Page 137 of Tangled up in You

Jesse endedup spending two more days with them, finally, gently prying herself out of their loving arms to return to her condo. She’d been by a few time to get things, but hadn’t spent a night here since returning. She’d let her father bring her back to their home and spoil her rotten and be her daddy.

She didn’t forget that grief she’d experienced when she thought she might never see him again. And she couldn’t imagine the grief he must have endured until he knew she was safe.

Except…yeah.

While she’d always preferred being alone before, now being alone made heralonenessfeel far sharper. Yet she recognized her energy well allowing her to “people,” even with people she loved and wanted to spend time with and who were very good about making space for her neurospiciness, was nearly dry.

It was time to recharge before she had a serious meltdown.

And she desperately needed time alone to…process.

How could I have misjudged them so badly?

Oh, wait.

They were cute, smart, and we trauma bonded because we seriously worried we might actually, you know, die.

She didn’t regret the sex with them—that was haawwt.

It checked off a box on her bucket list she hadn’t realized was there.

Shewouldmiss that.

The sex, not the ordeal.

If someone had told her she’d not only enjoy outdoor sex with two guys she barely knew in the middle of nowhere whilethinking she might die soon, she would have laughed in their faces.

Maybe I’m a more flexible than I thought.

Personal growth, right?

By the middle of the week her exhaustion worsened and she even threw up her dinner the night before. Worried she might have picked up a bug and passed it to her dad or Josie or, worse, Brandt, she shot her dad a text, but he reported all was well.

Then he immediately insisted on coming over to take care of her.

The tenderness made her simultaneously laugh and cry, and that was something else that worried her—the way her emotions wildly swung from one extreme to the other like it never had before.

Maybe she had PTSD, or a delayed reaction, or… something.

Although the simplest answer was likely the truth—she had a broken heart.

Note to self, talk to my therapist about it.

But she convinced her dad she was fine, could order food and meds for delivery, and the last thing she wanted was him getting sick and taking it back to Josie or the baby.

By the end of the next week, during a telehealth visit with her therapist, during one of Jesse’s pauses the woman asked, “Are you feeling okay, Jesse? You look like you don’t feel well.”

“I’m sure it’s just a delayed reaction from what happened. I’m fine.”

“What are your symptoms?”

Jesse listed them and tried once more to brush it off. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you aren’t pregnant?”

Jesse hadn’t mentioned anything sexy happening with her and the men. “What?”

“That sounds exactly like early pregnancy signs.”

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