Page 7 of Bit's Bliss
“Tell her to come in.”
I heard the two of them talking as I flicked the lights off in the kitchen and living room. I’d started a fire as soon as I got home earlier, and it was bright enough to illuminate the space. I dumped the rest of my beer in the sink, then turned around to face Eberly when she walked in.
“Hey,” I said, resting my hands on the counter. “Sorry about taking off like that.”
“It’s okay. Brix said you thought you saw someone.”
“I was mistaken.” I squeezed my eyes shut when the pain in my head got worse. When I opened them, she was standing beside me.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Migraine.”
“Do you have a cold pack?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, pointing to the fridge.
“Does that help more, or does heat?”
“Both.” I couldn’t decide which stunned me more; that she’d asked or that I answered.
She opened the freezer, pulled out the pack, then grabbed one of the cans of iced coffee I kept on hand from the refrigerator. She held it up. “Will this help?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you want to sit or lie down?”
I motioned to the living room, then held my hand out.
“Hang on. I want to wrap the pack in something, and I’ll pour the coffee into a glass. Go sit. I’ll only be a minute.”
“You have experience with migraines?” I asked.
“My mom had them often when she was sick. What about heat?”
“Bedroom. There’s a pad plugged in next to the bed.”
She handed me the cold pack she’d wrapped in a towel and set the coffee on the table.
“Where does it help the most?” she asked when she returned with the heating pad.
“Shoulders. There’s an outlet?—”
“Shh. I’ve got this.”
Truth was every movement—even talking—hurt. “Bed might be better,” I said when I couldn’t find a comfortable position on the sofa. “You don’t have to stick around,” I added when I realized she was following me.
“I’ll help you get settled, then I’ll go.”
Eberly sat on the edge of the bed when I lay on my stomach. She pressed the cold pack against the left side of my head and draped the heating pad over my shoulders. I felt her hands move to the back of my neck, then her thumbs press on either side of the base of my skull while her fingers fanned and rested gently above them.
“Gates of consciousness,” I whispered as I felt the tension in my neck and shoulders loosen from the pressure of her thumbs. It was the first time in the lastyear, when migraines plagued me sometimes several times a week, that anyone had recognized my pain or attempted to help me with it. More, I’d never permitted anyone to do so. “Thanks,” I murmured.
“Shh,” she soothed, and within seconds, I fell asleep.
I woke periodically when she’d shift position or switched out the cold packs. Each time, I wanted to tell her again that she could leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Her touch was a balm like none I’d ever known.
When I opened my eyes sometime in the middle of the night, the pain was gone but Eberly wasn’t. Her right hand still rested on the base of my skull, but her left arm propped her head up, and she was sound asleep. Rather than wake her, I let my gaze linger on her beautiful face. This would be the single time I would allow the woman to be in my bed, and I wasn’t ready for it to end.
