45. Hunter

Chapter 45

Hunter

then

I lie in bed, studying Spence where he lies beside me. I know myself well enough now to understand that these sleepless nights happen around the time I ovulate.

I set down my Kindle and watch the way his chest rises and falls rhythmically as he breathes.

He had a vasectomy for me.

My god.

And that isn't even the half of it. I'm alive because of this man, thriving because of his care. He saved me.

There within lies the tragedy of our timing. Just as we were on the brink—the precipice—of falling in love, he was forced to assume the role of caregiver. Of health care advocate. Of emergency contact and so many other roles not often bestowed upon a romantic partner so early in a relationship .

My therapist has warned about the possibility of developing a savior complex. Warm emotions flood me when I think about just how lovely he is and how happy I am because of him.

There's a little voice in my head, though, nagging me, telling me this can't be it. It could be the old me, the girl I used to be, throwing a hissy fit about the direction my life's taken. Or perhaps it's the voice of future me, whispering in my ear on sleepless nights that there's more for me than life in London.

It should be so easy to stay.

Should .

Spence and I are starting to build a life together. The man had a vasectomy with my mental health in mind. But despite feeling better than I have in months, I've yet to even consider what comes next. I could go to school, though that idea isn't particularly appealing at this moment. That alone is strange, because I loved high school and was genuinely excited about college.

I could go back to Splice or find a new job here in London.

I don't know what I want, nor do I like what my life feels like without a deeper sense of purpose.

It's like trying on a dress I used to love. One that no longer fits quite right. Or maybe it's my perception that doesn't fit anymore.

Here with Spence, every emotion is deep, amplified. It's incredible in so many ways. Still, could I build an entire life around him? And even if I could, would it be fair to the person I'm destined to become?

I snuggle closer and kiss his shoulder blade. He always sleeps on his stomach with his head turned off to one side.

He stirs on contact, turning to look at me through the dark.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Are you well, love?"

He asks me at least a dozen times a day. He never asks if I'm okay, because sometimes I'm not. He doesn't ask how I'm feeling, because sometimes that question is hard to answer.

But am I well ?

"I am," I promise him.

I really, really am.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, I rush to say, "Thank you for tonight. For… everything. I can't believe this is really my life."

He kisses my forehead, and then the tip of my nose. "You're welcome, love. Everything has a reason, and for everything, there's a season."

It's a phrase he's used before. Now, though, when he repeats it, it feels like an omen.

He turns his head and settles in again, and within moments, he's asleep once more.

I lie beside him and let myself daydream about what life could look like a year, five years, ten years from now.

Married, perhaps. Traveling the world.

It would work. It would be fun and fulfilling. Sexy and so satisfying.

Yet that vision for my life doesn't sit right.

I roll onto my back and exhale, counting on one of my breathing tools to help me relax.

My mind tends to spiral when I know that sleep won't come, so the best thing I can do is take care of myself.

Right now, I am okay.

Right now, I think I'm in love.