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Chapter Twenty-Six
This week had flown by. She still hadn’t had any luck on the job front—the only offers she’d had were minimum wage gigs with so few hours that she wouldn’t make enough money to both feed her family and pay her bills and she really preferred to do both—and that was a constant strain, but she’d been able to spend a lot of time with Eric which had been wonderful.
He’d called in some favors with other doctors and had gotten her in to see a new primary care doc, an ob-gyn, and a neurologist. She didn’t want to know exactly what strings he’d had to pull because she’d seen waiting lists for these practices—they were months and months long—but she was so thankful.
Not only had he gotten her appointments, but he’d come with her. Didn’t just sit out in the waiting room either, though he’d asked if she wanted him to because she might like some privacy. She didn’t want privacy, she wanted comfort and reassurance and Eric gave it to her. He also asked a ton of questions that would’ve never occurred to her.
By the time the week was over, she had a diagnosis for hormonal migraines and a new prescription and some recommendations to changes in her diet and routines to help treat them, and the OB had said she was 98 percent certain that laparoscopic surgery would confirm endometriosis. While Eric couldn’t cash in quite the same chips with the surgeon that he had with the specialists, he did help her get an appointment as soon as possible.
He’d been amazing, and she was so grateful that she’d cried. Several times. After so long of having people tell her that she was faking or exaggerating her pain, that it was all in her head or that it was normal, it was a huge relief to have people believe her and actually help her.
Not that it was going to be a cakewalk from here on out because she would still be in pain and it would be awhile before she’d have the surgery but at least now she had people who were on her side. Who would try to make it better instead of calling her a liar and acting like she should “just fucking get over it because it can’t be that bad.” And Eric would take care of her when she was in the throes of the worst of it, wouldn’t let her downplay her illness for other people’s convenience.
Yeah, she’d definitely turned on the waterworks repeatedly, and had breakdowns in doctors’ offices twice this week. That was fine, completely normal. She almost hoped all the blubbering was perimenopause, but she hoped harder it wasn’t.
Eric had helped her talk to the boys about her diagnoses too. She hated that Carter had gotten inside their heads to the extent that they wouldn’t just take her word for it, but she was grateful that Eric would lend his weight as a medical professional to make it clear that her pain was all too real.
It was Friday and Eric had volunteered to bring the boys to Carter’s house, mostly she thought so she wouldn’t have to deal with Carter complaining about the drive. Because that’s the kind of thing Eric did. He also held her hand when he didn’t need two hands on the wheel and absentmindedly brought her knuckles to his lips to kiss. That man was so smooth it hurt sometimes.
They talked with Chase and Logan about school and lacrosse and it all felt so normal. But like, better than normal. How was this her life now? Not everything had turned around but it was easier to believe it would when it didn’t feel like the whole world was against her anymore.
She still winced when they pulled into Carter’s driveway. This used to be her home, this used to be who she loved, and even if she was glad it was over, it didn’t feel good. Plus she didn’t like that Carter was still heaping some of his toxic bullshit on the boys. But at least with Eric by her side it would be easier to balance it out with healthy, positive masculinity instead of self-centered and materialistic machismo.
For the first time in years, she felt an optimism that everything really was going to be not just fine, but maybe even wonderful.
* * *
The four of them piled out of his Lexus and the boys grabbed their duffel bags from the trunk. Carter must’ve heard them pull in because the guy walked out of his house and down to the drive looking like he’d just stepped off the golf course—polo shirt and khaki pants, gloves stuffed in his back pocket.
“Hey, next time can you drop them off a couple hours later? I only got nine in, would’ve loved to make it a whole eighteen.”
This fuckmuppet really ground his gears. Sure, maybe Carter would’ve liked to spend more time on the links instead of getting back on time for his ex to drop off his kids, but did he have to say that in front of the boys? There was a smile on his tanned face like he was making a joke but who knew if all the boys heard was “I’d rather be on a golf course than spending time with you.”
Eric made sure the boys had gotten everything they needed out of the car, and then slung an arm around Devy’s waist as they stood in the driveway.
Logan offered him an absent fist bump while mostly keeping his eyes on his game console which was basically a teen boy’s version of wild approval, and Chase gave him a hug before they headed into their dad’s house. It all felt very real, very settled, like this was just how life was going to be from here on out. Except for Devy’s ex being a jackass, he could totally live with that.
Once the boys had shut the front door, Carter shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hey Dev, could you give me a minute with Eric?”
His buttercup stiffened beside him. “What on earth for? Carter—”
“It’s alright, baby,” Eric told her, shifting his hand to rub his thumb over the small of her back. “Go sit in the car.”
“But—”
“Hey,” he said, shifting so he could anchor his hands on her hips and squeeze. He lowered his voice too because this wasn’t any of Carter’s business. “I’m not trying to be a tyrant. If you tell me you really want to handle Carter yourself, I will back up and let you at him. But there’s no reason for you to waste your energy on him. You gotta pick your battles because you know this won’t be the last one. Just let him have his way on this, I can take care of myself. You believe me?”
She rolled her lips between her teeth and blinked up at him.
“I don’t want you to have to.”
“I don’t have to. I know you could take that guy. But think about it this way. I start the day with a hundred spoons, you start the day with twenty-five. It’ll cost me three to five spoons to deal with this chucklehead. It would cost you at least ten. Let me throw some spoons at the guy because he’s not worth yours.”
“I’d rather you throw knives,” she muttered, and he grinned at her joke which seemed to break up some of her tension.
“I’ll work on that,” he told her. “Note to self: new hobby, taking up knife-throwing.”
He winked and she gave him a tight-mouthed, helpless smile. “Sure?”
