Page 18 of Final Down

“Girl, you aren’t ready?” She gestures down my lower naked half.

“You’re early,” I protest, urging her to step inside so the rest of the hotel doesn’t get a good look at me in my panties.

Tasha chuckles as she follows me into the living room and drops her giant leather bag on the loveseat, fishing out a hairbrush and a small makeup bag before jetting straight toward the bathroom.

“Uh, I need to use that,” I say, trailing close behind her.

She waves me off.

“I’ve seen you pee.”

My friend plunks her makeup bag by the sink and flips her head upside down, then brushes out her long black hair. Since it’s obvious she isn’t budging from this bathroom, I shake my head and squeeze around her to the toilet. I zero in on the tiny spot of red on my underwear the second I sit down, and my heart drops to the floor.

“It’s warm out today, that’s why I’m wearing this sundress. You might want to skip those jeans I saw folded on the back of the toilet and opt for shorts or something.”

My friend’s words are muted by the rush of blood suddenly whizzing by my eardrums. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the first drops hit my bare thighs. I try to wipe them away before Tasha notices, but her head is already upright, her hair pulled tight into her fist as she holds a hairband between her teeth.

She blinks at me, and I can tell she reads my expression right when she drops her hair and tosses the band into the sink.

“Oh, honey,” she says, leaning against the opposite wall.

I shrug and sniffle away my disappointment.

“It’s fine. It takes time for some people. It’s just . . . I feel like it’s been a while. And part of me felt like maybe this was it.”

I shake off my last bits of hope and do my best to clear my mind as I finish up in the bathroom and head to my suitcase that’s parked on the stand at the foot of the bed. I toss a few shirts onto the messy pile of blankets in search of my girl products, then snag my only pair of unsexy underwear and my black cotton shorts.

“Fuck!” The anger sneaks up on me, and I hear my friend step out of the bathroom behind me. I hold up my hand without turning around.

“I don’t want pity. Not today.”

She doesn’t respond, and I don’t make eye contact with her on my way back into the bathroom. She gives me privacy this time, but I’ve numbed myself to dwelling on another month gone by without a pregnancy, so it doesn’t take me long to change clothes and sweep my hair up into a bun.

“Ready?” I snag my favorite Kate Spade bag from the dresser and slide my oversized sunglasses up the bridge of my nose.

“How about we get day drunk?” Tasha’s voice stops me as I exit the bedroom, and I turn to give her a flat look.

“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had in your entire life.”

She nods, also not smiling as we head out the door and into the waiting rideshare vehicle.

There are times for being silly with your girlfriends, and then there are times to go to work. These missions include late-night conversations about tasteful revenge plots for someone who wronged one of us, gossip sessions about someone we knew in high school getting married, divorced, or,occasionally, arrested, and self-medicating utter devastation at the winery while you both ignore the reason for it. Today, it’s the latter. And neither of us cracks a smile until we’re at least a bottle in.

Tasha was right about the temperature today, and by the time we make our way back to the hotel, my face is flushed from both too much pinot gris and the bright sun I sat under for most of the day. Drunk as I may be, though, everything from the morning and the night before is still lingering in my mind. It’s turned into a mush of sad frustration, and it all comes to a boil the second I open our room door and see Wyatt stepping out of the bedroom with a towel around his waist and another in his hand that he rubs over his hair.

He drops the hand towel the second my lips begin to blubber. His arms wrap around me, holding my forehead against his chest. I feel his chin rest on the top of my head before he slowly moves his lips to my crown.

“What is it, Peyt? What can I do?”

I shudder in his embrace. I don’t cry often, but when I finally let things out—man, am I a mess. I sniff up what I can and pull one hand up to wipe away tears that are replaced by more in half a second. I step back enough to meet Wyatt’s gaze and bite the inside of my cheek as I lift a shoulder.

“I got my period.”

I shake with a quick sob and slap my palm over my mouth to hold it in. My eyes flutter shut, and I feel a little stupid for being so upset. It’s been a few months of actively trying, and I know these things take time. But it’s thosewhat ifsthat attack me from all sides. I can’t help but think about my injury and the changes it may have made to my body that we haven’t discovered yet.

“Come with me,” Wyatt says, weaving his hand with mine and leading me into the hotel bathroom.

It’s nicer than the one we have at home. For all my father’s fortune, the guest house at their ranch is modest. Even my parents’ primary suite is basic, the one upgrade is a tub with jets that my dad put in when my mom asked for it.

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