Page 28 of Wake Me Up
Her chest heaves, and her neck turns a blotchy red color. “You should go,” her voice squeaks, and a tear streams down her soft cheek. “Thank you for the tea and for Avy’s gift, but I have some calls to make.” She doesn’t look at me anymore; instead, she quickly stands up and walks toward the door.
The last thing I wanted to do was make her mad, and yet that’s exactly what I’ve done. I just wanted to help her and her family out, but instead, I made her uncomfortable. I push myself to my feet and walk toward the door. Stopping when I’m beside her, I look at her even though her eyes remain on the ground.
“Just think about it, Freya. You don’t always have to do everything on your own.”
After a moment of absolute torturous silence, I take the hint, and I walk out of the room. Of course, I see Aviana in a wheelchair, headed right for me.
“You’re already leaving?” she says, seeming surprised while the nurse comes to a stop in front of me.
My eyes find the hedgehog held snugly to her chest, and I nod. “Yeah, sorry. I gotta get back for practice. But I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thanks,” she says shyly. “And thanks for the hedgehog. I named him Hedgie.”
“Hedgie,” I mimic. “I like that.”
“Well, see you later,” she utters, offering the tiniest smile before the nurse pushes her past me.
“You too,” I drawl, feeling like a prick for trying to save the day and instead making her mother feel bad.
I sluggishly make my way down the hallway and out of the hospital. I’m doing shit I’d never have done before I met her and her kids. I’m buying stuffed animal fucking hedgehogs. I’m showing up at hospitals. I’m offering to pay for a surgery for a kid I barely know.
Fuck. What has gotten into me?
But there’s a game tomorrow. A big game. That’s what I need to focus on.
So, why can’t I get Aviana and Freya out of my head?
This is usually my favorite time of the day because it’s quiet and the sun is just starting to peek out, lighting up the streets of downtown Portland. A few times a week, I come into the bakery early to get things done. On those mornings, my mom either spends the previous night with us or she comes over before I leave so she can help get the kids up and ready.
Today, I’m not feeling the peace like I normally would, working by myself before the rest of the city wakes up. Today, I feel like a ton of bricks is on my shoulders, and one wrong move, I’ll be crushed.
A pull at the door makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Portland has its fair share of roughness, and unfortunately, the bakery has been robbed multiple times.
Peering around the corner from out back, I catch sight of Tripp standing by the locked door. He’s left me alone since yesterday morning—when he showed up with treats for me and my daughter and offered to pay for her surgery, and then I demanded he leave.
I hold my hand up so he knows I see him before I rush to the sink to wash the dough from my hands.
The truth is, I could never accept a gift that big. I’d rather go in debt than take money from someone else. Especially someone who isn’t family.
I’m sure if I asked Jamie’s parents and my mom and dad, they’d all chip in, but I haven’t told anyone yet because I’m embarrassed. I should be able to provide for my daughter on my own. Everyone always tells me I’m so strong and so tough, but right now, I don’t feel it.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I walk to the door and unlock it. Once he’s inside, I don’t bother locking it again because we open in ten minutes anyway.
“Hi,” he says when I turn to face him.
He isn’t smiling. Then again, he usually doesn’t, but his eyes are kind, and his expression is soft.
“Hi,” I whisper, looking up at him.
This feeling I have when he’s around, I’ll never understand it. It’s not the way I felt when I first saw Jamie. It’s … different. But still, it makes me feel guilty because when this feeling happens, my heart races.
“Where’s your head at, Freya?” he asks, keeping his deep voice low and gentle. “How are you feeling?”
For a moment, I just stare at him. I’ve kept everything in for days now, but I’m hardly sleeping, and I haven’t had an appetite. Truthfully, I’m falling apart.
And I don’t have the one person here to help me through this. My husband would know what to say or what to do. He’d have the answers.
My lip trembles. I can’t even come up with a word to answer him, and as if he sees it instantly, he takes a few large steps to me and looks down.
