Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Something was wrong with Daisy.
Sam sat in the fluorescent lit exam room that somehow smelled like antiseptic and wet dog with Daisy at his feet, her head resting on his foot, waiting for Dr. Chris McMahon to come back with the test results.
Daisy hadn’t fought them for the blood draw and had laid perfectly still for the X-ray. Sam wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Now that he’d had some time to calm down—and had been thoroughly reassured by Dr. McMahon that Daisy’s vitals were fine—he could see that he’d come flying in, guns blazing, and probably owed the staff a catered lunch.
Sunday Daisy had acted pretty normal. They’d taken several more walks than normal because she kept sitting by the front door, but he didn’t think anything of it. On Monday, she kept compulsively searching the house like she’d lost something. Her appetite was off too. By Tuesday evening, Sam was very concerned. Daisy would lay by the door, but she didn’t want to go out. Or, if she did go out, she came right back inside as soon as she’d done her business. She picked at her food, eating less than half of what she normally did, and had no interest in any of her toys.
And that morning, Wednesday, when she didn’t eat her breakfast, Sam had lost his mind a little.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Dr. McMahon entered. Sam’s face became hot because, one, Dr. Chris McMahon looked a little too good in his white coat and blue scrubs, and two, because he was very aware of the scene he’d caused and embarrassment had firmly settled in.
“Daisy’s bloodwork and X-ray are back,” the vet began, sitting on his stool, “and medically, there’s nothing wrong with her.”
Sam had been bracing himself for the worst, and hearing “nothing wrong” was like missing a step on a staircase.
“Nothing wrong? She’s not eating, she’s not playing, she doesn’t want to go on walks. There has to be something wrong. What did you miss?”
“I don’t think we missed anything,” Dr. McMahon assured him. “Since her test results are clear, it sounds like she’s maybe reacting to a change in her routine or surroundings. Dogs can experience depression and anxiety like people do, and Daisy is a very smart, sensitive girl. Do you think that could be what’s happening?”
Sam opened his mouth to argue that that couldn’t be right, but then shut it as he reviewed her symptoms again. He could have overlaid them with his own when he had a depressive episode and they would have matched exactly.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I believe so,” Dr. McMahon said in that avoidant way doctors had. “You mentioned you had a work trip. Given Daisy’s history, it’s possible she’s reacting to that absence and will be fine again in a few days. ”
Sam nodded, only feeling marginally better that Daisy wasn’t dying.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Any time,” the vet answered, “but maybe next time call the office before you come in.”
Lacey didn’t feel well.
That wasn’t true.
She felt like she’d been frozen, thawed in the pits of hell, and then run over by a steamroller. Simply not feeling well would have been a relief.
The flu had to be making its rounds already. Half the toddlers she taught were coughing or had snot faucets for noses. Who knew what germs the teens were bringing with them from school.
It had to be almost the end of the day, right?
Lacey looked at the clock.
Nowhere near the end of the day. It made her want to sit on the floor and cry, except the floor was hard and cold, and that made her want to cry too.
Maybe she should’ve stayed home. Gavin had offered, but the winter recital was sneaking up on them, and they needed time to prepare. The toddlers needed to look like they’d learned something since September, even if they were going to forget every bit of choreography once they hit the stage.
At least it was lunch time. Lacey was going to curl up in the office and take a nap.
The front door of the studio opened, and the oppressive dread of interacting with anyone sat in her chest like a concrete block.
Then she heard the familiar jingle of Daisy’s collar as she shook the rain out of her coat.
The dog nearly ripped Sam’s arm out of its socket when she saw her.
“Daisy!” Lacey cried, sitting on the floor and opening her arms wide. Since when did it take so much energy to smile?
Sam let go of the leash, and Daisy scrambled across the floor and into Lacey’s lap, wiggling with glee. Lacey hugged her the best she could, squeezing her eyes shut as Daisy bathed her face in kisses.
“Yes, yes, yes, I missed you too,” she laughed.
