Page 35

Caleb

Rilee’s been… off.

Not like “someone pissed in her coffee” off. More like “ghost of her former self” off.

She’s curled into the corner of the couch, blanket up to her chin, hoodie three sizes too big—I think it’s Gray’s—and a mostly full mug of hot chocolate cooling on the end table beside her.

She’s watching Gilmore Girls without snark.

Without commentary. Without quoting Dean’s dialogue to make fun of it.

I lean over the back of the couch and stroke her hair. “You okay?”

She doesn’t even glance up. “I’m fine.”

“That’s the universal signal for ‘absolutely not fine.’ What’s going on?”

She shifts. “It’s just… shark week.”

I blink. “Are you… surfing?”

Grayson—silent and brooding from the armchair—raises one eyebrow.

Rilee groans. “The red wedding.”

I straighten. “Wait. You’re… rewatching Game of Thrones ?”

“There’s been a bloodbath in the war zone,” she says, face in her blanket.

Grayson frowns. “I’m sorry, are we talking politics now?”

Rilee groans. “Aunt Flo’s in town.”

Grayson and I both stare hard at each other. Did she hit her head? None of this is making any sense.

“I’m on my period,” she finally snaps. “God.”

Oh.

Ohhhh.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” I ask, mildly scandalized by how many metaphors we had to wade through.

“Because every time I mention it, someone makes it weird.”

“I didn’t make it weird. I thought you were dying,” I say.

Grayson nods solemnly. “I was half a second away from checking her search history for WebMD articles.”

“Well, I’m not dying,” she mutters. “Unless you count my uterus trying to self-destruct.”

“Wait.” I blink. “Does this mean no sex?”

Rilee glares.

“Not that it’s the only thing I value about you,” I backpedal. “Just—you know. Clarifying the medical parameters.”

“No sex,” she says firmly.

“…Including anal?” I ask.

Grayson slaps me upside the head.

“Ow.”

Rilee just groans and rolls onto her side, curling tighter into herself.

Grayson’s up in a flash, crossing to her side. “Wait. You’re in pain?”

She shrugs, like she doesn’t want to admit it. Which means she definitely is.

“I got it,” I say, already halfway to the kitchen. “Heating pad, Midol, chocolate. What else? Do we have a uterus-friendly blanket? Is that a thing? Like a weighted blanket…but for your uterus.”

“I’ll get her socks,” Grayson says, already disappearing down the hall like he’s storming a beach in Normandy.

In the next ten minutes, we execute what can only be described as a coordinated relief mission.

I bring the heating pad and plug it in beside her, looping it gently across her stomach while she mumbles something about “this is so unnecessary” and tries to bat me away with a limp wrist. Grayson returns with socks that he proceeds to warm in his hands before putting them on her feet like she’s some kind of fragile Victorian lady. It’s actually pretty great.

I bring a brownie from the stash we keep for emergencies. This qualifies.

Grayson adjusts her pillow.

I adjust her blanket.

She just lies there, blinking up at us like she doesn’t know what to do with this much attention.

“I have to pee,” she announces.

“Got it,” Gray says, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bathroom. I use the opportunity to fluff the pillows on the couch.

Grayson’s carrying her back, complaining that she can walk when the front door slams open.

Hunter walks in, sees Grayson carrying Rilee to the couch, and me kneeling on the floor with a plate of warm dessert.

He stops mid-step. “What the hell is going on?”

“Rilee’s uterus is mad,” I say helpfully.

Grayson adds, “She’s on her period.”

Hunter looks at her.

She shrugs weakly.

Hunter blinks once. Then walks straight past us to the kitchen, muttering, “I’m too sober for this.”

I grin and look at Rilee. “You comfy?”

She sighs and finally— finally —smiles. “Yeah. Actually…I kind of am.”

Grayson gives her a nod like a battlefield medic who’s just stabilized a patient.

And me?

I hand her another brownie.

Because that’s what heroes do.

Grayson parks himself on the floor by her feet like he’s personally guarding her from uterine sabotage.

I’m just about to sit back and enjoy the rare peace when Hunter walks into the living room again.

But this time… he doesn’t yell. He doesn’t scoff. He doesn’t even glare.

He just drops onto the opposite end of the couch with a grunt and starts scrolling through his phone like we haven’t entered an alternate universe.

Rilee’s eyes flick to me. Then to Grayson. Then back to Hunter.

“What?” he mutters, not looking up. “I can sit on a couch.”

“You can,” I agree, cautiously. He just never has if Ri’s in the room.

Hunter finally glances up at her, brow furrowing slightly. “So… this period thing. How long does it last?”

I snort and Grayson groans softly under his breath.

Rilee turns beet red. “That is not how you start a conversation.”

“What? I’m just asking. You said your uterus was ‘trying to kill you,’ and now there’s a heating pad and a brownie emergency. I’m just trying to understand the situation.”

“It’s… usually a few days,” she mutters, pulling the blanket up higher. “Sometimes longer.”

Hunter nods like this is vital team strategy. “And it happens every month?”

“Yes,” she says flatly.

He whistles low. “Brutal.”

“Grayson?” I say, pointing at him. “Save us. You’ve got sisters.”

Grayson doesn’t even blink. “Three.”

“Okay,” I say, gesturing to Rilee. “Coach us.”

“She’s in the ‘do not poke the bear’ stage,” he says. “Possibly migratory. Easily agitated. Needs warmth, sugar, and space.”

“Sounds like you describing me on game days,” Hunter mutters.

Rilee snorts and curls tighter into the cushions, clearly amused despite herself.

Hunter frowns again, thoughtful. “Can you do stuff during it?”

Rilee hesitates. “Define stuff.”

“Like… run? Skate? Have sex?”

Her entire face flames.

Caleb, do not laugh. Do not laugh. Be mature.

I fail. And a chuckle escapes me.

“Oh my God,” Rilee says, flinging the edge of the blanket over her face. “Why are you all like this?”

Hunter shrugs. “I’m just trying to understand how it works. What’s allowed.”

Grayson rolls his eyes. “This isn’t an amusement park , Maddox. There aren’t posted hours and a map of the attractions.”

“Hey,” Hunter says. “It’s not like there’s a tutorial on this.”

Rilee peeks out from under the blanket, biting her lip. “That’s… kind of true.”

“Thank you,” Hunter says, like he’s just been vindicated by a Supreme Court ruling.

“Okay,” I say, flopping onto the floor beside Grayson. “But really—anything else you need, Ri, just say the word.”

“I’m good.” She exhales, soft now. “This is weirdly… sweet.”

Grayson shrugs. “You take care of people all day. Let someone else do it.”

She smiles. Soft and a little shy. Then shifts to look at Hunter.

“You’re not gonna be weird about this tomorrow, are you?”

Hunter shrugs, eyes still on his phone. “I mean, I might ask if your ovaries have cooled down.”

“Wow. Can’t wait.”

But she’s smiling again.

Which means—for once—we did something right.