Daisy
nineteen
Poppy gasps, then wraps her hand around my calf and squeezes. “He said what?”
We’re curled up together on the sofa in the main house, which by some miracle is empty but for us, and we’re playing catch-up. I love that she’s married to my brother, but things are different now. We don’t live in each other’s pockets the way we used to.
I pry off her grip, but the achy imprint of her fingertips remains, throbbing in time with the fatigued pulse behind my eyes.
“Ow,” I say, rubbing the muscle. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “But did he really say that?”
“He hasn’t so much as looked at another woman since me,” I confirm.
“Oh, my God, Daze.” Poppy collapses into the cushions, looking a dreamy kind of stunned. Like this is romantic or something. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Uh, nothing?”
She screws up her face. “Nothing?”
“It doesn’t change anything,” I insist. Poppy tries to argue, but I cut her off before she gains steam. “It’s no different than my man ban. Just because Beau hasn’t been with another woman since we broke up doesn’t mean he won’t be eventually.”
It’s the story I’ve been telling myself, but the words taste as bitter on my tongue as they sound in my head. I clear my throat, wishing I had something to wash them down.
“So, how has work been since he said that?”
“I’ve been busy,” I say. “Ryan and Marcus have picked up my slack in the stable so I can focus on paperwork at home.”
“Daisy.” Poppy tilts her head. “Come on.”
“What? It’s all within budget. Charlie won’t say anything.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she says. “You’re hiding from Beau.”
I scoff. “It’s just a coincidence.”
She keeps staring at me.
“Okay, fine. It’s a helpful coincidence.”
My bestie grins, but her mouth flattens into worry within seconds. “It’s not like you to avoid uncomfortable conversations.”
“This isn’t an uncomfortable conversation,” I say. “It’s an uncomfortable existence.”
“Not for much longer,” Poppy points out. “He’ll be gone in a month.”
I rub my eyes with a sigh. “Yeah. I know.”
“And… is that still a good thing?”
“I’m beginning to think none of this is a good thing.”
“Oh, Daze.” Poppy sets a hand on my leg again, this time with a soothing stroke of her palm. “Why not?”
“Because the more time we spend together, the less certain I am of anything. What happened between us. How I feel about it now. Why I did what I did.”
Poppy’s forehead wrinkles. “What you did?”
Tension builds in my neck and shoulders, and my thoughts start to fog up. “Maybe our breakup was more my fault than I realized.”
She pulls back slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Everything.” I sigh. “I don’t know.”
My best friend pauses, chewing her bottom lip. “Daze?”
“Hmm?”
“Is your plan working? Because you seem more twisted up now than you were when he got here.”
I groan and drop my head back against the sofa cushions. The shift pushes the pain in my neck up to the base of my skull. “I know.”
Poppy stretches over again and sets her hand on my forehead. “Are you okay?”
“My period is due,” I mutter. “I’m just tired.”
“Do you want to nap on the sofa?”
I check the time on my phone. “I don’t think so. I’ll be fine with some pain relief, and I’ve got a ton to get through before my trail rides this afternoon. I’ll head back to my place.”
“Would you like me to drive you?” Poppy frowns. “You look a little peaked.”
“Nothing a little sunshine won’t fix,” I say. “And besides, I rode Chardonneigh, and I need to get her back to the stable. But thank you.”
I take it easy on the ride home, but every jolt of Chardonneigh’s gait rattles through my body. By the time I reach the stable, the ache in my neck and shoulders has reached my jaw. The noon sun hits my eyes like knives, and I approach home squinting against the glare.
I dismount as Marcus appears to take my reins, but before I can hand them over, Beau strides over and sends Marcus away with a sharp jerk of his head.
“Are you all right?” Beau asks.
“Perfect,” I lie. “Could you untack her? I’ve got work inside, but I’ll be back for the trail rides at four.”
I barely hear his agreement as I hurry to my front door. Once inside, I make it to the bathroom just in time to fall to the tiles in front of the toilet and bring up my breakfast.
