Did she just? “Madison.” I smile up at her, swiping my hair away from my face. “I’m so sorry if my sleeping here is… weird.”
“Oh!” Grace waves me off. “No way! This house has been boring since Levi got locked up. I love that I actually have someone who doesn’t have a dick to be friends with!”
Okay, so maybe she’s not exactly graceful, but she definitely looks it. I’m guessing it’s part of her charm. “I didn’t realize how bad jet lag was when you’re pregnant.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re pregnant?”
I wince. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that. She must read my expression because she kicks off the doorframe and makes her way farther into my room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“It’s all good. I’m not going to say anything. You know”—her eyes roll—“what with all my friends?”
I don’t need to ask her to explain, I kind of get it. I never met Levi, but Jesse spoke of him once the last time I was here. The older brother of the two, he had it rougher than Jesse did. In and out of trouble. I’m trying to figure out how Grace fits into the mold of a prison girlfriend.
Or maybe that’s the beauty of it—none of us fit into the mold of our soulmates. We create new ones with them.
“I could really do with something sweet.” I slide out from beneath the sheets. “Is Jesse serious about the no junk thing?”
Grace chuckles, making her way back through the way she came. “Unfortunately, yes, but lucky for you, we have a little beach café up the road that has amazing food. Get ready and we’ll go.”
As soon as the door is closed in the bathroom and I have my belongings on the counter again, I breathe through my anxiety.
This is going to be fine.
It’s temporary.
We settle into the little café that opens out onto the road which is directly opposite the beach. The sound of crashing waves and laughter drift past me and I exhale through the anxiety and stress from the weeks leading up to this moment.
Grace is stirring her latte when her eyes catch mine. I hardly slept last night, so every time I blink, they sting. My eyes feel like puffy golf balls.
“Do you know what I do for work?”
I could guess, but I’m too tired and I don’t want to insult her by saying the wrong thing, since I’m not feeling a hundred percent myself. “No.”
Her hair bounces over her shoulders as she tucks one side behind her ear. She’s not giving away any clues. Her features are relaxed, her pouty mouth slightly open. She is beautiful, sure, but there’s something else about Grace that just makes her—more. More than just surface pretty.
She breaks off a piece of her blueberry muffin. “Maybe we can save that for later.”
I smile at her, but it’s tense. It feels as though the lines around my cheeks are going to crack. I keep replaying the day I found out I was pregnant.
The day I almost took my own life.
Click.
Click.
My eyes close and a single tear slides down my cheek. Suddenly, the air seems thick—too thick to breathe in—and my chest feels heavy. I start to inhale sharper, needing deeper breaths when a warm hand rests on top of mine.
Instead of jolting away, I open my eyes to the connection.
“Madison…”
I look up and she catches my stare.
“When you’re ready, I’m here, okay?”
“I have to get my shit together, Grace. I am pregnant. I can’t go back to the same coping mechanisms that I used to use.” I close my mouth and peer around the tiny café to make sure no one can hear our conversation. The baristas are busy frothing milk, steam shooting up in front of their faces, and customers are lost in their conversations about their own lives.
Their most likely easy lives.
Mundane. Oh to live among them and have no expectations. No stress.
“You know, coping mechanisms are a trauma response. The fact you need them only means you have difficult emotions that you haven’t dealt with yet.”
I curl my lips behind my teeth. “That’s probably putting it lightly.” The words come out strained, as if it physically pained my body to give that much.
Arriving and traveling to get here, I felt fine. Because all of the endorphins of finding out I was pregnant were no doubt gassing me up, but now, now that I’ve slept, I’ve showered, and I’m on the other side of the world, running from my psycho boyfriend—or ex—I find myself feeling… deflated.
As if I pulled that trigger all those hours ago and I’m living in a different dimension. One where emotions don’t exist.
I slowly pull my hand away from hers and wrap them both around the mug in front of me, watching the chocolate flakes float among the puffy pink and white marshmallows. “I was going to kill myself.”