Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
SUTTON
- P resent Day -
Me: Oh my god. I’m dying
Big Daddy J: Missing me that much?
Me: No
Big Daddy J: Ouch.
Me: I mean yes, of course I miss you but I’m sick.
Big Daddy J: I’m sorry, Baby Girl. Do you need me to come home?
Me: No
Me: I just need you to commiserate with me.
Me: You know. . . misery loves company, and all that jazz
Big Daddy J: . . .
Big Daddy J: I can come home if you need me to.
Me: And have you fined for leaving early or missing your next game? I think not.
Me: Besides, I’m going to the doctor later. I’ll be fine. Seriously though, this just sucks.
Me: When are you coming home again?
Big Daddy J: Right now.
Me: Be serious.
Big Daddy J: I am being serious. You need me, so I’m coming home.
Me: Stahp.
Me: Go do goalie things.
Me: You know, those crazy man splits you do in the boy aquarium to show off for all those puck bunnies that you love so much. . .
Me: . . . Catch some biscuits, or whatever.
Big Daddy J: Ok, now I’m worried. You’re clearly delusional over there. Tylenol and a nap until it’s time for the doctor. Then meds and bed until I get home. Got it?
Me: Yes, sir.
Big Daddy J: Seriously? No witty comeback? No telling me to stop being so bossy? Now I know you’re not feeling well
Me: They’re starting me on antibiotics.
Me: God
Me: I haven’t been this sick in years. I forgot how much this sucks.
Me: This is the literal worst.
Me: I know you’re probably busy getting ready for your flight back. Don’t mind me just bitching over here. I had to get up for the appointment and to pick up my meds, and now I can’t fall back asleep.
Big Daddy J: Were you able to get any more rest?
Big Daddy J: On the plane getting ready to take off. I’ll be home after tonight’s game.
Me: Bring soup.
My phone buzzes, and I groan, painfully prying my eyes open to squint at the glaring light of the screen as I drag my head out from under the pillow where it’d been buried.
After a round of antibiotics, and another dose of Tylenol, somehow I still feel like I’m dying; the whole ‘someone-stabbing-me-in-the-chest-while-simultaniously-sitting-on-me’ feeling, making it so I can’t breathe in-between these hacking coughs that make me sound like a dying hyena really freaking suck.
Fumbling, I reach for my phone and swipe to unlock the screen. It’s probably just Jonah telling me his plane landed and that he’s checking in on me again, but my stomach does a nervous flip at the name that appears.
Cal: I need to see you
Cal: It’s been a week. We need to talk after . . . what happened
Cal: Please.
My head is pounding like a jackhammer, an urgent and repetitive banging that makes my eyes water, and I groan, the sound coming out more like a wheezing gasp. Why did my body have to wake me up for this? It couldn’t have been kind and just let me sleep through the pain? Ugh.
I know I’m going to have to face him at some point.
I’ve been ignoring his texts all week, but I just couldn’t bring myself to face him, to have that conversation.
Not after he left. . . again. It’s unrealistic to think that I would be able to keep this up forever.
I know I can’t keep running away and hiding from the reality of the situationship that I put myself in . . .
Pain slams into my head and a rolling wave of chills washes over me, draining what little energy I had.
The phone slips from my fingers, hitting the bed beside me.
My eyes are heavy, I can’t keep them open as another round of hacking coughs leaves me wheezing, gasping for air.
No, I can’t put it off forever. . . but it can wait another day.
The thought flickers faintly as I struggle to stay awake, to catch my breath, to -