It’s been months since I had a migraine. I’m an expert at getting in front of them with water, rest, and pain relief, but this one snuck up on me. It’ll last a few hours at least, but if I can find somewhere dark to rest, I might be human enough to take my rides later.
There’s only one problem. The barn house is seventy percent glass, and I still don’t have curtains on the windows.
I press my cheek against the cool bathroom floor. It feels so good that I consider turning off the light and staying put. But I know I’ll regret it if I don’t get to my bedroom soon, so I remove my boots with some effort, then push myself to my feet.
The pain lunges, lancing my left eye and setting my stomach rolling.
With my eyes squinted so hard I may as well be walking with them closed, I feel my way to the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water, and down two painkillers.
The agony intensifies after the short walk, so I drop to the floor and crawl to the living room sofa.
I curl into a ball, press my face against the cushions, wrap my arms around my head, and pray for sleep to take me.
Strong arms slide beneath me, then cradle me against a solid chest. I moan, the sound setting off painful spasms in my jaw and temples.
“Shh,” Beau murmurs. “I’ve got you, Darlin’.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Ollie asks, the question reaching me through a tunnel of pain.
“She’s got a headache,” Beau whispers, and even that is too loud. “Everything’s going to be fine. Can you draw something while I take her to her room?”
“Okay,” Ollie agrees.
“Leave me alone,” I manage, clutching at him when the pain flares again.
Beau shushes me and holds me closer, bracing against the jolts of his body as he carries me up the hallway. The rhythm of his steps tells me we’ve entered my bedroom, only it can’t be; the light has suddenly disappeared. But then he eases me onto my bed.
I roll away and bury my face in the pillows. “Go away. I hate you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not leaving you.”
“I don’t need your help.” I groan and then squirm as pain crashes over me.
“Darlin’? You can’t sleep in jeans. Let me take them off. Please?”
The thought is too divine, so I give him the smallest nod. I sigh as he drags off my socks, then releases the button at my waist and peels off the denim. I breathe easier with them gone and the hard square of my phone no longer pressed against my butt.
“Are you wearing a bra?” he whispers.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Can I take that off too?”
I hum, then turn so he can unbutton my flannel shirt.
His hands are soft as he slips it off my arms and around my back.
He pulls the covers higher before unfastening my bra.
I keep my eyes closed, and my thoughts are sluggish, but it’s a relief to be free of my clothes, even knowing it’s Beau’s hands on my body.
I feel vulnerable and protected at the same time.
I press my face against the pillow, relishing the cool touch of it before the cotton warms. But then the mattress dips and a cool washcloth settles over my eyes. I gasp at how good it feels, then again as Beau slips his large, strong hand into my hair.
He applies one hand to my temples while kneading my neck and shoulders with the other, then gently pulls on my hair to release the pressure in my scalp.
Gratitude and relief leak from my eyes as he pushes and drags in slow, certain movements, perfected over months of nursing me through this very same hell.
“Have you taken pain medication?” he asks.
“Mmm. Not working.”
“Okay.” He stops massaging long enough to readjust the washcloth, turning it so the cool spots are against my skin, then starts on my temples again. “I want you to sleep, okay, Darlin’?”
“Can’t.” I gasp as pain surges and my stomach pitches. “Rides.”
“I got it,” he says. “Don’t worry.”
I don’t realize I’m trembling until Beau tucks the covers up under my chin. Then he shifts a little, just the one hand staying on my head.
“Is this Poppy?” he asks, and it takes me a second to understand he’s not talking to me. “Hello. This is Beau.”
Pain and brain fog make it hard to follow the half conversation, but I do my best.
“Daisy isn’t feeling well, and I need to take her trail rides this afternoon.
I was wondering if you’re available to take Ollie for a few hours.
He won’t be any trouble, and I know he’d love to spend time with Izzy.
” A pause, then a relieved sigh. “Thank you… No, that’s all right.
I’ll bring him around to the house myself…
That’s right. I’ll take the rides and come back when I’m done.
