My uterus is trying to kill me. That’s what I’ve decided while I lie in bed waiting for my ibuprofen to kick in. I hear pounding on the front door, but I ignore it. I’m a little busy fighting back the tears.
My period didn’t used to be this painful, but when I was eighteen the cramps started getting debilitating. It was another three years before I figured out why—endometriosis. I can usually manage when I’m home with ibuprofen and my trusty heating pad, but my heating pad stopped working, and the one I ordered online won’t be here until tomorrow. Which doesn’t do me a whole lot of good today while I lie here feeling like one of the dire wolves from Game of Thrones is trying to rip my uterus out. I should be grateful the band is on hiatus right now. Tours have always been the worst because we’re always moving from place to place. It’s not exactly convenient to deal with debilitating pain once a month when you’re on the road.
My phone dings next to me, and a text from Tristan pops up on the screen.
Tristan: You home?
Me: Yeah.
Tristan: There a reason you’re not answering the door?
Ugh, I do not want to tell him I’m on my period. That is the least sexy thing imaginable. Not that I’m trying to be sexy, because I’m not. I’m simply trying not to be gross.
Me: Today’s not a good day. Aunt Flo is visiting if you catch my drift.
He doesn’t respond and I don’t hear any more knocking, so I close my eyes and try to breathe through the pain. The meds have to kick in soon. A particularly sharp cramp hits, and I roll on my side, curling into a ball and groaning into my pillow.
I don’t know how long I lie there, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes before the sound of my front door opening causes my head to pop up. My ears perk, listening closely as heavy footsteps walk purposefully in my direction.
Shit, someone’s in my house.
My fingers are poised to dial 911 when my door is tapped and Tristan’s head pops around, his bright blue eyes the first thing that capture my attention. I sag back against the bed and place my hand on my heart.
“Jesus Christ, you scared me. I thought someone broke in.”
He dangles the spare key Robbie and I gave him years ago that he’s used plenty of times. “Just me.”
He pushes the door all the way open, and the crinkle of plastic draws my gaze down to the bag in his hand, the familiar red bullseye logo of my favorite store printed on the white bag.
“I ran to the Target down the street and got you some stuff.”
“You what?” I say, surprised. I figured when he didn’t respond, he left and went back home. He starts pulling items out of the bag, and with each one my heart pounds quicker and heavier against my chest. My favorite chocolate candy, a pint of my favorite dairy-free ice cream, and last but certainly not least, a brand-new heating pad.
“How did you know?” I ask, completely baffled by how thoughtful this all is.
“About the heating pad?”
I nod, stunned speechless.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal when it is in fact a very big deal. “You mentioned your old one stopped working a few weeks ago.”
“I could’ve ordered a new one.” I don’t tell him the new one is coming tomorrow, which isn’t much help to me today like his will be.
He talks as he takes it out of the box and plugs it in. “You’ve been busy going through Robbie’s stuff, putting your house up for sale, and house hunting. I figured you lost track of time and probably forgot about yourself. You tend to do that when you’re busy.”
I did do that, but I never realized I was so predictable. I also never realized how much Tristan noticed. He turns the heating pad on and places it on the bed next to me. He places the chocolate and the ice cream on my nightstand next, and I watch him, my mouth slightly agape and feeling like I’ve never seen this man before in my life even though I’ve known him since I was fifteen.
But this is not the man I thought I knew.
“I’ll grab you a spoon for your ice cream. Need anything else?”
Clearing my throat and shaking myself out of my stupor, I say, “Uh, no.”
He points to the bottle of ibuprofen on my nightstand. “When was the last time you took some?”
“About an hour ago. It’s kicking in a bit now.”
He nods like that pleases him and then grabs my water glass, taking it and the trash from opening the heating pad box with him.
When he leaves, I sag against my headboard and pull the heating pad over my abdomen. The heat instantly feels good, and I know relief isn’t far away. But now that my head isn’t focused on the pain, I’m even more flummoxed by Tristan’s behavior. I stare at the chocolate and ice cream sitting next to me. I didn’t even know he knew what my favorites were. When was the last time I ate either of these in his presence for him to remember how much I love them, or how much I always crave them when I’m on my period?
When Tristan returns with a spoon, a full glass of water, and a smile that leaves me feeling a little breathless, I start to wonder if I know Tristan at all.
“Do you have anywhere else to be today?” I ask.
“Nope, that’s why I stopped by—to see if you wanted to hang out. But since you’re not feeling well, I’ll leave you to rest. I know you prefer to veg out when it’s this bad.”
He turns to leave. “Wait!” I call out, causing him to spin around.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to veg out with me? We could watch something on Netflix,” I offer, gesturing to the small flatscreen TV hanging on the wall across from the bed. I shouldn’t want him around—I’m miserable and crampy—but I can’t help but want him to stay.
His lips tilt up in the softest of smiles, and he grabs the chair in the corner of the room and pulls it around to the other side of my nightstand. He settles into the seat, his long legs stretching out in front of him and crossing at the ankle, while his hands rest comfortably on his stomach. He looks completely at ease, like this is the most natural thing in the world, even though we’ve never done this before.
We’ve hung out a lot in the past year, but mostly outside my house. Occasionally a dinner here or at his place, but never in our private spaces.
And yet, it doesn’t feel weird to have him in here.
