A few minutes later, he set the book aside and dragged a laptop from his bag, the movement curt and economical. As if making a point, he plugged his own phone into the wall socket, the small light flickering on as the battery ticked up. She couldn't help herself as she glanced sideways at the screen. Seventy percent.
He knew she'd seen it. He'd made sure she did.
He must really be enjoying his petty, little game, she thought swearing off men for life.But she had bigger problems.
Her cramps worsened, her breasts swollen and tender, every movement an ache. She shifted, but it was no use—she could feel the seep through the layers of fabric. Mortification burned through her as she pushed to her feet, clutching her bag, and hurried down the carriage. In the toilet, she fumbled, improvising with a folded towel in her underwear, her hands trembling with both pain and shame. There was no way she would last all the way to Inverness.
When the screen showed the next station was Pitlochry, she gathered her bag and made for the doors. To her surprise, the man opposite rose as well, striding towards the other exit. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before the doors hissed open.
They walked towards each other before awkwardly stepping into each other's path trying to get past, before she realized she was walking in the wrong direction and turned to find the exit.
"Stop followin' me," he said roughly, the burr of his Scottish accent deep and cutting.
Sage blinked at him, too tired, too sore to reply. Her face scrunched as another cramp hit, and she simply walked on, her bag sagging against her shoulder. She had stuffed her coat into it because it felt stuffy, though the temperature said four degrees.
He slowed behind her. "Hey—" His voice carried, but the reluctance couldn't be more obvious.
Bloody knobhead.
She didn't turn as she walked past.
Then she heard him say awkwardly, "You've got...a wee bit—"
She froze, heat flooding her skin, as she knew what he was going to say. She twisted to looked down at the seat of her pants and saw a dark stain blooming across the denim.Oh, why didn’t she wear black?
He shifted, glancing around as though searching for help. "D’ye need tae go tae the hospit’l? "
Her laugh was harsh and too tired to be embarrassed. "No. I'm not dying; it's just a period. Just go do whatever it is you do, Mr. Grinch."
His brow furrowed. " Ma name’s no’ Grinch."
She turned away, ignoring him, pushing her legs forward, even though each step sent another lance of pain through her abdomen.
"Fine!" he muttered, striding ahead. But moments later, she heard his footsteps again, coming back, matching her pace.
Her breasts ached with each movement of her bag, her belly throbbed like it was being twisted from the inside. She wanted to curl up on the cold pavement and never move again, but she keptwalking, because what else was there to do? Was this the worst run-away ever?
Sage's steps faltered as another cramp doubled her over. She hissed out a breath, clutching her stomach. She could feel the towel in her jeans was already soaked through. Her face flushed, humiliated and hurting, when a shadow fell across her.
"Christ, woman," the man muttered, appearing at her side. " Yer white as a sheet. Sit doon afore ye keel ower."
"I'm fine," she gritted, though her knees nearly buckled.
He snorted. "Aye, sure. Ye look aboot as fine as a sheep in a slaughterhoose."
Despite herself, a small, pained laugh slipped out. "Charming. Thank you for that imagery. "
" Dinna get ideas. I’m no’ tryin’ tae charm ye," he said flatly. "If I were, you'd know. Now sit doon."
She sank onto the low stone wall by the station, clutching her bag. He shrugged out of his jacket and held it out.
She eyed it suspiciously. "What for?"
"You've got blood all down your arse. Unless you're lookin' to start a new fashion trend..."
Her mortification deepened, but she snatched the jacket and tied it around her waist. "Congratulations, boy scout. You've just earned yourself a medal for tact."
He folded his arms, mouth twitching. "Better than lettin' you parade your business up High Street."
