Chapter 4
FOUR
TINY
I’m sitting across from Rachel at some overpriced Italian place Hadley swore was “romantic but not too try-hard,” and I’m already regretting every life choice that has led me here.
My head is pounding. My throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper. And there’s this heavy, shitty ache sitting behind my eyes that’s been getting worse all day. I’ve been fighting off whatever the hell this is for two days now, and tonight it finally decided to show up and ruin my life.
Rachel is nice. She really is. She's a middle school teacher, at the same school as Hadley, and she's been talking about her students for the last twenty minutes without taking a single breath.
Today's biggest crisis involved a kid meowing during a math test because someone dared him to, and somehow that turned into three referrals before lunch.
It's actually kind of impressive how passionate she is.
I should be listening and impressed. Instead I’m wondering how fast I can finish this pasta without looking like a complete asshole while also trying not to sniffle like a sick toddler. This is date number three.
Date number one was Tessa’s idea. Some girl she met at a yoga class who turned out to be into “energy healing” and spent forty-five minutes trying to realign my chakras with her hands while we were still at the damn table.
I left with a headache and a strong desire to never do yoga again.
Though tonight’s headache might actually be from whatever virus is currently kicking my ass.
Date number two was Erica’s pick. She was a quiet pretty girl who seemed normal at first. Then she spent the entire date telling me about her ex who “didn’t understand her” and how she was “finally ready to be seen.” By the end of the night she was crying into her wine and asking if I thought soulmates could be toxic.
I paid the bill, drove her home, and went straight to Perdition to drink with Cole until I stopped feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
Now here I am on date three with Hadley’s teacher friend, feeling like death warmed over, and I’m trying really hard not to check my phone under the table or blow my nose like a sick giant.
Rachel laughs at something she just said and looks at me expectantly. I realize too late I wasn’t listening. “Sorry,” I say, forcing a smile even though my face hurts. “Long day. What were you saying?”
She tilts her head, still smiling. “I was asking if you’ve ever thought about working with kids. You seem like you’d be good with them. You’ve got that… big brother protective energy.”
I almost choke on my water. Big brother protective energy. Jesus Christ. I feel like I’m about to fall over. “I mostly just fix bikes and break up fights between my brothers,” I tell her. “Not sure that translates to middle school.”
She laughs like I made a joke. I didn’t.
The rest of dinner is fine. She’s sweet and smart.
She keeps touching my arm when she talks and I keep wishing I felt something other than mild panic and the strong urge to go home and pass out.
By the time the check comes, I already know I’m not asking her out again.
I also know Hadley’s gonna give me shit for it.
I pay, because I’m not a complete dick, even when I feel like shit, and walk her out to her car. She lingers by the door, looking up at me with this hopeful little smile that makes me feel like an even bigger asshole than I already do.
“I had a really nice time,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “You’re great, Rachel. Really. But I’m… kind of in a weird place right now. Not sure I’m good company for anybody.”
She nods like she understands, but I can tell she’s disappointed. I hate that I’m the reason. I also really hate that my head is spinning.
We say an awkward goodbye and I watch her drive away before I climb onto my bike. The second I’m alone, I let out a groan that probably scares the couple walking past me.
Three dates down. One to go. And so far the only thing I’ve learned is that I’m apparently really fucking bad at this…
and that I might actually be dying. I sit there for a minute, engine off, staring at the restaurant.
The whole “let the old ladies set you up” thing had sounded stupid but harmless when they pitched it.
Now it just feels like another reminder that everybody else in my life has figured their shit out while I’m still sitting at the bar watching it happen.
I pull out my phone and open the group chat the four of them forced me into weeks ago. Before I can overthink it, I send a message.
Tiny: Date #3 complete. She was nice, Hadley, but I’m not feeling it. Also I think I’m dying. My head is trying to murder me. Tell Cole I want a Viking funeral with lots of whiskey.
I hit send and immediately regret it.
The replies start coming in fast and overlapping.
Hadley: You’re killing me, Tiny.
Tessa: OMG YOU’RE SICK??? Did you get your date sick? Please tell me you didn’t kiss her.
Erica: Go home and sleep.
