, unbothered. “I live here.”

Fair.

“Yes, but I’m fine.”

“That means bad.”

“It means fine.”