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Iwake up curled aroundBrendan and Breckin, a dull ache in my stomach. Blinking a few times, I glance toward the window. It’s completely dark outside.
The middle of the night.
After polishing off two entire pizzas and binging a few movies, we retired to my bedroom to sleep. Just sleep. And cuddle. After all the sex we’ve had lately, it was nice simply to hold them, to feel cherished and wanted, like I belong with them. Closing my eyes, I wrap my arm around Brendan and try to fall back to sleep.
The ache persists.
I shouldn’t have ignored the warning signs. I shouldn’t have procrastinated on my work the last few days.
Taking a few deep breaths, I try to calm my stomach. It doesn’t help. With a silent growl, I pry myself from the mess of tangled limbs and cautiously climb off the bed. I tiptoe to the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. Grabbing the Tramadol bottle, I stare at the medicine for a long minute before I shake my head and dump two into my hand. I hate that it’s never just a stomach ache, never just a headache and this is the only medicine that works anymore. Plopping them into my mouth, I swallow them dry, then head to my office.
I won’t be able to sleep until the pain goes away. Even if I try, all I will do is worry about how far behind I am, making the pain worse.
Sitting down in my chair, I curl my legs up and turn on my computer. While it loads, I tug Brendan’s shirt down over my knees. I didn’t change when we got to my place, only putting on a pair of underwear. Pulling the collar up, I take a deep, calming breath. It smells like them, rich, musky, and woodsy. The perfume is quickly becoming one of my favorite scents. I breathe in again, my stomach settling a little. When my computer finally boots, I turn my attention to it. Luckily, the screen doesn’t hurt my eyes yet.
Maybe I caught it early enough.
I pull up my email and respond to everything I can. There are a few new comps that I schedule, one sold pre-made, and requests for a few teasers. It takes all of twenty minutes to change the title and tweak the image for the pre-made. Another forty minutes and I have the teasers finished. I spend another half hour working on my next scheduled design before the opioids kick in, and I can’t see straight.
I did something. I accomplished a few things. The world is not imploding. Everything is fine.
Repeating the mantra a few times, I shut my computer down and head back to my bedroom. Crawling in bed between the two of them, I hug Brendan.
It doesn’t take long for Breckin to wrap his arm around me and pull me close. He nuzzles his nose in my hair. “Asra,” he moans in his sleep, “don’t ever leave us.”
I can barely understand his quiet mumbling. Yet, my heart seems to crack and swell at the same time.
“I won’t,” I whisper back.
He tugs me closer, holding me tight. Twisting, I kiss him on his cheek, then close my eyes. Wrapped around both of them, it doesn’t take long for sleep to take hold.
Early sunlight sneaksthrough my curtains the next time I blink. Brendan and Breckin are still wrapped around me, one on either side as they hold me close. Smiling, I watch as they sleep. So peaceful, I don’t want to wake them. Yet, I want to do something for them to show them how much they mean to me. Even sound asleep, I can feel their morning wood pressing against me from both sides. An idea comes to mind. But I don’t want them to think that our relationship is only about sex. They mean so much more to me than that.
I glance at the clock, it’s almost six. They have to wake up for work soon. Sighing, I bite my bottom lip. I don’t have much time.
Breakfast.
It’s perfect.
Without making a sound, I untangle myself from them and tiptoe into the kitchen. Staying as quiet as possible, I set to work. I pull out three skillets and place them on the stove. After adding bacon and sausage to two of them, I whip up some pancake mix.
I’ve done it so many thousands of times, it’s automatic. I don’t even glance at a recipe or measure anything, despite doubling how much I normally make. While everything cooks, I slice a cantaloupe and a bowl of strawberries. As the bacon and sausage sizzle away, I set the table, adding a bottle of maple syrup and some butter.
I add napkins to each place setting and remove them three times, unable to make up my mind about if it’s too much. “Syrup is messy.” I nod my head, placing them back beside each plate before I hurry back to the stove and flip my last pancake.
I wait a minute before adding it to the stack and setting the platter on the center of the table. Next, I grab the crème fraîche, butter, and eggs from the fridge. I crack the eggs directly into a saucepan and add the butter. I turn the burner to high and place my pan on the stove. While I stir the eggs, I count down in my head, thirty seconds on the stove, then remove the pan and let it set for ten seconds. On the third cycle of repeating that process, I add a spoonful of the cream. After cooking them for thirty more seconds, I scoop the fluffy scrambled eggs out into a dish and grab some chives.
“Damn,” a deep voice interrupts as I’m chopping the green garnish.
“Hey.” I smile, looking up into Breckin’s sleepy, green eyes as he strolls into the kitchen, scratching his head. I toss the little slices over the eggs. “Good morning.”
“It is now.” He crosses the space to me and places a kiss on my head. “What can I do to help?”
I glance around at everything. It’s pretty much all done. “Um, you can take this to the table.” I hand him the dish of eggs.
“Anything else?” He asks while I plate the sausage and bacon.
I set my platter of meat on the table and survey it all. Pancakes, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and fruit, that should be enough. If I had planned better, I would have made a breakfast casserole or maybe a quiche if I woke up earlier. But for a last minute meal, it’s not too shabby. All that’s missing are cups.