I scroll through Netflix, and we discuss different options before finally settling on a documentary. We end up binge watching several episodes, only stopping when my stomach rumbles and Tristan suggests Chinese.
“Here,” he says, handing me his wallet. “Use my card. I’m gonna hit the bathroom real quick.”
I frown, staring down at his wallet. “You don’t have to buy. You already bought me a ton of stuff today.”
“So? It’s my treat. You can buy next time.”
“Alright, if you insist,” I say and then call in our order. When I go to put back his card after placing our order, I notice a picture partially sticking out of his wallet of a woman. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull it out before I even realize what I’ve done and what a horrible invasion of his privacy this is. So, of course that’s the minute he walks back into the room. His footsteps falter only slightly before he makes his way over to me. He reaches out for the photo, and I hand it to him, neither of us saying a word as he stares at it.
“Who is she?” I ask quietly.
“My mom.”
I’m momentarily speechless before a million thoughts and questions bombard me.
“She was pretty.”
“Yeah, she was. Before the drugs at least. According to my aunt, she’d been clean for about six months when this picture was taken.”
“You never talk about her.”
He shrugs. “Not much to say. She died when I was eleven from a drug overdose. And before that she was always in and out of our lives. I didn’t really know her. Trent mostly raised me until we moved in with our aunt and uncle.”
“Is that why you guys are so close?”
“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something in his tone that suggests things aren’t great with them right now.
“Why’d you say it like that?”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Trent’s just being kind of an ass right now. It’s fine. We’ll get past it; we always do.”
I’m curious what could possibly drive a wedge between the Bridger brothers. They’ve always seemed tighter than most, but he redirects our attention back to the show until the food arrives, and the timing never seems right to ask about it after that. Even though we don’t end up talking about anything serious for the rest of the night, I feel like I’ve gotten a peek behind the wall he keeps up for everyone else, and now I’m more intrigued than ever to find out more about him.
“Do you trust me?” Tristan asks me as we exit my house. It’s been a few days since he saved me from my period cramps, and he showed up today with a smile on his face telling me he had a surprise for me.
The answer to his question is easy. There’s no one on earth I trust more. He rewards my confirming nod with a brilliant smile that makes his blue eyes sparkle, and for the first time I notice they’re more cerulean than denim or baby blue. How did I never notice that his eyes were my favorite color?
“Come on then.” He ushers me to his car and then drives two blocks before parking in front of an adorable blue house with white trim and a porch swing. The small garden is lovingly cared for as is the perfectly manicured lawn. This is exactly the kind of house I’ve been looking for, and I try to ignore the stab of disappointment when I notice there’s no for sale sign in the front yard.
“What are we doing here?” I ask him.
He twists his large body until he’s facing me. “I reached out to my realtor.” His gaze slides to the house behind me. “This house isn’t officially going on the market for three more days, but she’s doing me a favor and letting us look at it. It’s within your budget, in the neighborhood you already love, and isn’t too big or too small. There are three bedrooms, one and a half baths. Plenty of space for you to have a guest room for when your brother comes to visit and an office for your photography stuff. It also has a fenced backyard in case you ever want to get a dog like you’ve always wanted.”
The more he talks the more I’m shocked completely speechless. I turn back to look at the house that I loved the moment I saw it. “Can we see the inside?”
A car pulls up behind us, and a woman in a fitted gray suit steps out.
“Perfect timing,” Tristan says, a huge smile on his face, like I just gave him everything he’s been looking for when it’s him who’s given it to me.
We get out of his car and he guides me toward the woman. “Jolie, this is Maggie. Maggie, this is Jolie.”
Maggie looks to be in her forties with brown hair graying slightly at the roots in a subtle way. She smiles fondly at me and extends her hand, which I grasp instantly.
“Jolie, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Tristan’s told me so much about you.”
“He has?” I ask, my gaze shifting to him. He still has a smile on his face, and I can’t help noticing how handsome he is when he smiles.
Maggie continues, “He has. And I hope this house lives up to what you’re looking for. Shall we?”
Tristan and I follow Maggie, and the minute we step inside, I know this is my house. A giddy kind of excitement infiltrates me in a way I haven’t felt in so long. I’ve been dreading the idea of moving out of my house and leaving behind the life I thought I was building with Robbie, but this house gives me hope. I can see a future here as we walk through the open plan living room into the kitchen with white cabinets, a long island with a white marble countertop, and stainless steel appliances. Through the backdoor is a yard with a gorgeous patio which has been as meticulously cared for as the front yard so clearly is. Over the course of the next few minutes, Maggie shows us the rest of the house, including three bedrooms, and I admire how the natural light coming through the windows makes each room feel open and airy.
The whole house feels like a fresh new beginning, and for the first time, I’m not scared about moving forward. I feel strong and capable.
We make our way outside, and Maggie hands me her card so I can call her later and we can write up a formal offer for the owners. When she drives away, I turn to Tristan, placing my hand on his arm. The muscles bunch and flex underneath my touch, and his jaw tightens slightly—something I likely wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t paying such close attention to him right now. But ever since my dream, I can’t help but be painfully attuned to him.
“Thank you,” I say as sincerely as I can. I’m not sure there are even enough or accurate words for how much this house means to me, for the gift he’s given me.
His gaze is steady, but there’s something else in them—determination maybe—when he says, “I just want you to be happy.”
I smile at him because for the first time in over a year, that’s exactly what I am.