Page 98 of Heartless Game

Lawson: what kind of books? and she might want a hot water bottle instead. my ex girlfriend has PCOS. it always helped her.

Me: yeah, get the hot water bottle

Me: And memoirs from journalists if you can find them

Lawson: i can go pick it all up. give me half an hour

Me: thanks man

Me: owe you one

I closed out of the text, pulling Tovah closer.

“Rest,” I said. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

I left her and went to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make soup. As I cooked, I watched the clock. It was quiet upstairs, hopefully she was sleeping. My body ached. I’d heard about sympathy PMS, but really, I just freaking hated that Tovah was in pain and I couldn’t take it from her. If PMS were a man, I’d pummel the shit out of him and then take my skate blade to his throat.

The doorbell rang. I left the soup simmering on the stovetop, going to the front door, disarming the alarm, and opening it.

Lawson stood there, a bag in his hand.

“Thanks, man,” I said. “Really appreciated.”

He shrugged. “Used to take care of my girlfriend all the time. She got horrible cramps, had to stay in bed for days. I’d skip school and practice to be with her.”

“Girlfriend?” I asked, curious. “Or ex-girlfriend?”

“Oh, she’ll be my girlfriend again,” he said, a sly grin on his face. He looked wolf-like in the shadows. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she will.”

“I know how that goes,” I laughed.

Lawson didn’t leave yet. “Look, I know how you guys operate. I know howIoperated. It feels like things are perfect right now, but there’s going to come a moment where they aren’t, and you’re going to want to be an asshole, to push her away, to punish her for something that’s outside of her control. My advice? Don’t. Or you’ll fucking regret it.”

With that concerning advice, he nodded at me and turned, heading back to his car.

I closed the door, both on him, and on what he’d said. I was still pissed Tovah was hiding shit from me, but I wasn’t going to let it come between us. I’d been a complete asshole to her in the past, but I was done with that now.

I hoped.

When the soup was done simmering, the scent of chicken broth in the air, I poured some into a bowl, grabbed a spoon, and headed upstairs with that and the bag of PMS recovery shit.

Tovah was sitting up in bed against a pillow, rubbing her stomach.

“I have food. And supplies,” I told her, setting the bowl and spoon down on the nightstand and opening the bag, handing each item to her.

“I’ve got Motrin, Midol, Tylenol with Codeine?—”

“How did you get Tylenol with Codeine?”

I ignored her, glad that Lawson had come through. “A heating pad, a hot water bottle?—”

“Isaac, I’m fine.”

“—tea for later, a biography on William Randolph Hearst?—”

“William Randolph Hearst?” she wrinkled her nose in confusion. “The newspaper magnate?”

“The guys thought you might like it. Also Anderson Cooper’s and Anthony Bourdain’s memoirs.”

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