Sam cleared his throat, and Lacey looked at him. He stood in the doorway, seemingly conscious of the “no street shoes” rule in the studio, hands in the pockets of his black raincoat, looking a little sad, and Lacey’s heart skipped.
She’d snuck out Sunday morning. She wasn’t proud of it. But she’d woken up with only Daisy between them, Sam’s hand over top of hers, and had been overwhelmed by the flutters. It was too much, too perfect, too hard to remember that this was all fake. So she’d slipped out of bed, grabbed her bag that was already by the front door from the night before, and bolted. Sam’s clothes were buried in the bottom of a dresser drawer like contraband.
“Hey, stranger,” she said, like she hadn’t left without saying goodbye and then participated in a mutual radio silence.
“The vet thinks Daisy’s depressed,” Sam blurted.
Lacey blinked, confused. She pointed at the happy, panting dog in her lap. “This Daisy?”
Sam nodded grimly.
“I’m not a doctor of any kind, but she seems fine.”
“This is the happiest she’s been in days.” He folded his arms and frowned.
Lacey rubbed Daisy’s ears. “I think you scared Daddy, sweet girl.”
“I think she missed you. Thought you’d abandoned her.”
She looked at Sam again, and it made her stomach sour. This didn’t feel like it was just about Daisy.
“Sam, I…”
The underside of her jaw went numb, and her mouth flooded with spit.
Nope. It wasn’t Sam that had made her feel sick.
Lacey jumped up, dumping Daisy off her lap unceremoniously, and sprinted for the toilet. The first wave hit her as she entered the bathroom, and she heaved her breakfast into the porcelain bowl. Bile burned her throat, and tears filled her eyes as she continued to retch until there was nothing left, and even then she dry heaved several more times.
She flushed the toilet with a groan, slumped against the wall, and whimpered.
A sharp bark made her turn her head. She had an audience.
In the doorway, Sam held Daisy by her collar while the dog struggled to get loose.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” she joked weakly, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand.
“How long have you been sick?” Sam asked, though it sounded like the start of an exhausting interrogation.
“I didn’t feel great last night, and I woke up feeling like hot, gooey garbage,” Lacey admitted.
“Why didn’t you stay home?”
“Because some of us have to work,” she said, pushing herself to her feet unsteadily. “I need a paycheck. It’s not that bad.”
“You just threw up.”
“Whoop-dee-doo.”
Lacey turned on the sink and dipped her face under the faucet, catching water in her mouth, swishing it around and spitting it out until the awful taste was dulled.
The front door opened, and Gavin’s voice rang out. “I’m back and I brought lunch!”
In the mirror, Lacey saw Sam’s eyes narrow and she didn’t have the energy to catch him before he stormed out to intercept Gavin.
She groaned and trailed after him.
“Lacey’s sick.” It was more of an accusation than a statement.
“I know,” Gavin said, placing the takeout bag on the front desk to take off his coat. “I told her to stay home this morning, and she wouldn’t listen. You know how she is.”
Sam opened his mouth, clearly ready to lay into her boss, but stopped, confusion replacing anger. “You told her to stay home?”
“Of course I did. I’m not a monster.” Gavin reached down and scratched Daisy behind her ears. “Are you here to take her home?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Sam contradicted her loudly and firmly.
“I have classes,” Lacey complained.
“That we can cancel,” Gavin told her, shaking his head.
“But we’ve got so much work?—”
“Today is not the day they’re all going to magically understand, sugar. One missed class isn’t the make or break right now.” Gavin dug around in the bag and produced a wrapped sandwich. “Here. This is from Leo. Now go home.”
Lacey’s stomach churned as she accepted the sandwich. She couldn’t even consider eating it. The idea of putting anything in her mouth made her want to vomit again.
“Where’s your coat?” Sam asked.
“In the office,” Lacey told him. She wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted her coat. Not because she wanted to leave but because the chills were back.
Sam let himself into the back office and came back with her coat and her bag. Lacey didn’t have the strength to argue with him and Gavin, so when he held up her coat, she slipped it on. And when Sam zipped her up like a little kid, she didn’t argue because it felt nice to be taken care of for thirty seconds.
