Page 23 of Gideon's Gratitude

Gideon slackening his hand was the only response.

I eased the pack away, revealing his pallor, apparent even in the dim light. The man pulled both hands against his face, as if to block out what little illumination remained.

I walked into the kitchen and then opened the freezer. Ah, six more packs. They occupied almost half the space. The other half held frozen peas, a tray of chicken breasts, ribs, an unopened package of coffee, and a frozen bottle of water.

Peculiar.

I replaced the warm pack and grabbed another, then drew a glass of water and moved back to the family room.

Gideon hadn’t moved.

I knelt before the man. “I’ve brought some water. You need to stay hydrated. Have you taken your pills, or can I fetch them for you?” I hadn’t been gone more than four hours, so it’d likely be too early.

“No pills.” The words might be weak, but the vehemence was clear.

“Now, or ever?”

“Ever.” On a heavy exhalation.

Does he mean to suffer continuously?How hardheaded of him. “Well, at least have some water. Hydration is crucial.” I placed the ice pack on the ground so I could help him into a sitting position.

“Please leave me alone.”

“Have some water, then I’ll give you a fresh ice pack. I’m afraid I’m unwilling to leave you alone.” I had little doubt construction from my home caused this.

That being said, abrupt changes in atmospheric pressure might trigger severe headaches as well. Mom had issues with her hormones, and certain foods could cause this much pain. Had the bacon this morning contributed? Unlikely. If it were a trigger, it wouldn’t make sense for him to have it in the house.

Gideon sighed and struggled to sit up.

I easily held his weight. “Lean on me.”

He did just that. He managed several substantial gulps before indicating he’d had enough.

I eased him back to the couch, quickly flipping the cushion so his head would rest on the cool side. Another trick Mom’d taught me. I placed the ice pack against his forehead, and he grasped it tight. As if it were a lifeline. His sole reason for living.

“Do you have earplugs?”

“They don’t help.”

How did that make sense?

“They muffle the sound, but I hear my breathing, and that’s worse.”

Fair enough.“If you don’t mind, I’m going to sit on the chair.”

“I don’t need a minder.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s chilly outside. I can go upstairs—”

“No.” Said quickly. Too quickly.

“All right.” I rose, feeling every one of my thirty-nine years. I might be active, but the running injury to my left knee sometimes gave me difficulty.

I moved to the recliner and contemplated. The room was cooler than I liked. Hence the reason Gideon was under blankets. As much as I wanted to remove my suit jacket, I feared that might cool me down too much. I spotted another blanket and snagged it. I placed it across my lap as I reclined, wincing at the squeak.

Gideon didn’t stir.

I yanked out my phone. My laptop would be preferable, but I’d work with what I had. As I pulled up my email program to send a message to Jean-Michel, my doctor’s words echoed in my head.

---