Page 33 of Resurgent

Standing back up, the room begins to tilt—not from pain, but from nausea.

I freeze, and Matt's expression changes instantly.

"You okay?"

I swallow.

Sasha and her parents warned me about this. Heavy activity this soon after the miscarriage and while the medications are still working their way out of my system would upset my stomach. Something about my hormone levels still shifting, and energy or blood sugar levels being thrown into chaos.

"I'll be..." I take another breath. "...fine."

"Liar."

“I promise, Mattey."

He studies me another second. "Let’s go inside. You need water, and I need Hunter’s delicious meat in my mouth."

"He’s not here, but I’ll let him know.” I laugh, picking up my weights. “You go ahead; I need another set."

His head falls back toward the sky. "I'm calling Hunter."

"You wouldn't."

"I absolutely would because if you push too hard and get hurt, I’ll be the one getting another one of his stupid lectures. Now, get those dumbbells wiped down and get your ass in the house so I can finally eat!”

By the time we make it inside, every inch of me feels exhausted.

Not broken. Not destroyed. Just...used.

Like my muscles are finally beginning to remember what they were made for and how well we used to work together.

The cool air inside the house washes over my overheated skin before I even make it through the open door.

“You get the waters; I’ll start pulling everything out for lunch,” I say, shoving him toward the kitchen.

The refrigerator doors open with a familiar creak. Scanning the shelves, I begin pushing aside container after container—all filled with enough leftovers to feed a small army…or for Hunter, me, and usually Mattey to have just the right amount of options to pick from each day.

I’m not sure if he’s simply used to meal prepping, or if he can’t pick his meals until the last second either, but I’m not complaining that he ends up with as many overflowing containers after dinner as I do.

“Here they are!” I exclaim, pulling out the mouthwatering garlic, herb, and wine chicken Hunter grilled up last night and the seasoned roasted vegetable medley I’d made the day before.

Matt reaches into the cabinet for plates while I divide everything between them.

"You know..." He glances over. "...you're spoiled."

"Spoiled? I'm living with our Pain. In. The. Ass instructor."

"You are—but yet, you rarely complain about it."

"I—"

“Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be either if I were you. He’s made you your own study nook for all the books you keep demanding…insists on you getting enough uninterrupted sleep…and cooks like he was raised in a kitchen when you’ll let him.”

"Okay, fine. It’s not the worst.”

Matt chuckles as the microwave hums to life.

For a few seconds, everything feels peaceful. Safe. Normal.