Page 3 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Kept

“ I don’t want you to go,” I murmur into Eric’s chest, brushing my hand up and down his chest and giggling when his sensitive skin shivers beneath my fingers.

“I know, babe. It’s last minute but this will be big for us. I’ll try to get back in a couple days,” he says, burrowing his face into my hair. “I can’t be away from my girl much longer than that.”

He rolls us so that we’re both laying on our sides, looking into each other's faces. “Promise you’ll call me if you need anything? If you even think for a second that something might be wrong?”

I force a smile. “Nothing will happen, it’s just been my mind playing tricks on me. That’s all.”

His gaze stays with me as if he’s considering asking again, but instead, he simply kisses my forehead and sits up.

“You never know. Just be careful coming and going when you’re heading into the bank.

Bo already knows to help you out the next few days if you need anything.

And I mean it, you ask him if you need a single thing, okay? ”

I nod. Eric’s younger cousin, Bo, is my favorite person in the world beside my husband.

We’re opposites in almost every way—him being an exceedingly confident extrovert whereas I tend to fade into the background.

Attention is not something I ever strive for, but Bo thrives with it.

It’s a no-brainer, since he’s an attractive guy with a sort of tousled, soccer player vibe.

When I go to see him play, his red jersey pops against his caramel skin, the effortless charm somehow exaggerated by his wild, dark wavy hair.

He’s also very much a… passionate guy. His natural habitat is anywhere you can buy a drink and flirt, and he’s never been picky about who he takes home— man or woman.

With his and Eric’s family being as conservative as they are, he was ostracized at a young age for being unapologetically himself.

Thankfully, he had Eric to take him under his wing and hire him on at the bank.

It’s just one more reason I love Eric so deeply. For taking in Bo when it put him at risk for upsetting his traditional parents.

“I will. I’ll have him stay a night or two with me, it’ll be fun. We have a few new books we’re supposed to read together and we’re already behind on starting to plan our Halloween celebration.”

The truth is I get giddily excited for the times Bo comes to stay with me. I need the jolt of life Bo brings with him everywhere he goes, and I know he’ll force me out of the house. As much as I’m a homebody, I’m starting to feel like I’m losing it here. Like I’m living in a fish bowl.

Eric emerges from the closet, buttoning his dress shirt and rolling his suitcase to the end of the bed. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he adds with a small smile.

“I guess I could say the same to you with that man as company.”

Yeah, I know I shouldn’t bring up Bundy right now, but I can’t get the thought of him spending time with my husband out of my head. Now that I’ve met him? Eric’s tying his business to that man is a constant drip of anxiety into my nervous system.

“Hey,” Eric says, catching my eye. “I’ll be with him for the meeting with the bank and Realtor, nothing else. Outside of that I’ll just be hanging out at the hotel, okay?” He shakes his head, putting on his suit jacket. “I know he didn’t make a great impression the other night. I get it.”

I doubt he does, but I keep that to myself as I kiss him goodbye and lock the door behind him. Shoving this ball of uncertainty down, I wave out the window and watch my husband drive away and disappear into the treeline.

“This burrito sucks,” Bo declares, pushing back from the desk and huffing. “Is yours good? Let me have a bite.”

I push mine over to him, and his blue eyes narrow as he tries it. With a sharp nod he scoops the bowl up and gives me a winning smile as he claims my food as his. Typical Bo move, and I’ll never hold it against him.

We’ve taken over Eric’s office for our lunch break after a slow morning behind the counter. Bo is easy company, and I’m finally feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks as we pass the hours chatting about everything and nothing all at once.

“So, have you met the guy that Eric’s been working with? John Bundy?” I ask as he inhales my burrito bowl.

His nose wrinkles. “I try not to talk to him when he’s here. He’s a fucking weird guy.”

“Yes!” I say, a little too passionately.

Bo side-eyes the way I slam a hand down on the desk, but I ignore him.

“I felt the same when he came over for dinner. I’m not sure how I feel about Eric getting into business with him,” I admit, picking up a napkin to wipe down the desk.

“I don’t want him corrupting Eric, you know? ”

I’d meant it as a joke, but Bo’s eyes flash darkly to mine for just a moment before he looks down at his lunch, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Eric would never mess things up with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.

From the sounds of it, they might have to make a few trips to get these new branches set up and then that guy will probably move on to conquer some other small business.

It’s like, a power thing for venture capitalists like him. ”

Nodding, I decide to let his words soothe my anxiety. “You’re probably right. I’m sure everything’s fine. How’s Heather doing, by the way?”

