Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Raya
“I’m fine, Mom, I promise. You don’t have to stay.”
It’s later that night, and I’m home, but as I predicted—Mom is hovering. And I hate the line of worry etched in her forehead.
“I do have to stay because if I don’t, you won’t take it easy.” Mom puts her hands on my shoulders, turns me around, and walks me over to the couch. “Sit, will you?” She gives me a little push, and I plop onto the sofa.
She sits down next to me. “Poppy is almost here with the food. You look tired.”
“It’s the migraine. It wiped me out,” I say. “I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“And a few days off,” she says. “You’re taking tomorrow off, right?”
“I wish I could, but I can’t,” I say. “The team just got two new players. There are contracts to go over, and I’m going over paperwork with them tomorrow. Intake packets and—”
“Someone else can do that,” she says, with more authority than she has.
“Denim and Diamonds is next month,” I say. “It’s a huge event—and I’m practically in charge of the whole thing.”
“Raya.” She reaches over and rests a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to slow down a little.”
“This is my job,” I say firmly. “And I haven’t been with the team for that long, I can’t—”
I’m cut off mid-sentence when the door flings open, and both Poppy and Eloise barrel their way into my house, followed by our dad. They’re each carrying a box.
“I hope you like soup,” Poppy says. “Because I have enough here to feed a small country.”
I stand, and Mom grabs my hand and pulls me back down.
I glare at her.
I’m not going to like this one little bit.
Stop worrying about me. Stop holding my hand. Stop with all of this “making sure” and “are you okay” and “let me get that for you.”
I just want to lie down, but for some reason I cannot let them know for a single second that I’m exhausted.
I love that my family loves me. But the attention is too much. I’m much more comfortable being the one taking care of everyone else. This role reversal has me on edge—and I can still feel the dull ache of this afternoon’s events weighing on my head like I’m balancing a sandbag there.
Poppy looks at my parents and asks them to help set the table and serve the food. Dad signs a quick, “Yes, please, put me to work,” and takes a stack of bowls to my small kitchen table.
I pick up my phone and see that I missed a text from Finn.
Finn
I’m still annoyed with you, but I’m checking in anyway.
Are you okay?
Raya
Yes. I’m good.
Finn
Are you resting?
Raya
My family won’t go home, so no…
Finn
Good. I’m glad you’re not alone.
The day after my “episode,” I wake up feeling tired.
Which is weird, because I slept almost ten hours. Half a bowl of Poppy’s soup, and I was out. My head is still foggy, and I feel like I went ten rounds with a heavyweight fighter, but my body is just going to have to get on board. I’ve got stuff to do.
I force myself out of bed and go through my normal routine. I move slowly and feel sluggish. And I’m not happy about it.
Shower. Helps a little.
Clothes. Make-up. Hair. Coffee. Protein bar.
By the time I walk to the door, I’m ready for a nap.
I almost feel unable—no, unwilling—to push through.
Regardless, I get in my car, start the engine, and put the car in reverse. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. I look about as good as I feel, which is to say—terrible.
I have got to figure out a way to get over this.
I reach into my bag, pull out a compact, and apply more powder under my eyes, but it doesn’t help. I look in the mirror and there’s a zombie looking back at me.
I let out a frustrated groan, but underneath, I feel the buzz of panic that I’ve been trying to shake since the second they put me on that stretcher.
I reach the office, a little zoned out and trying to mentally assemble some sort of to-do list as I head into the building.
But my mind feels blank, like searching it produces no results.
It’s hard to think, and I don’t like it.
This isn’t me. I’m clear-headed and sharp.
I’m the quick one. The one you go to when you need something done.
Right now, I feel like I’m operating at half of my normal processing power.
I step into the elevator as a text comes in.
Justin
Sorry I didn’t get to touch base with you last night. I hope you’re feeling better this morning? Sounds brutal.
I don’t text back. I’m not annoyed that Justin didn’t track me down yesterday. We’ve been out three times, and while that’s enough for some people to start planning a future—it’s not to me. We’re still new.
Still, if the roles were reversed, I’d like to think I’d care enough to at least check in.
This is what you signed up for, Raya.
It’s unfair to move the goalpost on him now.
The doors open, and as I step out onto the third floor, I try to keep my head down and stay focused on the path to my office.
I rush even faster than usual, trying to avoid the curious stares.
I can’t blame my co-workers—I was carried out of here on a stretcher yesterday.
But I also don’t have it in me to tell the story a hundred times or convince anyone else that I’m okay.
Maybe I should send a mass “I promise I’m fine” email to the entire team.
Tonight, I’ll go to the game to sit in a VIP box with execs from The Alabaster Group.
Entertaining major sponsors is something my boss, Brian, asked me to do once a few months ago.
Apparently, I was good at it, because I’ve done it three times since.
If I’m honest, I like making those VIPs feel special, and I especially love it when they tell my boss I’ve done well.
I might need some extra caffeine to get through tonight, though.
Jill intercepts me in the hallway. “Raya?” She looks confused. “We didn’t know you were coming in today.”
I don’t look at her. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?
“Oh, just because, you know . . .”
I shuffle past her, flip on my office light, hang up my bag on the hook by the door, and sit down in my chair. I turn away from Jill, trying to slow my breathing.
Why am I out of breath?
I turn back as she hugs a stack of folders to her chest. “Brian said you were taking a leave? Told us we need to look for ways to fill in the gaps until you’re healthy enough to come back.”