“Come on,” he grumbled, shouldering her bag.
The warm, fuzzy feeling evaporated.
A frigid wind cut through Lacey’s clothes when they stepped outside, an awful reminder that even though she felt cold, her skin was hot.
“Fuck,” she cursed, trying to make herself as small as possible while still walking to her car.
“Almost there,” Sam assured her, putting a hand on the small of her back to guide her to the parking lot.
“I need my keys,” she told him, holding out her hand for her bag.
Sam ignored her and unlocked his car. He opened the back door for Daisy, and then the passenger door.
“I don’t think you can drive from over there,” she said.
“Get in.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like shit and I’m not letting you drive.” Sam pointed to the passenger seat. “Get in.”
Lacey was too tired to argue. It was an unfortunate recurring theme. She dropped into Sam’s front seat, relieved when he shut the door because it blocked out the wind. Daisy put her front paws on the center console and rested her chin on Lacey’s shoulder.
“Sweet girl,” she cooed.
Sam got in and started the car. Before she could think about it, he turned her seat warmer on high and turned up the heat. Lacey’s eyes were dry and her eyelids were heavy. It couldn’t hurt to close her eyes for the short drive home, right?
The sound of a garage door closing woke Lacey up.
That couldn’t be right. Sam didn’t have the garage door opener for her house. And even if he did, there was no way to park in the garage. It was full of Leo and Gavin’s stuff.
“Hey, sleepy sunshine,” Sam said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt. “We’re here.”
“Where are we?” Lacey mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
“Home—my house.”
Lacey frowned. “Why didn’t you take me to my house?”
“Because I can’t take care of you there,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on. Let’s get you tucked into bed.”
“I think this counts as kidnapping,” she told him, unbuckling and stepping out of the car. She felt like she’d been beaten with baseball bats.
“I don’t think I need to tie you up until you’re feeling better.” Sam let Daisy out of the backseat and grabbed Lacey’s bag. “You didn’t even make it out of the parking spot before you fell asleep.”
“Be nice to me. I’m sick.”
“Ah, so you admit it.” Sam let Daisy into the house first, waited for Lacey to shuffle past him, and then shut the door. “Do you want to steal some more clothes?”
Lacey mustered up as much innocence as she could. “Steal?”
“I’m missing some items.” Sam put her bag on the kitchen counter and dug out her water bottle. “Go make yourself comfortable. I’ll be in in five.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him that she could take care of herself. That she wanted to go home. But she didn’t have the energy. And she didn’t actually want to go home. Sam’s bed was better, and her house didn’t have Daisy. So Lacey trudged down the hall to his room and started taking off her clothes. How had she even gotten dressed this morning? It was so much effort.
Lacey had just slithered under the covers, having exchanged her tight clothing for Sam’s comfy, baggier clothes, when he came in with her water bottle and a laptop.
“What’s that for?” Lacey asked, melting into the pillows. Daisy jumped up on the bed and circled a few times before crumpling into a useless pile of bones on top of Lacey.
Sam held up her water bottle. “Hydration.” He held up the laptop. “Entertainment.”
“I don’t think I have the energy to watch anything.”
“It’s for me,” he said, sitting on the other side of the bed. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Lacey smiled at him, then yawned. “Are you my nurse now?”
“Since you can’t be trusted to make good choices, yes. Go to sleep.”
“You’re so grouchy,” she teased, but closed her eyes obediently.
“That’s because you and Daisy are having a contest to see who can stress me out more.”
“Am I winning?”
“Go to sleep, sunshine.”
It was dark when Lacey woke up. Had she slept all night? Or had it only been a few hours?
She stretched, slowly becoming reacquainted with her surroundings. Sam’s house. Sam’s room. Sam’s bed. Sam’s sheets. Sam’s clothes. Surrounded by Sam. Lacey smiled. He should start a home goods line.
Where was he?
The bed was empty. No Sam, no Daisy. Lacey pushed herself into a sitting position. The door was closed, so maybe they’d left her to sleep. She still felt like hot garbage, but at least less gooey.
