I worry my lip, staring at Cami. She’s strapped against his chest, sleeping peacefully. Her long lashes are stroking her fat cheeks. “I know that I said you needed to take responsibility for her. But really, travelling with a baby ishard, especially when you’re on a work trip—”
I trail off as Jack cups my cheeks, tilting my face up to his. “Hey,” he says gently.
He looks much better today; the dark circles under his eyes are fading, and his cheeks have some colour back in them. A couple days of rest and regular meals have done wonders for him; although he insists that it’s the sex that revived him. “We’ll be fine,” he says firmly. “We’ve got this. There’s three of us. We can handle one baby.”
“Yeah, we’ll call you when everything inevitably goes to shit,” Cyrus drawls, leaning against the wall and opening his arms. “C’mere, Bethie.”
I step into him, and he wraps me into a tight hug. His warm, spicy scent fills my nose, and I bury my face into his shirt, breathing him in.
“I’ll miss you,” he says in my ear, nuzzling me. “So much.”
“Me, too.”
He gives me one last squeeze and finally lets me go. I turn to the other two, worry still churning in my stomach. “You guys remembered the changing pad, right? And enough nappies in your hand luggage to last the whole flight?”
“Yes,” Seb says patiently.
“If you make her a bottle on the plane, don’t use the hot water the flight attendants give you,” I instruct. “I saw a YouTube video where a stewardess said they never clean the hot water jugs. Just make it with cold water, and put the bottleinthe hot water to warm it up.” Sebastian nods. “And if she gets fussy on the flight, you can always try walking her up the aisle, the vibrations might soothe—” His lips curve, amused, and I shut my mouth. “Sorry. You’ve got it. You’ve got it, you’ll do great.” I twist my hands together. “You’re sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport?”
“The company car is picking us up,” Seb reminds me, and I nod, anxiety bubbling in my gut. He studies my face for a few seconds, then bends and gives me a quick kiss, his stubble stroking my cheek. “Get some sleep,” he says quietly. “You were up all night. We’ll see you in a week.”
I nod, giving Cami one last kiss on the nose. “Be good,” I tell her. “Don’t traumatise your dads too much.”
She smiles up at me like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. The guys turn to go, lugging their bags down the corridor. I watch them all step into the lift, my throat squeezing as the doors slide shut behind them.
Something feels wrong.
I know I’m being overdramatic. It’s just a week, for God’s sake. But for some reason, I just can’t shake the feeling that something awful is going to happen while they’re away.
I shake my head hard, like I can dislodge all of my stupid, needy thoughts. The truth is, I don’t do well with goodbyes. It’s probably some deep-rooted childhood trauma from my time in foster care. I can never really trust that the person is going to come back again.
But it’s fine. I am not an abandoned child anymore.
I walk downstairs to my flat in a haze, unlocking the door and looking around. I hardly recognise the place. I’ve been spending so much time with the guys, I’ve barely been living here. Sighing, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Seb’s right. I’m exhausted. I may as well take a nap.
But when I step inside my tiny ensuite, my toothbrush isn’t there. I must have left it in the guys’ flat. Swearing, I pull open the cupboard under my bathroom sink to check if I have a spare—
And stare at the boxes of tampons and pads stacked neatly in one corner. Brand new. Unopened.
I frown. That isn’t right. I bought thoseagesago. I remember, there was a sale in the pharmacy a couple of months ago, so I stocked up. There’s no way I haven’t had my period since then.
I think back, my blood pressure rising. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve had my period the entire time I’ve been hanging out with the guys. I’m pretty sure it was due around the week I started sleeping with them. But it never came.
Oh my God.
Nausea rises up in my stomach. I flip down the toilet lid and pull out my phone with shaky hands, tapping open my cycle tracker app. It might be nothing, I tell myself. My periods have been going haywire for the last few years. Sometimes they’re a week or two late. Sometimes they’re weirdly light, or only last a couple of days. It’s not a big deal.
But I’ve never completely missed one.
The app loads, and my mouth dries out as I stare at the number on the screen. I haven’t had my period in almost two months.
Shit.
Fifty-Seven
Sebastian
Cami is peaceful as anything as we drive to the airport, check in, and wait for the plane. She eats some mashed banana while we sit in Costa, then snoozes the whole time we’re boarding. As we settle into our seats on the plane, I’m feeling almost proud. Maybe I’m not a completely and utterly shit father, after all. Maybe I don’t need Beth.