Chapter 14 #2
Curled in the fetal position on the floor is Brooke. My heart plummets, bottoming out in my stomach. My chest pounds for an entirely different reason.
“Brooke!” I bang on the window. She moves her head less than an inch. Or am I imagining it? I focus on her mouth and then her stomach for any sign of breathing. I bang on the window again.
She stirs a little and holds out her hand, singling for me to stop banging. If she doesn’t like that, she sure as shit isn’t going to like it when I break the fucking door down.
“Brooke, what’s the code?” I yell through the glass. She cracks one eye open slightly, like it hurts to look at me. Gee, thanks, Brooke.
“The code to the door, Brooke. I need the code or I’m going to break this window,” I yell, voice shaking. She holds up nine fingers, then two fingers, then five, then three, and finally seven before she closes her eyes again.
I run to the front door and enter the numbers. The door creaks open and I dart to her. “Brooke,” I say, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?” Obviously, she’s not okay.
She presses her index finger to her lips and makes a soft shushing sound. “Please whisper,” she says. “Your voice is making my head hurt.”
“So, it’s a normal day?” I place a hand on forehead. Her temperature feels normal. “What’s wrong?”
“Migraine,” she says shakily. “Bad one.”
I blow out a breath. Just a headache. “I thought you were hurt. I’ve got some Tylenol in the car.” I move to get up, but she grabs my arm.
“Caleb, if I could roll my eyes right now, you’d be in for it,” she whispers slowly, as if the sound of her own voice is painful, too. She takes deep slow breaths. “This is well beyond the power of acetaminophen.”
“What can I do?” I’ll do anything to make her feel better, and that thought hits me right in the feelings I’ve been ignoring.
This is more than just a headache. There’s barely any color in her face. Her freckles contrast harshly against her skin. I hate seeing her like this.
“I need to go to urgent care,” she says slowly.
“Okay, I’ll take you.”
She shifts to get up and groans. “I can’t get up yet. Can you turn the lights off? And in the kitchen back there, there might be an ice pack in the freezer. Could you check?”
I turn off the lights and head to the kitchen. A minute later, I sit next to her empty-handed.
“No ice pack, I’m sorry.”
Brooke groans. Not the annoyed groan she often gives me but a long drawn-out groan of real pain. Like simply existing hurts.
“What can I do to help you feel better?”
She hesitates. “You can’t.”
That can’t be true. There’s got to be something.
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do. What do we have to do so I can get you to urgent care?”
“You’re going to think it’s weird.”
“I’m okay with weird, Brooke.” I shift so I’m sitting cross-legged next to her. She’s still in the fetal position, curled toward me. I brush some of the hair that’s fallen on her face behind her ear.
“Can you take the tip of your fingers and press them into my temple kind of hard?” She points to the left side of her head. I scoff quietly. That’s not weird. I’d do much weirder things to help her right now.
“It helps, I promise,” she says.
“Okay,” I say, looking at her on the floor.
She’s using her hands as a pillow. “Brooke, that can’t be comfortable.
Here, I’m going to move you so you can rest your head on my lap, okay?
” Her eyes and nose scrunch like she wants to protest, but she nods.
I slowly move her closer and rest her head on my thigh.
I take my index and middle fingers and press them into her temple.
“Is this okay? Are you sure I’m not hurting you?
” She lets out the softest sigh of relief. It’s music to my ears.
We sit together on the office floor while I massage her temple like she asked, and I bask in the feeling of having her this close to me. She’s always been so independent and self-reliant. It’s jarring to see her like this.
After about twenty minutes, she musters up enough energy to move. As soon as she sits up, she grabs the trash can under desk and vomits. She keeps apologizing as if that’s going to scare me away. Please. I help her get cleaned up and take the trash out before we leave.
Each step makes her wince as we walk out of the office.
“Brooke, let me carry you,” I say.