“Sam?” she called out, but her voice stuck in her throat and she sounded more like a frog.
No answer.
Maybe they’d gone on a walk.
Gingerly, Lacey peeled back the covers and got out of bed. She shivered. Was Sam’s house always this cold? It had seemed perfectly comfy over the weekend. She went into his closet and grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of socks. Then she went into his bathroom and put on his robe, too.
The house smelled good, like ginger, citrus, onion, and garlic. Despite the background nausea, her stomach growled. Even the flu wasn’t a match for Sam’s cooking.
Sam was seated at the kitchen island, headphones on, laptop open, and he was writing in a notebook. Daisy was laying by his stool, chewing on a toy like it had wronged her family. A pot of what she guessed was soup simmered on the stove. The same overwhelming contentment she’d felt Sunday morning welled back up inside her at the quaint domesticity of it all.
Lacey sat on the stool next to Sam’s, hugging his robe tightly around her.
“Hey,” she said softly, and laid her cheek on the cool granite counter.
Sam put down his pen and rubbed the back of her neck, working out a knot that had been there for months, and after a minute, took his headphones off with his free hand, hanging them around his neck.
“Still feel like crap?”
Lacey gave a tiny nod, then moaned as Sam’s fantastic fingers dug into the knot in her neck. If she hadn’t felt like death reheated in a gas station microwave, she probably could’ve been persuaded to show some gratitude.
“I’m making soup,” he told her.
“It smells really good.” Her eyes drifted shut.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes and no. I’m scared I’m going to throw it up.”
“From what I saw earlier, you’re a champion puker.”
“The compliment every girl wants to hear.” Lacey smiled, and opened one eye. “Why are you doing this?”
Sam’s cheeks flushed. “Massaging your neck?”
“Kidnapping me to make me sleep in your big comfy bed, wear your clothes, and feed me. You could’ve just dropped me off. Left me to rot in my own misery.”
“You sound so very put upon,” Sam said dryly, but she saw the twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“This is torture. I think it goes against the Geneva Convention.” Lacey sighed, closing her eyes again. “Do you really think Daisy’s depressed because I haven’t been around for a few days?”
“It’s the best explanation I can think of. She’s been fine since we saw you.”
“Mmm…were you sad I didn’t come around for a few days? Is that why you kidnapped me?”
“You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
“Adorable, but avoidant. Did you miss me, Sam?”
The rain drummed against the windows and the wind whistled through the trees every fifteen seconds. Lacey knew because she counted three gusts before Sam responded.
“Of course I missed you, sunshine.”
“Didn’t feel like it when you didn’t come see me for four days.”
“You snuck out without saying goodbye,” Sam reminded her, still massaging her neck. “How was I supposed to interpret that?”
“That I’m working on my audition for Cinderella?” Lacey joked half-heartedly. She put her hand over Sam’s on the back of her neck. “I missed you too, Sam.”
“Sometimes,” Sam began quietly, “I get in my own head about people and how they might feel about me. And instead of doing something about it, like asking or reaching out, I hide. I thought maybe?—”
Lacey didn’t want to know what he’d thought, because there was every chance he was right and she’d have to admit it. Especially if that thought was that Saturday night meant more than some sexy fun.
“I get it,” she interjected. With a monumental summoning of strength, she straightened her spine. “Can I try the soup?”
Sam nodded and closed his laptop before standing up and going to the cupboard for bowls.
“So, Graham’s been up my ass, and not in a fun way, about Thanksgiving.” He ladled soup into the bowls. “Did you want to go?”
“You know how I feel about free food.” Lacey began to sweat, and shrugged off the robe. “The studio is closed that week because Gavin and Leo are visiting Gavin’s mom in Atlanta, so I don’t have any plans.”
Sam handed her a bowl across the island with a frown on his face. “What were you going to do for Thanksgiving? ”
Lacey shrugged and blew on a steaming spoonful. “Eat Kraft macaroni and cheese directly from the pot while watching Planes, Trains, and Automobiles .”
That hadn’t even been on her potential list of things to do, but it was worth saying to see Sam shudder.