Ollie might be with you for dinner… Well, I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Beau returns my phone to the nightstand and gets to his feet, the mattress lifting as his weight disappears, then sagging again when he returns. He swaps the washcloth on my forehead for one freshly dipped in cold water.
“Sleep, Daisy Darlin’,” he murmurs. “You’ll feel better soon.”
“Stop being nice to me,” I mumble, already halfway to unconsciousness.
He gently brushes the hair off my face. “Never.”
The oily, salty scent of hot fries wakes me, and I roll onto my back, feeling groggy and disoriented.
I open my eyes, then frown at the ceiling.
It’s too dark. Even in the middle of the night, my bedroom glows.
I sit up on my elbows, and after puzzling at the blankets strung up at the windows, I see where the smell of deep-fried potato comes from.
There’s a plate of fries on my nightstand, plus a large Coke right beside them.
“What time is it?” I wonder aloud.
“Just past eight.”
I startle at Beau’s voice, then sink into the mattress and let my eyes close again. The hours after a migraine are like the worst kind of hangover. The headache lingers, my stomach is a long way from settled, and my thoughts are thick. I feel utterly wiped out.
“What are you doing here?” I ask a moment before I process what he said and try to sit up. “It’s eight o’clock? What about my clients?”
“I took them.” Beau steps out from the shadows. “The horses are bedded down. Everyone’s gone home.”
I sigh. “That’s not your job.”
“My job is to support you and this business, so yeah, it is.”
He crosses the room, and without asking, he rearranges my pillows, propping me up into a sitting position and covering my nakedness with the sheet.
He sits on the edge of the bed and hands me the plate of fries.
I choose the crispiest one and pop it into my mouth, then chase it with a long draw of soda and feel a little more tension release.
My mom used to give me fries and a Coke when I was a teenager and migraines were my most predictable premenstrual symptom.
I don’t know if she was right about the combination of salt, sugar, and caffeine being a cure for the pain, or if it’s the comfort of her home remedy that makes me feel better, but I swear by them even now.
Beau scans my face, and I try not to squirm under the scrutiny.
“So you’re still getting migraines?” he asks.
I shift under the covers, tucking them securely under my arms. “Occasionally.”
“Are you drinking enough water? Taking magnesium?”
I glance at him once and take another fry. “Probably not, and not for a while.”
His brows draw together. “And you’re stressed.”
I lift one shoulder. “No more than usual,” I lie.
He scoffs quietly and shakes his head. “So freaking stubborn.”
I scowl, which only makes him smirk. “So freaking arrogant,” I retort.
The twitch of his mouth turns into a grin.
He moves closer somehow, setting a hand on the other side of my stretched-out legs, leaning over my body and into the center of the mattress.
I unconsciously turn toward him, pressing my legs against his side and snuggling deeper into the pillows, seeking his warmth and comfort.
More tightness leaches from my muscles, but when I realize what’s happening, I stiffen and give him a glare.
“You can’t do things like this anymore,” I tell him.
He blinks and his smile fades. “Do what?”
“Take care of me like you used to.”
“You were in pain. What was I supposed to do?”
“Leave me to figure it out. I’ve managed by myself plenty of times.”
He straightens too, and I tamp down a spark of guilt at the hurt on his face.
“I found you curled up in a ball on the sofa, sunlight everywhere, moaning and rocking.” His jaw clenches against a flinch. “Crying. And you expect me to walk away?”
“You’ve done it before.”
His eyes grow hard, then distant, and shame drops into the pit of my stomach.
“I need to pick up Ollie and get him home.” Beau stands and swipes up his hat from the foot of my bed. The place where he sat feels disproportionately empty. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I curl away as he leaves the room, fries on the duvet next to me. I nibble a couple more, but all I really want is darkness. Closing my eyes, I ignore the faint, retreating pulse of my headache, which pales next to the rising despair in my chest.
My plan to get over Beau was stupid. It was supposed to make it obvious we’re better off without each other.
Instead, it’s only proved how much I’ve missed him.
How much I still love him. And I’m starting to think the reason we aren’t together has less to do with Beau’s irresponsibility and fears and everything to do with what’s broken inside me.