“Carry me? I don’t need you to carry me,” she protests through deep breaths, barely able to open her eyes. “I can walk on my own.”
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.”
We make it off the front porch and the setting sun hits Brooke’s face. She groans and winces more. Before she can protest again, I scoop her up with little effort and carry her in my arms.
“Fine,” she says, resting her head against my chest. My heart’s beating so hard I’m afraid it’ll make her head hurt more. “But don’t you dare tell anyone about this. I’m a strong, capable woman.”
“Yes, you are. Your secret is safe with me.” Though I’d like the whole world to see her in my arms. I carry Brooke to her car. There’s no way I’m taking her in the doorless Wrangler.
From the back of the car, she assures me that she’ll be fine, but I’m not convinced. Should I be driving to the hospital instead? Calling her mom? Or at least Maddie? She says all she needs is a shot of something for the pain and a pill for the nausea.
By the time we arrive at urgent care, she’s a little steadier on her feet. As much as I want to carry her, I don’t want to hurt her pride. Still, I wrap my arm around her waist and walk her inside. She doesn’t protest this time.
Brooke is quickly whisked away by a nurse and the sounds of the receptionist scrolling through social media keep me company in the waiting room.
I’d suggested acetaminophen. The most basic of all the pain medications, it’s practically a placebo.
What a fucking idiot. Sitting next to her on the floor, I got a closer look at her face.
It was twisted in pain, her freckled nose crunched, eyes squeezed shut.
Her skin lacked its usual glow and rosiness.
Even with the lights off, she could barely open her eyes.
I’ve heard people talk about having a migraine attack, but I’d always thought they were just bad headaches.
Not this. This was much worse. I never want her to have to go through it again.
While I wait, I read through WebMD and Mayo Clinic resources on migraines. It’s a neurological condition and yeah, it’s way worse than your average headache. Some people only get them a few times a year, but others get them a few times a week. God, I hope that isn’t the case for Brooke.
After thirty minutes, Brooke finally walks into the waiting room, and I take a full breath for the first time since I saw her through the window. I rise to my feet so quickly, I almost trip over my own two feet.
“Brooke,” I say with a sigh. “You’re okay?” I meet her halfway across the room. There’s some color back in her cheeks. Thank god. It takes all my willpower to keep my hands at my side. To not touch her.
“I’m okay.” She nods, her lips curling up slightly. “Embarrassed, but I’m okay…I’m so sorry, Caleb.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Sorry…why are you sorry?”
“For having a migraine attack…throwing up in front of you…”
“And for missing the meeting with Hannah at Warehouse Rentals?” I ask with a smirk.
I’m met with wide blue eyes and parted lips. She had no idea she’d missed the meeting.
“Shit, shit, shit! Caleb, oh my god.” She blinks back tears but quickly shakes them off.
“I never miss a meeting. Do you have any idea how many meetings I’ve pushed through with a migraine?
And I couldn’t even do that for my biggest client ever.
This is terrible. I need to call Hannah. Oh my god, if my mom finds out—”
“Hey, hey,” I place my hands on her shoulders.
“It’s okay, I told her you were having car trouble.
Come here.” She’s so worked up, I go against everything I’ve been trying not to do since I’ve been back and pull her close.
I expect her to be tense in my arms, but she falls into me, wrapping her arms around my torso and tucking her head into my chest. Her head’s in the perfect spot for me to rest my chin, but I hold back.
I settle for inhaling the sweet smell of her hair.
I’ve never held her like this. If I’d done things differently, I could have been doing this every day for the last five years.
Fuck. There’s no denying what I feel for her anymore, but I make myself pull away.
“Brooke, you have nothing to be sorry for,” I say, looking into her glassy blue eyes.
“You had a migraine attack. I’ve become something of a migraine expert in the last half hour, and it’s not your fault.
I’m sorry I didn’t leave the meeting sooner to make sure you were okay. C’mon, let’s get you home.”