Page 43 of False Confidence

Day one: Enough bleeding that she would inevitably become concerned she was running out of blood, and so much pain she would have an existential crisis wondering what the fuck the universe had against people with uteruses.

Day two: Less bleeding, but still too much to let her guard down, and significantly less pain. She would eat the entire contents of her pantry and then order three kinds of takeout—and almost immediately throw it back up. The crying usually began on day two.

Day three-four: The approach of the light at the end of the tunnel. She would cry over every little thing, spend a ridiculous amount of money online shopping, then regret it and try to cancel some of the orders.

Day five: Human again, usually pretty horny, but she’d probably still cry about everything.

Day five felt like a fucking lifetime away on day one.

She finished up and pulled herself to the sink, wincing at her reflection. The bruises below her eyes were blueish-purple, and she’d definitely burst a blood vessel or two throwing up; splotchy red spiderweb like marks dotted her face. Her hair was sticking up at every angle, and her cheeks were mottled with old tear tracks. And Liam had put her fucking pad on. Holy shit, let the ground open up and swallow her whole.

“Jasmine? You okay, darling?”

He was clearly trying to keep the panic from his voice, but Jazz caught herself smiling in the mirror at how thoroughly he was failing.

“Yeah, just finishing up.”

The second she stepped out of the bathroom, he was there to take her arm and lead her to the bed. Jazz stopped short of sitting down, taking in the waterproof blanket tucked over the sheets.

“Maggie suggested it,” Liam said. “She said you’d be worried about the sheets.”

“She knows me so well,” Jazz replied with a snort that sent a strike of pain through her. She sucked a breath in through her teeth and sat on the bed before the wave of pain overtook her. Liam sat beside her, rubbing her back softly and murmuring words of encouragement while she breathed through the pain.

When she could sit up again, she swung her legs onto the bed and Liam helped her settle against the pillows. “I’ll get you some more medicine and the heating pad. Can I convince you to eat something?” She wrinkled her nose, but he added, “Maggie brought soup,” with such a hopeful expression that she couldn’t help but nod.

She closed her eyes for what felt like five seconds before he was back. He gave her the water and painkillers first, then set the heating pad on her abdomen, before climbing in beside her and propping his laptop up between them.

Jazz breathed in the soup while he opened the laptop, surprised that her stomach didn’t turn. “Are we watching porn again?” she asked and then tried, and failed, not to laugh at her own—hilarious—joke. Laughing was bad. Laughing hurt.

Liam just rolled his eyes. “I thought we could catch up on LoveStruck.” He pulled up the episode they’d missed while they were at dinner with her parents and Jazz could have kissed him, if not for the risk of throwing up on him. This was exactly what she needed to make her feel better. Maggie wasn’t the only one who knew her well. She was so lucky to have Liam in her life.

She leaned her head on his shoulder in lieu of a kiss. “God, I love you.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her heart fucking stopped. “I mean, that’s not what I, um, I?—”

“Uh-uh. Rule number four: no take backs,” was all Liam said, before hitting play and digging into his soup, as if she’d said nothing at all.

“You did what?”

Maggie stared at Jazz from where she was sitting at the foot of the bed, open-mouthed.

“I told him I loved him. And then when I tried to explain that’s not what I meant, he said no take backs.”

Her best friend blew out a long breath and shuffled up the bed, lying on Liam’s pillow and facing her. “Shit. I mean, obviously he knows you didn’t mean it and was trying not to make it awkward, but… shit.”

“Right. Exactly. I don’t mean it.”

Maggie quirked a brow. “Jazz.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you mean it?”

Jazz’s lip wobbled before she could stop it. “I don’t know what I feel,” she cried, tears falling fast down her face. Maggie winced, grabbing a box of tissues from the nightstand and setting it between them.

“Sorry. I forgot day four was a crying day.”

“It’s fine.” Jazz waved her a way, grabbing a fistful of tissues and wiping her face. Maggie was used to her five-day period schedule, and, thankfully, Liam had taken it in stride when she’d cried on him multiple times on day three, before ordering two pairs of boots, fancy cookies from New York, and a soap making kit.

Liam had insisted Maggie take his place watching Jazz while he went into the office to check some tile samples he’d ordered from Italy. Jazz had tried to work from home, but Cal had put his foot down, insisting she rest at home. So that’s what she was doing. At his son’s home, and Cal had no idea. It was a constant war of guilt and relief at the fact they were keeping Cal in the dark, but he really didn’t need to know who his son was sleeping with, and right now, that’s all this was. Kind of.

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