Page 141 of A Little Tempting

REEVES

Finley

Hey. Dylan ended her shift early and took an Uber home. She has a nasty migraine. I’m not sure if you’ve ever had to help anyone with them, but you might want to have the lights turned down low.

Me

Thanks for the heads-up.

The garage door sounds a minute later, and Dylan stumbles through the door, her forehead scrunched and her face tight like she’s in pain.

Pushing to my feet, I switch into hero mode and stride toward her. “Hey, how can I?—”

“My head is killing me.” She presses her fingers above her left brow and squeezes her eyes even tighter as she lets out a slow breath.

“What can I do? How do I help?”

“Will you get me a glass of water while I grab my meds?”

Before I can say yes, she pushes her sluggish body away from the wall and heads to the stairs. With a death grip on the railing, she forces herself up the steps, one slow, uncoordinated movement at a time. I’ve never seen her like this. Like she’s in so much excruciating pain she can’t even function. Can’t think straight. Can’t walk straight. Moving as fast as I can, I fill a glass with water and follow her up. The lights are off in her room, but the glow from the hallway highlights the lump on the mattress. She’s curled in a ball, her knees to her chest and her eyes still squeezed tight as tears roll down her cheeks.

Fuck.

“Come on, Pickles.” I help her sit up and hand her the glass.

“Nightstand,” she breathes out. “Orange bottle.”

I find the medicine in the drawer, and she peeks one eye open, nodding. With a quick twist of my wrist, I undo the cap and hand her a large, white pill. She pops it into her mouth without hesitation and swallows the water greedily, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks so miserable. So…tortured.

“Did you already take out your contacts?” I ask.

Her shoulders hunch even more, like the thought alone is enough to drain her. “It hurts too much.”

“Come on, Dylan. Leaving them in isn’t an option.”

Her head rolls forward like it weighs a thousand pounds. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Reaching for the lined garbage can beside the nightstand, I offer it to her, and she grabs it, cradling the container to her chest. Her hair is in her face, so I shift on the mattress to pull it back as her body heaves, and she pukes into the bin. The sound. I know it well. Heard it more times than I can count when I was in the trailer with my dad. He usually left me to clean it up. At some point, I stopped doing it out of spite. The smell hits like a train, and I open my mouth, breathing through it instead as I fight back the memories.

“Shit,” she mutters once she’s finished.

I check the vomit for her pill, and sure enough, it’s floating front and center. Handing her another one from the bottle, I grab the half-empty glass on the nightstand and give it to her again. “Slower, this time,” I murmur.

She takes the pill, along with a slow sip of water. Swallowing, she rests her head on my shoulder, her body spent.

“Your contacts.” I shift in front of her and lift her chin. As she slowly opens her eyes, I pluck the contacts from her and place them in the container next to the alarm clock while my concern and sympathy battle for first place inside me.

With a sigh, she murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“I’msorry,” I counter.

“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes nothing but slits as her forehead scrunches. “No, you don’t understand. Ooooh,” she groans. “This is a bad one.” Folding forward, she cradles her head in her hands, her body rocking back and forth as we wait for the medicine to kick in.

“Sh, sh, sh.” I rub my hand up and down her back, anxious to take away her pain while shoving aside the helplessness eating me alive. I hate it. Hate seeing her like this. Hurting. Uncomfortable. Fucking wrecked. This is what Everett was talking about. What he warned me about. How much it affects her even though she hides the repercussions of her injury well most of the time. But this? This you can’t unsee. Something that hits her out of nowhere. Something she has to live with for the rest of her life. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s Dylan will persevere through something like this. She’s the strongest person I know.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dylan. Just relax. You’ll get through this.” Slipping my hand beneath her bent knees and my other around her upper back, I cradle her to my chest and carry her to my bedroom so Finley won’t wake her up when she gets home. Assuming Dylan’s able to find sleep in the first place. With a soft whimper, my girl curls closer to me, her hot breath brushing my neck as I close my bedroom door behind us. I kick one of my T-shirts over the night-light, then set Dylan on my mattress.

Her fingertips are white as she squeezes her head, her lips parted in a grimace. Taking over, I place one hand on her forehead and the other at the base of her skull, hoping the pressure will relieve her pain. A low breath of relief escapes her, and she leans into my hands a little more, the tension in her body easing a bit. We stay like this. Dylan rocking back and forth in the fetal position, my hands on either side of her head, the lights off, blanketing the room in darkness. Soon, her tiny whimpers soften, and her muscles relax even more. The pill is finally doing its job. Shifting on the mattress, I keep my movements slow, realizing she’s fallen asleep, and I bring her against me, holding her close. Soon, my eyes grow heavy, and I pass out beside her.

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