Page 49 of Fragile Love (Fragile 3)
Her phone also beeped less. Cayden had been largely missing this week.
She knew he had a lot of meetings and workouts in addition to finding replacements for all his clients. After he landed, he had given her a call on his way to Katharina’s. Since then, he sent her one or two messages a day. Not anything of enough substance to get a conversation going. Lillian had tried to ask how his week was going, but he hadn’t replied. This morning there were no messages from him, either.
She didn’t want to think about what was going on with his life in Los Angeles. He had told her to remember their steamy weekend if the thoughts were getting bad, and she had certainly g
iven that a try. It didn’t help much. It seemed that the longer he was in Los Angeles, the more she started to overthink about him being around so many rich, successful, good-looking people.
He doesn’t belong here in Hanneston, she told herself for the umpteenth time this week. He deserves to be in a more thriving place like Los Angeles. He’s clearly wanted there, after all.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Stop thinking about it, Lillian. You have work to do. Get on it.”
She ate a small breakfast, her heart sinking just a little as she scrolled through the messages she and Cayden had sent this week. She barely had to scroll, there were so few, and his were short. He wouldn’t ignore me for no reason, she told herself. He loves me. He means it, too. And now that he and Andrew are hitting it off much better, he shouldn’t be letting his thoughts get away with him either. She sighed, and logged her breakfast into her food journal. Her stomach grumbled. Please don’t have a flare-up, she begged her body.
Right as she sat down to check her email, she felt her body temperature rise so much that sweat droplets formed on her skin.
Oh, no. Please, no.
The light-headed feeling swept over her. She stumbled to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of her pale reflection in the mirror. It was happening. Everything had been so good for the past while. With all the stress and work, nothing had happened. Why now?
For half an hour she stayed in the bathroom, hugging her body and doing breathing exercises to stop the first flare-up in a couple of weeks. Gradually, the roaring of her insides subsided and the sweat evaporated. She hoped Andrew didn’t come around to hear her moaning.
Too drained to stand up straight, she trudged like a zombie back to her food journal and marked the time, mood, and triggers with a red pen. She flipped back to the start of her log, when she was having one or two flare- ups every week. Back then, she was on the wrong meds and hadn’t figured out her main trigger foods. Seeing so much red on those pages and so little on the current pages made her realize how much about her health she had to be grateful for now. But I’ve pushed myself too hard and let myself get too stressed.
She slumped in her chair, but knew she wouldn’t be able to get any work done in a sitting position. I should be napping, she thought, taking her laptop into the living room and lying on the couch with a cushion behind her back. I can answer a few emails.
One email got half-written before she faded off, her laptop still resting on her legs. The sleep was dreamless and black, and just what she needed. When she pulled her heavy eyelids open, her laptop was closed on the coffee table and a blanket was covering her.
Andrew. She listened for him, and heard something move on the back porch. Twisting her body to see outside, she saw him sitting in the chair in the sunshine, typing on his phone with one hand and holding a cup of coffee in the other. One of the cats was on his lap, and his crutches were leaned against the railing. She thought she heard the faint sound of music playing, but was too tired to figure out where it was coming from.
She groaned and sat up; her body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The room was spinning just enough that she sat still for a few minutes, zoning out, until she felt strong enough to get some water. The glass was drained in three gulps; she refilled it and joined Andrew on the back porch.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he greeted cheerfully as she walked out, but a look of concern shadowed his face as soon as he saw her. “Whoa. What happened?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, sitting in the other chair.
“Something happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re really pale, Lillian, and you’re walking like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
She rested her head on her knees. “I had a flare-up this morning.”
“Oh, no.” Andrew put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed it softly. “I’m so sorry. What caused it?”
“Stress, I think. Busy week.”
Andrew thought for a minute. “I’m sorry. I probably haven’t helped at all, with you having to drive me places and—”
“Don’t even start,” she snapped, regretting her tone immediately. She tried softening it. “You know I want to take you places.”
He pressed his lips together. “Well, it’s almost the weekend. Cayden’s back this weekend. I can get him to take me anywhere. I’m almost ready to drive myself. That’ll help a ton. Plus,” he grinned, “Cayden will make you feel better,” he teased.
Lillian didn’t say anything.
Andrew frowned. “When is he getting back?”
“I don’t know.”
