Page 21 of Seein’ Red

Kenzie grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s been perfect. You nailed it.”

“It wasn’t just me, but thank you.”

My phone chirps, the daily alarm reminding me to take my meds popping up on the screen. Kenzie and I both look down at it, “BC” in big bold letters flashing back. I shut it off as Kenzie pushes up off the counter, slipping out of the bathroom.

“Still think you should have ditched us for that waiter,” she taunts, sticking her head back in.

“I got his number; maybe I still will,” I tease back. “Could be better than brunch.”

Kenzie waggles her brows and disappears, the both of us giggling.

It is an option. I am single. There’s nothing in my agreement with Nash that says we can’t see other people.

Because that would require an actual agreement. A discussion about what exactly we are and setting some kind of rules or guidelines for what happens between us. Instead of us just annoying each other to the point where we end up in bed. Or his truck. Or the warehouse at Pour Decisions—the taproom of my brother’s brewery.

Really, anywhere we can get a decent amount of privacy for fifteen minutes.

But a random hookup isn’t what I’m after. Not that I know what I’m after, but I do know it’s not that.

Digging through my toiletries bag, I pull out my little packet of pills, flipping it open. Going through the motions, I pop out the last pill of the pack, tossing it in my mouth and swallowing without thinking.

Until I look down again.

That was the last pill in the pack.

I count backward in my head, reasoning it out. It’s April. My last period was right after New Year’s. It’s a ninety-day pack. I didn’t skip any—all the little spots are punched out. I also feel like I would remember that.

Then again, I apparently wasn’t paying close enough attention to this week being the white pills. The sugar ones.

Placebos.

A bell rings in my head, like I’ve done this math before. Because I did. When Kenzie gave us the date for her wedding, I sat there and mathed it all out, wanting to make sure I wasn’t going to be dealing with PMS on top of everything else. And I wasn’t. Or, well, I shouldn't be. I was due to start last week. And if there’s one thing I am, it’s regular. Like fucking clockwork.

Oh….fuck…

The room starts to spin and it’s all I can do to find the toilet and sit. How did I not realize this?

Yes, it was a busy week. Lots of meetings and calls at work, plus all the things I promised Kenzie I would help with. Still, that shouldn’t have been enough to distract me from my own cycle and all the symptoms that come with it. Symptoms that haven’t shown up.

None of the bloating, the moodiness, the chocolate cravings. Instead, all there’s been is…

Oh…fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

The clench of my tummy is all the answer I need. Well, that paired with the lack of all the other things can only point to one thing.

Something I’m not saying out loud.

I need a test. I need to pee on a damn stick so it can tell me this is all in my head. It better be all in my head. The last thing on earth I need—any of us needs—is for this to be real. Not to be dramatic, but right now I can think of few worse things than this actually happening.

Pulling myself together, I push to my feet and force myself through the rest of my routine. If I can get ready fast enough, I might be able to slip away and find a drug store. There has to be one close by, right? I don’t think there is one right here in the Battery, since this is all designed to be bars and restaurants and tourists shopping around the stadium, but certainly once outside of this development, there has to be.

I’m dressed and ready in what feels like record time, even with my stomach still trying to revolt. It’s fine, I can do this. I am excellent at faking it. If all my pageant years taught me anything, it was that. I can be the picture of put together and poised no matter what is going on.

Even this.

“Oh good, you’re ready!” Bronwyn says as I walk into the living area of the suite.

“Y’all weren’t waitin’ on me, were you? Kenz said not to rush.”