Bo tosses the burrito wrapper in the trash and sits back, smirking at me. “She’s great, probably. I wouldn’t know, that was more of a short experiment and I learned that I’m in fact not into being someone’s Dom.” He laughs at my wide eyed expression. “The more you know, right?”

I shake my head, brow furrowed. “I have no idea what that means.”

His lopsided smile forgives my confusion.

“Your innocence is so refreshing,” he says, laughing when I scoff.

“Listen, I’m going out with a new guy in a few days.

We matched on this app I downloaded, so hopefully he’s cool.

” He closes his eyes and groans. “He’s cosplaying in his profile picture so it’s hard to see what he looks like, but the Sylus costume was fine as fuck,” he says, dragging out the last word.

“Well, if you get bored you can come visit me. I’ll be all alone with no company.”

Bo sighs, standing and stretching. “Don’t I know it. You should come with me to meet him. We could go to the club and we’ll watch you get drunk and dance.”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished the suggestion. “That actually sounds terrible, but thanks. I’m definitely not a dancer.”

A quiet alarm sounds on my phone and my heart jumps as I lean down and pull it from my bag. It’s a notification from my fertility app that today's the first day of my cycle that there’s a tiny chance of receiving a positive test.

If we’re pregnant.

My stomach swoops. Please, please let this be it. I’ll do anything. I’m not sure who I’m pleading to, but I start bargaining around this time each month with whatever spirit can hear me. I’m a good person. I do everything I’m supposed to. Please just let me have this one thing.

Grabbing my purse, I excuse myself to the bathroom, but a seed of hope has already planted itself in my chest, even though I try to ignore it.

I’d done everything right this time–tracked my ovulation cycle, taken all of the supplements the chat boards had recommended.

I’d even started drinking English Breakfast tea after reading that several other women online had received their long-awaited positive test after doing the same, though it tasted awful.

On the day my ovulation app said to, I’d taken Eric to bed. Twice .

I close the stall door behind me, and unwrap the cheap pregnancy test I’d stashed in my purse, hiking up my skirt. When you test as much as I do, it doesn’t make sense to buy the expensive ones. Especially when they’re always negative.

Carefully, I set it on the cardboard box it came in, and readjust my clothing.

Five minutes. That’s how long the instructions say to wait, but from my experience it never takes that long.

In the dreams I have, two pink lines show up immediately and I always think it’s a sign to take a test the next day. Reality is that the dreams stem from my fixation, because I’m almost a year into this routine and we’ve gotten nowhere.

I check my watch when nothing happens. Three minutes left.

The internet forums I scour say that if you haven’t gotten a positive test within twelve months to see a doctor to find out if there’s a medical reason that you aren’t conceiving.

This is month eleven. If we don’t get a positive result this month, I’ve decided to bring it up to Eric that I want us to make an appointment.

Exhaling a shaky breath, I peek at the test again. One line. The hope that had ballooned in my chest a few minutes ago starts to deflate, leaving an emptiness behind that’s both terrible and familiar.

I check my phone, and count down listlessly until the five minutes is up.

I check from every possible angle to try and identify the faintest ghost of a line, but there’s nothing.

Biting back a surge of emotion, I push it back into the box and hide it in a paper towel before throwing it in the trash.

I know I shouldn’t test so early, but I do this every month. There’s an entire week before it could show up. All I’ve done is stretch the next seven days into an eternity as I test everyday for a positive that might not come.

It’s hard to plaster on a smile when I emerge from the bathroom, when all I want to do is cry out these tears of frustration. Nobody’s at home. When Eric’s away, nobody needs anything from me. I could give myself one day off from being the perfect wife, and climb into bed and just stay there.

“I’m not feeling super well, actually. Are you gonna be okay if I dip out?

” I ask Bo, who looks at me with concern.

I brush off his offer to come by after work and take care of me with a smile like everything’s fine.

Bo would listen and console, he always has.

But some pain you just can’t show to others.

Letting him see it just makes it more real, and somehow I can’t bear that.

Waving goodbye to Bo with the promise he’ll visit me before Eric comes back, I head home.

Tears roll down my cheeks, but I try to console myself with the thought of making an appointment at the doctor.

Maybe this is a good thing. If something’s wrong with either me or Eric, this will be the first step in finding out the issue and solving it.

At home, I crawl into bed with Molly and text Eric that I’ve made it back. He doesn’t respond but I know he’s busy. For once, I turn on the television and stare mindlessly at sitcoms as the room grows dark around me.

He’ll be fine with me speaking to the doctor for the both of us, for setting up whatever appointment or test is needed. Eric always gives me what I want.

With that final resolve, I let myself fall into a troubled sleep.