25. Kabir

Chapter 25

Kabir

then

"I've canceled all my travel plans for the next few weeks," I explain to Gerald, catching his eye in the mirror as he stands by attentively.

He was my father's valet for years. Although I don't require his help dressing, we typically take this time to catch up on Monday mornings.

My parents passed away within a year of each other. Romantic in a way, but also a logistical nightmare in terms of settling their estates and mitigating the various business endeavors. My father retired from the British Royal Navy, where he served in a special forces unit. It was my mother who had founded and grown many of the central business entities I inherited. I miss them dearly, but as an only child, I always knew this would be my fate. Gerald is the closest thing I have to family these days.

"I've also moved all my meetings to virtual and don't anticipate leaving the flat for any reason until she's well."

"Understood, Mr. Spencer. "

His tone is subdued, and when I search his face in the mirror, it's etched in the same concern rattling deep in my bones.

"Is there anything else I might assist with?"

I know what he's asking. Hunter has been holed up in my room since the weekend. She barely wakes, yet she's restless in sleep. I've tried to help as best as I can, but I'm starting to worry I won't be enough to pull her from the darkness.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I admit, my voice nothing but a whisper.

His expression falters. "You don't know what you're doing in what regard, sir?"

I huff a sigh. He's being purposely obtuse.

"About her," I tell him, nodding toward the bedroom, where Hunter's soundly asleep.

It's been more than forty-eight hours since I found her in a compromising position in my library. In that time, she's only risen to use the loo or sip a little water.

The few times she has been lucid enough to have conversations, she's not been herself. I've never felt this way about anyone, or in any situation. I'm compelled to take care of her.

All I want to do is ensure she's well.

"You're doing the best you can with the information and resources you have," Gerald offers diplomatically, his hands clasped in front of him.

Frustration bubbles up inside me for what has to be the hundredth time in two days. There has to be something else I can do for her. "Well, that's a crackpot shit way to say I'm bloody useless."

With a little too much force, I brush invisible lint from my suit jacket, then adjust my perfectly straight tie.

A hand lands on my shoulder, stilling me.

"If I may be so bold, sir?"

On an exhale, I nod. I'm desperate for any suggestion.

"Sometimes, the best way to be there for another person is to just be there. Even if it makes you feel bloody useless," he says with a roguish smile.

Fair enough.

"Do you think I'm making a mistake?" Even as I ask, I avert my gaze, not willing to show any additional vulnerability along with such a loaded question.

Now Gerald's resting both hands on my shoulders, and he gives me a firm but affectionate squeeze.

"Ms. St. Clair has been your one and only guest over the past month, to my knowledge, and that tells me that we are in uncharted territory."

I smirk at his observation. He's right. No one else has caught or kept my attention since the moment I laid eyes on Hunter St. Clair.

I've never considered myself a monogamous creature, per se, but for the first time in my life, she's the singular focus of all my thoughts and all my carnal desires. Though at this moment, those urges come nowhere close to my concern for her mental health. Helping her through whatever is going on in her head is my utmost priority.

I want her well. I want her back.

"As for whether you're making a mistake," Gerald says, pulling me back to the moment, "there are no guarantees in life, Mr. Spencer. Only opportunities. Opportunities taken and opportunities missed. You'd be foolish to let go of any of them when it comes to her."

My thoughts exactly.

Decidedly, I nod. "Thank you, Gerald."

He dips his chin, then takes his leave.

I check my attire one last time in the full-length mirror, then I quietly make my way back to the bedroom, intent on cleaning my teeth and getting on with my day.

Soundlessly, I move through the dark bedroom, but as I approach the bathroom door, a cry from the other side startles me.

"Hunter," I call out, panicked.

She doesn't respond. Dread percolates in my gut .

Grasping the doorknob, I step up close. "Are you in here, Firecracker?"

My question is met with a sob.

Fuck it.

Something's wrong.

With my heart in my throat and my pulse pounding, I push into the bathroom. When I don't find her, I stalk past the vanity and the oversized tub and open the door to the water closet.

Shock and horror ricochet through me as I take in the sight on the floor: Hunter, sprawled out, clinging to the toilet, sobbing.

But that's not the worst of it.

There's blood.

There's blood everywhere.

"Hunter."

I crouch down to comfort her, finding she's covered in even more blood than I initially thought.

My heart sinks into my stomach as nausea churns up my esophagus.

"Hunter, where are you bleeding from?"

Pulling in a deep breath, I pry her hands off the toilet and help her sit up so I can look at her properly. Did she hurt herself? Is the blood coming from a self-inflicted wound?

This is what I feared all weekend. She's not well. She's not with it.

"Hunter," I start again.

She shrugs off my touch, lifting her head so I can look into her red-rimmed eyes. "I was pregnant," she whispers.

My stomach falls out of my ass as I run the numbers, visualizing the calendar in my head.

We've been seeing each other for nearly a month. We've used protection religiously.

I look down again at the blood, trying to make sense of it all. "Are you telling me you're pregnant now?"

She shakes her head on a sob. "I was pregnant."

"You were pregnant?" I repeat, emphasizing the past tense as she did .

But she's not with me. Not really.

Without responding, she slumps back against the wall and closes her eyes.

I make quick work of wiping up the blood around the toilet. With her head back and her neck extended, I can see there are no marks on her throat or chest. I carefully turn over each hand and inspect her wrists.

There's blood on a few fingers, but it wipes clean.

"Hunter, where are you bleeding from?" I beg, the panic coursing through me growing.

"I was pregnant," she says again, the words soft and slow.

I take a big breath and stand. This isn't getting us anywhere.

The best I can do is put her in the shower, or maybe the bath.

I bend to lift her. When I hook my arm under her legs, warm moisture soaks through my sleeve.

As I assess her once more, I note the blood in the toilet that I didn't notice from where I was crouched on the floor.

Carefully, I lift her high enough to see the blood sticking between her upper thighs. Her panties fall off one foot. They're soaked with blood, too.

I'm almost certain this is menses.

Yet she keeps saying she was pregnant. Could she be miscarrying right now?

"I was pregnant," she sobs as she throws her arms around me, clinging to my neck. "I was pregnant with my stepbrother's baby."

My whole body locks, and shock whips through me.

It takes a moment to shake it off. Then I carry her to the sink and place her on the counter. "Stay," I murmur, hurrying back into the bedroom to grab the overnight bag I had her roommate pack the other day.

I fish out fresh underwear, then find what I assume is a sanitary napkin. I prepare the pad on the underwear as best I can, then help her put each leg through the knickers and pull her to standing.

She sways before me with her eyes closed, the tears continuing to fall .

I pull a pair of shorts up her legs, much more confident in what I'm dealing with now, at least physically.

She has her period. She's recalling a clearly traumatic event.

"Do you want to go back to bed, love?"

With a nod, she loops her arms around my neck and hoists herself into my arms.

I grip her under her thighs and carry her back to the bedroom. Then I tuck her in, make quick work of cleaning the bathroom, and head straight to my office, prepared to make the call I've been considering all weekend.