Page 7 of Riding the Line (Willow Ridge #2)
Cherry
I think I might be dying. I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to cover Montana’s shift today when I felt that first twinge in my stomach this morning, like my mom suggested.
My black tank top is practically a second skin now, soaked with sweat – the feverish wave hit me while I was carrying someone’s order.
I just managed to shove their drinks onto their table before I ran to the back of the bar, hurrying into the closest room before I was sick.
A bathroom probably would’ve been the best option, but instead, to my pure lack of luck, it was Duke’s office.
The only good news is that the shrill ringing in my ears is gradually calming now that I’m curled up on the floor.
Which means I’m no longer going to pass out – ideal, considering that I don’t think Duke would appreciate finding me unconscious on his floor.
I wait for the stabbing pain in my stomach to begin subsiding before I lift myself to a seated position, using the desk behind to prop myself up.
Somehow I need to get myself from this point to the staffroom, where my bag and painkillers are, without collapsing again. The thought makes me let out a scratchy laugh – because it’s funny that I’m considering trying to dose myself up to make it through my shift.
Just ten more seconds and I’ll get up—
‘Jesus, Cherry!’ Duke’s deep voice booms as the door swings open, forcing my eyes to shoot over to him. ‘What happened?’
The sight of him and the way his tattooed muscles and broad chest are wrapped in a tight black T-shirt, is enough to wake me up a little more, while also unfortunately reminding me that I must look like a sweaty mess right now. A weak, sweaty mess from the way Duke’s pitiful gaze sweeps over me.
Just a little girl who needs saving. Again.
I can barely look him in the eye as heat rises into my cheeks.
‘I’m fine,’ I rasp out. The silver stars are almost gone from my vision, thankfully, no longer threatening to pull me from consciousness.
Duke closes his eyes for a long second, shaking his head. Then he reaches to swipe his black leather biker jacket off the back of his chair and drops to his knees to wrap it around me. I hunch my shoulders as he does.
‘Cherry,’ he says, voice dropping an octave, a commanding depth lacing it. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
My skin prickles and I don’t think it’s a result of the fever. ‘I’m fine, I just felt faint and needed to sit down. Sorry, your office was the closest—’
Another shooting pain lances through my stomach, cutting me off. Water wells in my eyes, making me squeeze them shut, because that one was way worse than the last, but I try to breathe through it as best as I can. ‘I’m also double sorry because I threw up in your bin.’
It’s then that I realise Duke never took his hands away after draping his jacket around me. No, instead he’s gently rubbing my arms up and down as I shiver beneath his hands. My heartrate threatens to skyrocket in response to his gentle touch.
When I finally open my eyes again, they immediately marry with his and I’m almost breathless at the intensity behind how he regards me.
Duke’s the beautiful kind of masculine – angled features with soft edges, high cheekbones, and long lashes that frame deep brown eyes.
Ones that could say a thousand words even though he’s usually the quietest one in the room.
‘You need to go home. You shouldn’t be covering for people when it’s your time of the month,’ he says.
My lips pop open, and I even shake my head a little because … ‘Excuse me?’
‘Do you have any of your special painkillers?’
‘What …’ My words trail off as I try to comprehend what he’s attempting to discuss with me. What he’s suggesting he knows all about … but the last thing I want to do is get into a conversation about my menstrual cycle with my boss.
‘Cherry?’ Duke’s fingers pulse against my upper arms. He’s stopped rubbing them, but he hasn’t let go, still on his knees, leaning over me. Heat radiates off him while his dark, wild eyes flick between mine.
‘How … how do you know about all that?’ I ask, glaring at him.
Duke’s fingers abruptly retract from me, his eyes flashing at where he’d been holding me, before he rears back, increasing the space between us. I pull my knees up to my chest, circling my arms around them.
His eyes flare before he clears his throat. ‘I, uh, spent a lot of time at your house when you were growing up. You used to have a lot of days off school because of it.’
I rub my eyes, desperately wanting the floor to swallow me up.
Too many times he no doubt saw me curled up on the couch, unable to make it to school as I was growing up because my period pain was so severe, let alone the hormonal changes and stress of it all only made me more susceptible to seizures and meant I was safer at home on the worst days.
Something I found out the hard way when I first started getting bad cramps at thirteen and laboured through a painful day at school only to end up having a fit in the middle of a science class, knocking equipment everywhere.
Sure, the birth control, the doctors eventually gave me help to alleviate some of the symptoms by lengthening the times between my periods, but that feels a little bit like slapping a Band-Aid on a broken bone.
