Page 25 of Fair Trade (New York Monarchs #2)

twenty-one

They say time heals all wounds.

I say not seeing your boss’s arrogant mug for a month does the trick.

Yep. This office has been Nick-free ever since he decided to hightail it outta here with his flavor of the week.

And during that time, I’ve relished our team’s incredible season.

I’ve visited some of the most iconic baseball fields while on the road. It’s not lost on me how lucky I am to not only do what I love but also get to travel across the country on the team’s jet and stay at nice hotels.

Money was tight growing up. My family was lucky if we scrounged up enough cash to fly down to the Dominican Republic every couple of years to see family. Even then, we would crash with a relative to save on accommodations.

Now, I FaceTime my parents and show them where I’ve landed and what I’ve been up to. And if they finally agree to it, I’ll fly them out for an away game so they can experience a Monarchs game in enemy territory.

It probably would have happened sooner, but they refuse to take any more help than I’m already giving them. Because the second I signed my contract, I took over paying their rent and bills.

I think every first-generation kid’s dream is to retire their parents. It’s a way of saying thank you for all the sacrifices they’ve made.

Unfortunately, New York is one pricey place to retire, and my parents aren’t ready to leave the city and head south to the Caribbean to sip on rum and Cokes on the beach quite yet, so this is the best I could come up with.

Life honestly has never been better.

Until this morning when I finally got my period after more than two months.

I should have known last night when I was overly emotional during an episode of Summer House that something was awry. Yet when I woke up, curled into the fetal position, I knew even before my eyes fluttered open that I was in for a hell of a day.

I hate that I sometimes feel at war with my body. Treating it like an unpredictable adversary instead of a supposed temple.

But this isn’t my first rodeo.

So I walked to my closet and pulled out the knee-length dress that would be my saving grace.

It flows away from my body, hiding the bloat that had already formed and is short enough to keep me comfortable in this July heat.

And it’s black, meaning it’s the best choice in case of a worst-case scenario.

I paired it with a structured maroon blazer and my comfiest black running sneakers.

I knew exactly how this day would go, and I was starting to dread it.

I had an important meeting lined up that couldn’t be rescheduled, so I was going to have to load myself up on caffeine and snack often if I wanted to survive.

I start to carefully orchestrate my day in my head as I weave through the executive offices.

I wish I was still in bed.

The cramping has begun, and I haven’t even made it to my desk yet.

I could take a sick day. Maybe even work from home. But I’m too stubborn to let my PCOS win.

And paranoia—that someone would find out why I called out—would forever haunt me.

The moment I was hired, the internet trolls were commenting on all the things I could do wrong.

And that was before I set foot in the stadium.

I ignored most of the chatter, but the idea that I wouldn’t be a good GM because I’d be a moody bitch who’d miss a week of work every month simply because I had a uterus struck a little too close to home.

Don’t piss her off during that time of the month or you’ll get traded, boys!

Can we schedule the games around her cycle so we can make sure our players win all our home games?

Can’t wait to see how the trades go when she’s on maternity leave.

That last one cut even deeper.

To suffer this unpredictable limbo every couple of months and not know whether my body will ever let me carry my own child is cruel beyond measure.

For me, it isn’t the pain, unpredictable timetables, weight fluctuations, or even the stray hairs that need to be plucked from a random part of my body that makes me hate having PCOS.

It’s the mental gymnastics it puts me through while it holds the keys to my future tightly in its clutches.

You’ve got the dream job and the paycheck that helps provide for your family, so suck it up.

I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of my office door.

A couple more steps, and I’ll be able to pop pain meds and be good as new. Or as good as the first day of my period can be. Which is never great.

I dig into my purse as I open my door, hoping I didn’t forget to pack the extra strength pills, when a deep voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“There you are, Luisa,” he says, looking awfully too comfortable as he sits in my chair.

My mind goes blank as it tries to reconcile the vision in front of me.

He smirks as his eyes rake over my body slowly, burning me up inch by inch. But when he reaches my comfy shoes, all playfulness is swiftly replaced by a menacing scowl.

“Get the hell out of my chair, Lucifer.”

And just like that, the devil is back in town.