I stare at her, trying to process this. “He said what?”
Jill winces, giving me a half-hearted shrug.
I stand, but the movement makes me feel a little light-headed, and I have to pause for a second before I move.
What is happening? Why is my body being so uncooperative?
The doctor’s words rush back: “If you don’t make some changes, this could happen again, and next time, it could be an actual stroke—or worse.”
The low-level anxiety is back, just beneath the surface. I shove it aside.
“Raya, are you okay?” Jill moves toward me, but I stop her with an upheld hand.
“I’m fine.” I get my bearings and walk down the hall, past Landyn’s cubicle and into Brian’s office. He looks up and frowns at me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “Didn’t you get my email?”
“No,” I say. “I just got in.”
He clucks his tongue and squeezes the knot of his tie. “I should’ve called. Could’ve saved you a trip.”
“I don’t need time off, Brian,” I say. “I can’t take it, anyway. We have The Alabaster Group tonight. You asked me to oversee their visit.”
“I put Hoff on that,” he says.
I glance through the glass of Brian’s office wall and see Hoff, whose name is actually Douglas Hoffmann.
He’s the newest addition to the team, and I have no idea if he can handle this.
I refuse to have office drama with a guy who graduated from college a few months ago, but I’m annoyed. It feels like I’m being punished.
I sit in the chair opposite Brian’s desk. “Why would you do that? I’ve been coordinating it for two weeks.”
“Jill gave him all the notes yesterday while you were out,” Brian says.
I raise my eyebrows. “She gave him my notes?”
“Raya, we’re a team here. We all have the same goal. Doesn’t matter who gets the credit for getting us there.”
“Did I do something wrong?” I frown. “I thought I was handling things well.”
He leans back in his chair. “You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you’re pretty amazing.”
“Thank you.”
“But—” he says, and I feel like that just erased everything he just said. “After yesterday—” His eyes go wide, like he’s remembering. “We can’t work you into the ground, Raya.”
“You’re not. I don’t understand,” I say. “I need to be here. I need to be working.”
“And you will be,” he says. “After you give yourself a break.”
I squeeze my folded hands tight in my lap, memories of sitting in another boss’s office seven years ago running through my mind.
“We take the health and wellness of our employees very seriously,” he continues. “You know that. We have a whole initiative that you yourself have worked on.”
“For the players,” I say. “The health and wellness of the players.”
He shakes his head. “You know that’s not true. This organization has worked hard—more than any other professional team—to prioritize people over profit. We’d be hypocrites if that didn’t extend to our executive staff.”
I sigh. I hate everything about this conversation. My clothes feel too tight all of the sudden, and I want to walk out of here and pretend I have no idea he’s trying to send me home. I just want to do my job.
“Look, this is not a demotion. This is not a replacement. This isn’t even a punishment or a write up or a slap on the wrist. This is self-care.”
I hear him. I know, somewhere deep down, that he’s right. I just don’t know how to not do things.
“You know I’d much rather have you here—you’re one of the best in this entire building. But you’re no good to us if you run yourself so ragged you fall apart. You need a break, Raya,” he says. “There’s no shame in that.”
And that’s when I start to understand where this is all coming from. Because there’s only one person who knows what Dr. Gilroy said to me before I left the hospital yesterday, and I’m about to give him a piece of my mind.
I sigh and look away. “I hear you.”
“Good.”
“But I don’t like it.”
He chuckles. “I know you don’t. It’s one of the things I admire about you. Your dedication to do things right. But Raya—” he looks at me— “your health comes first. Period.”
I grit my teeth and nod. “Okay.”
“Look at it as a well-deserved vacation. Paid time off.”
Right. Vacation. That thing I never take.
“For how long?” I ask, thinking for a few days, four at the most, I’d rest a bit, and—
“Four weeks,” he says.
I only stare. I’m not sure I heard him right. “Did you say—”
“Yep,” he nods. “Four weeks. It’s not up for debate.”
“You can’t be serious.” My mind spins. “I’m not taking four weeks off.”
Brian shrugs. “It wasn’t all my decision, though I did have a say in it. This one came from the higher-ups, Raya. Plus, you’re going to have to see a doctor before they’ll let you come back.”
“Four weeks is a whole month,” I say, mostly to myself.
My mind tries to work out the math. That’s practically the end of December before I can even come back.
Then you add the holidays, and it’s even more time off, and—I huff out a breath.
“What about my projects? The contracts? The holidays . . .?” It’s a week before Thanksgiving—are they really going to make me miss the holidays in the stadium? “What about Denim and Diamonds?”
He holds up both hands to stop me. “We’re already working on all of this, and there’s a whole team of people working on that fundraiser—they’ll be okay,” he says.
“And as far as the games, you can still come as a fan. But now? Go home and rest. Take care of yourself. You’re no good to anyone if you’re getting carried out of here on a stretcher.
” He levels my gaze. “Like I said, this isn’t a punishment. ”
“It sure feels like it,” I say.
“Your job is safe,” he says. “Heck, most people would be grateful for the time. A whole month to do whatever you want right before the holidays? Sign me up.”
Brian is about a decade older than me—a husband and a dad. His life outside of here is full, so he doesn’t understand what it’s like to go home to an empty house every night.
I shake my head and stand to go, but before I do, I turn back, square his gaze and say, “What I want to do is work.”