Still, I’ve always found ways to manage – heat pads, plenty of extra-strength painkillers, long naps, and staying at home.
Though, as much as that worked through school and college, I’m aware companies don’t tend to give every woman a week off each month, so God knows how I’ll manage when I finally have a job.
Hopefully, I’ll find some strength somewhere.
Duke asks, ‘Why do you think I always give you a week off every month?’
I throw my hands up with a sigh. ‘I thought that was because of my epilepsy. Because Wyatt told you not to overwork me. The usual overprotective family stuff, y’know?
’ I’d always just been grateful that with the pill I could make sure my cycle coincided with those days off, or at least the worst parts of it.
‘Not in a million years did I think it was because my boss was tracking my period.’
That he was taking notes when he’d ask me when I wanted my first shift to be every time I came back for the holidays or summer, and I’d purposefully make that first day overlap with my cycle finishing.
‘Well, this is incredibly embarrassing,’ I groan, dropping my head into my hands. My hair tumbles down, creating a barrier around me, against the moment I really wish wasn’t currently playing out right now.
Duke’s fingers briefly graze my shins, as if he went to grasp me but decided against it. ‘Cherry, it’s natural, don’t worry.’
‘No, it’s not,’ I snap, my head shooting up.
Duke’s quiet demeanour remains as his unyielding, dark eyes behold me. Tears surge into my eyes again and I try my hardest to blink them away.
‘It’s not natural to be in so much pain, Duke.
It’s not natural for your boss to have to give you a week off work every month, so you don’t faint in the middle of the bar.
It’s not natural to have to say no to so many things because you’re either too exhausted from your stupid period, or you’re worried you’ll overexert yourself and risk a seizure.
It’s not natural to feel so fucking weak . ’
It’s not natural to spend so much time off school.
It’s not natural to have fewer friends because you’ve missed out on socialising and parties growing up.
It’s not natural that the whole of Willow Ridge always seems to be watching my every move, and treating me like I’m made of brittle glass.
This time, no matter how hard I blink, the tears don’t vanish. Instead, they spill out, along with a quiet sob from my lips. I’m not normally someone who cries easily, but according to my hormones, today I am.
Duke’s brows draw together, forehead creasing as his eyes trail over my face. His fingers flex at his sides, then he sighs. ‘I … I didn’t realise you felt like this.’
His eyes dart around the floor, as if he’s hoping to find the solution to my unhappiness there. Unfortunately, I think it’s actually folded up in a notebook in my bag.
I shrug, brushing away any remaining tears with the back of my hand.
‘I guess I’ve been good at hiding it … I just get so frustrated sometimes that I – and everyone else – has to worry.
That I can’t just say yes to everything without a care in the world.
I’ve missed out on so much and I’m sick of it. ’
‘Hence the bucket list?’ Duke perks a brow, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Being in this room with him, down on the floor all vulnerable, really can’t go on for much longer. Plus, the smell of vomit is really starting to linger.
‘Hence the bucket list.’ My own smile blooms and I swear his eyes brighten in response, lingering on my lips. ‘I just think it will make me feel better about myself. Feel like I’m experiencing the world. If I actually get around to doing any of it, anyway.’
I just need Montana to find some time for me between Austin and flitting between homes now her parents have divorced.
Duke purses his lips as he muses on a thought, running a hand over his closely shaven head.
He’s obviously been to the barbers since I last saw him because there’s a new subtle pattern shaved into the sides of his head.
His bottom lip drops, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just holds out his hands, waiting.
‘Well, I’m sure it can wait another few days, because you need to rest at home.
So, let’s go get your stuff and I’ll drive you home. ’
‘I can walk—’
‘Cherry, I’m driving you.’ Duke pins me with a commanding glare. ‘It’s only a Wednesday evening; the bar will survive. Jeb can cover me for twenty minutes.’
‘Fine,’ I groan and reluctantly slip my hands into his, watching how they dwarf mine and tense. I let him lift me to my feet, his leather jacket still slung around my shoulders. He even pulls it around me tighter, the corner of his mouth hooking up faintly.
It doesn’t take long for me to grab my bag from the staffroom and then he’s ushering me into his old red Silverado, driving me the short way home. Once we pull up outside my house, I reach for the truck door handle, and Duke’s fingers graze my forearm briefly.
‘Cherry,’ he whispers. He watches where he touches me for a beat, where goosebumps have broken out, then flicks his gaze back up to catch mine. ‘You’ve never been weak to me, you know that, right?’