Scarlett: How long have you been feeling like this? You’ve sounded off the last couple days.
Tessa: This is why you were being extra dramatic tonight!!! I KNEW something was off.
Hadley: One more. Scarlett’s girl. Don’t be an asshole about it.
Scarlett: Maybe you should come in and see Sophie. She’s at the clinic tomorrow morning. I can text her and let her know you’re coming if you want.
Tessa: Do you need soup?? I can make Cole bring you soup. Or I can come over and dramatically nurse you back to health. Your choice.
Hadley: Go home and sleep. You sound like shit.
I stare at my phone, a small smile tugging at my mouth despite how shitty I feel.
These women are going to be the death of me.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, start the bike, and head toward home instead of Perdition.
One more date. Then I can go back to being alone in peace. Probably, if I don’t die first.
I wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck.
Twice. My head is throbbing, my throat feels like it’s been sanded raw, and every muscle in my body aches like I spent the night getting my ass kicked.
The cold that was already trying to murder me yesterday has officially won.
I feel like absolute shit, bigger shit than yesterday. Record-breaking, world-class shit.
I don’t even bother trying to tough it out. I drag myself out of bed, throw on the first thing I find, a black hoodie and gray sweats, and shove two tissues up my nose. I don’t even care how ridiculous I look. I just need to not feel like I’m dying anymore.
Scarlett told me to come see Sophie, and for once in my life, I’m actually listening to one of them. No passing go. No collecting two billion dollars. I’m going straight to the damn clinic. I grab my keys, pull the hood up over my head, and head out.
The clinic is packed when I walk in. There are people everywhere, coughing kids, tired parents, a couple of old folks sitting in the waiting area.
The place smells like hand sanitizer and sickness, and the second I step through the door I feel about ten times worse.
I probably look like death. A six-foot-seven giant in a hoodie and sweats with tissues hanging out of his nose.
I’m sure I’m making everyone’s day better just by existing.
I keep my head down and shuffle toward the front desk, already regretting every decision that led me here, until I see her.
She’s sitting behind the desk, sorting through a stack of forms with one hand while talking to an older woman who looks confused about her paperwork.
Her honey blonde hair is twisted up in a messy bun, a few strands falling around her face.
She’s wearing light blue scrubs under a soft cream cardigan that looks way too big on her, like she’s trying to hide in it.
She’s smiling at the old lady. Not a fake customer-service smile, but a real one. Like she actually gives a damn that the woman is struggling.
Well, hell. She looks like sunshine in the middle of this miserable, germ-infested waiting room. Just… warm. The kind of warm that makes you want to stand closer and feel it.
The old lady leaves and goes to sit down. She glances up as I step closer to the desk, and her aquamarine eyes meet mine. Aquamarine? What the fuck is wrong with me? For a second, I forget I have tissues shoved up my nose and look like I crawled out of a ditch.
She blinks, then offers me that same soft smile she gave the old lady. “Good morning,” she says gently. “How can I help you?”
I open my mouth, but my voice comes out rough and pathetic.
“Uh… Scarlett told me to come see Sophie. Said I should get checked out.” I sniff, which makes one of the tissues shift.
I quickly push it back up with the back of my hand like that’s gonna save my dignity.
“I feel like shit. Pretty sure I’m dying. ”
Her eyes flick to the tissues in my nose, then back to my face. If she thinks I look ridiculous, she doesn’t show it. She just nods, calm and kind, like she deals with giant sick bikers every day.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Let me get you checked in. What’s your name?”
“Jacob Wellington, the Third,” I mutter, then immediately wince. “God, don’t call me that. Just Tiny. Or Jacob. Or ‘that giant idiot who came in with tissues up his nose.’ Any of those work.”
A tiny smile tugs at her mouth, but she keeps typing. “Date of birth?”
I rattle it off, then sniff hard. One of the tissues shifts again and I have to shove it back up with zero grace. “Sorry. I’m disgusting right now. I woke up feeling like I got hit by a bus. Then the bus backed up and hit me again. I think my organs are filing for divorce.”
She glances at me, eyebrows raised slightly, but her voice stays soft. “Any fever? Body aches? Sore throat?”