Page 85 of End Game
CHAPTER 26
LAYLA
Ring!
My head shoots off the island counter, the bar stool wobbling beneath me so hard I think I’m going to fall. I clamor down, rubbing my eyes, trying to figure out where I am.
The phone continues to ring as I get my bearings, the sky outside the kitchen window dark. Glancing at the clock, it’s just past ten. The last I knew it was eight-thirty when I sat down to work on an advertising contract.
Ring!
“Shit,” I grumble, grabbing my lit-up phone and pulling it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice is quiet, warm like a fleece blanket on a cold winter night. “Were you asleep?”
“Yeah. I fell asleep in the kitchen. Must’ve been tired.”
“Are you getting enough sleep? Eating enough?” he chuckles. “We know you’re eating enough.”
“Go to hell,” I laugh, yawning. “I was up late last night. Guess I can’t be doing that anymore.”
“What were you doing?”
“A little of this, a little of that.”
“Huh.” He takes a deep breath, blowing out slowly. “I just wanted to check on you. See how you were doing. I haven’t talked to you since yesterday afternoon.”
His sincerity is on the surface, not at all hidden. The tenor of his voice gentler than I have heard. There’s an intimacy to it that causes me to fall back into the cabinet.
“I’m good. Hanging in there, you know?” I say. “How are you?”
“Just finished a workout and dinner.”
“What did you have?”
“I threw some chicken breasts in the oven. Nothing fancy.”
“I’m impressed. I don’t even bake chicken breasts. I just buy them in the deli,” I laugh.
“You need to eat red meat more than chicken. The iron is good for you and the baby.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“I . . . um . . . I was asking the nutritionist today that we work with at the Legends facility. She said to make sure you’re eating lots of iron and folate and calcium. There’s a delivery service where you can order plans especially for pregnant women and?—”
“Branch. I’m good,” I say softly. “I know what to do.”
“I just want to help.”
His words hit my heart, but it’s the way he says it that slays me. Tears flicker in my eyes, making the lights look like kaleidoscopes. “I really appreciate that.”
“I hope you don’t get mad,” he says, a hitch in his voice, “but I ordered you five boxes a week. They’ll be delivered. If you don’t like what they send, you can go online and customize them. But I thought, you know, maybe it would make things a little easier for you.”
“That’s super sweet,” I whisper.
There’s a pause in the conversation, not exactly an awkward moment, but one we haven’t traversed yet. It’s born more out of respect and consideration than a failure to know what to say.
“I go to the doctor the day after tomorrow,” I tell him. “If you want to go, you can, but you totally don’t have to. I’ll let you know whatever they say.”
