Broken (Manhattan Ruthless Book 1)
Chapter 60

Two weeks. I have only two weeks to figure out whatever the fuck this thing is between Mel and me and what the hell I’m going to do about it. Because although her reason for being here is devastating, her presence in my life makes everything make more sense. I slept better yesterday morning holding her while she cried than I have in the past two months.

She puttered around my penthouse today, watching TV, reading magazines, and cooking us lunch while I caught up with important emails on my laptop. She’s been in my orbit all day, and I’ve liked having her close by, but she left the den over ten minutes ago and hasn’t come back yet.

I close my laptop and head into the hallway to look for her. When I get to her room, the door is open, and the sound of the shower running comes from the bathroom. The bathroom door is open, and I edge into the room and call her name.

There’s no reply.

She showered a couple of hours ago, so her being in there again so soon feels off. I ball my hands into fists and wrestle with my conscience. If she’s simply taking a shower and I walk in there, I’ll be invading her privacy. Even if she is still my wife and I’ve seen, touched, and tasted every inch of her delicious skin. But if she’s upset, or something happened … I’d rather ask forgiveness than risk her being upset and alone.

I walk into the bathroom and see her curled into a ball on the floor of the shower, her forehead resting on her knees as the hot water runs over her. A faint trickle of blood snakes its way from between her thighs and down the shower drain.

Anger at the universe, rage that she’s having to go through this, swells in my chest. I swallow it down and step inside the cubicle, crouching down.

“Hey corazón.”

She blinks up at me. “I-I—” A heaving sob wracks her body.

I sit on the floor beside her and pull her onto my lap, and the hot water runs over us both, soaking through my clothes.

“I st-started b-bleeding ag-gain. I thought the w-worst of it w-was done b-but—” She sobs.

“Shh,” I soothe against her ear. “It’s okay.” I tell her this despite not feeling it. Right now everything feels as far from okay as it can possibly be. The feeling of powerlessness that pervades every part of my being is so acute that I taste it with every breath I take.

“I’m sorry, Nate,” she whispers, nestling her head against my chest. “For ruining us.”

I swear she just knocked the breath from my lungs. The blades of a thousand knives slice through my insides, and the swell of guilt and sadness that crashes over me makes my head spin. I hate that she carries so much guilt about everything. About us. Her family. The baby. “You didn’t ruin us, corazón,” I murmur, but I’m not sure she hears me over the sounds of the water and her crying.