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“Oh, babe, you need to stay positive.”
The door between the deck and the kitchen slides open and Winter comes inside. I quickly glance at him as I say to Cleo, “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Make sure you do. We need to finish this conversation. And say hi to that man of yours for me,” she says and we end the call.
“Cleo says hi,” I say to Winter as I put the phone down. My eyes drop to the tray of meat he’s carrying to the fridge. Frowning, I say, “Are we out of gas or something?”
“No, King has to leave.”
“But he just got here.”
Winter closes the fridge and looks at me. “Yeah, and now he has to leave to take care of something.”
King comes through the door. “Let me know how you go with Torres tomorrow,” he says to Winter. To me, he says, “I’ll see you next time I’m in town.”
“Bye,” I say, watching the two of them walk out.
When Winter comes back, he says, “I’ve got steak cooking for us. It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”
I reach for him, needing the contact. It feels like this week has been a big, fat disconnect for us. He was away for two nights at the beginning of the week and then I was busy at work the last two days. On top of that, I know I’ve been moodier than usual this week, and while he’s a patient man with my moods, I think I’m pushing his limits. I’m trying not to—God, how I’m trying—but this pregnancy has brought up so many emotions I never saw coming, and I’m way out of my depth here.
“You good, angel?”
My heart exhales the breath she’s been holding. Angel. The day he stops calling me that is the day I know I’ve broken him. I lean in close. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch today.”
His features remain serious as he nods. “How are you feeling?”
I wasn’t well this afternoon when we came home from the club barbecue, but it passed quickly. “I’m feeling better now.”
“Good.” He glances at the salad. “You want a hand with this?”
“No, you go finish the meat.”
I watch him leave until I can’t see him anymore, checking out his ass in those jeans of his I love. At forty-two, Winter is even better looking to me than when he was twenty. He also works out daily and is packing on more muscle than he’s ever carried.
My phone rings and I’m surprised to see Andrea’s name flash across the screen. My staff don’t usually call me on a Sunday night.
I answer it straight away. “Hey, love. What’s up?”
“Hi, Birdie”—it’s not Andrea’s voice, but rather, her partner’s—“Sorry to call you on a Sunday, but I need to let you know Andrea’s in the ER. She’s had a miscarriage.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Brad.”
“Yeah.” He goes silent for a moment. “I don’t know when she’ll be right for work, but she won’t be in tomorrow.”
“Absolutely. Tell her to take as long as she needs.” I can’t believe this has happened to her. Andrea was nearly twenty weeks pregnant.
“Thanks, Birdie. I know your support means the world to Andrea.”
After we end the call, I place the phone down and grip the kitchen counter, my mind swirling with endless thoughts, my heart breaking for my friend. Andrea and I have worked together for seven years and have become close. She might be one of my staff members, but she’s more a friend now than anything. I’m devastated for her.
Oh God.
I think I’m going to vomit.
I race into the en suite and dry retch. Standing over the toilet, I let my thoughts go to the one place they’re driving towards. The one place I should not allow them anywhere near.
This could happen to you.
