“Brady?”
“Hmm?” Brady pulled his eyes open and shook himself fully awake. He shot a look at Grace, curled up against the arm of the couch beside him, but she was completely engrossed in the fourth or fifth episode of her rescue dog show and didn’t seem to notice that he’d almost dozed off. Rachelle smiled over at him from the chair where she was still banished, although she’d let the footrest down after dinner.
“Don’t worry; she’s fine. You’ve got infinitely more patience for kids’ shows than some people she’s tried to rope into watching with her.”
Brady couldn’t help darting a glance across the room at Dash, and Rachelle chuckled.
“No, actually. He just puts something else on his earbuds and ignores it. Harper’s the one who complains.”
“Seriously?” A grin twitched at Brady’s lips as he looked over at the blue-haired girl, who currently lay with her bare feet propped on the back of a couch, a book in one hand, and the other arm curled around a shiny pillow stamped with a colorful illusion of a vortex that looked like it could swallow her at any minute.
“She can stand about an episode at a time, if it has any semblance of a plot. Her tolerance for pure slapstick is pretty low.”
“Make it stop…” Harper mumbled under her breath, and Brady barely stifled a snort.
“So.” Rachelle gently pulled his attention back. “Not to make you think too much about tomorrow, but when it hits, is there anything that helps, even a little bit? I don’t want you to go without—or to have to explain in the thick of it.”
“There’s really nothing.” Brady swallowed hard. “Noise down. Lights off. No strong smells. And no food—please don’t even ask. If you leave some water on the table, I’ll try to sip it, even if I can’t keep it down.”
“Any thoughts on electrolytes?”
“I don’t…think?” Brady wrinkled his forehead, trying to sort through the litany of things Mom and Eden had tried. “Just for hydrating, you mean? If you’ve got something that doesn’t taste like week-old, watered down Kool-Aid, I’m willing to give it a shot. Otherwise…” He shuddered.
“Got it.” Rachelle’s smile softened. “What else?”
Brady dropped his gaze and pretended to focus on Grace’s tablet, biting his lips together as a familiar pain burned in his chest.
“Brady?” Rachelle waited a moment for him to answer, then tried again. “Talk to me.”
“I wish I had something to give you.” The words came slowly, with an effort. “Something to give anyone that I could honestly say helped anything, so they wouldn’t sit around feeling bad that there’s nothing they can do.”
“Brady, no, that’s not what I’m asking.” The shift in Rachelle’s tone forced his eyes up to meet hers again. “I know that feeling. Believe me, I know. This isn’t about needing to feel useful. If the best we can do is stock you with water and shut the door, then that’s what we’ll do. It’s not—not really the migraine I’m asking about. But you. What makes things more bearable, when you can get it? Someone sitting with you? Complete isolation? Touch? No touch? An extra blanket? A favorite set of sheets?”
“Sheets, really?” A half-chuckle caught on the lump in his throat, and he blinked hard.
“Don’t. Laugh.” Dash’s voice rumbled the words in an ominous growl, and Brady clamped his lips shut to prevent even a smile from escaping.
“Let me ask it a different way.” Rachelle’s soft voice deftly sidestepped whatever land mine he’d just walked into. “If you were home tomorrow, what would Eden do that you’ve missed since you’ve been here? What have you wished she would do but never got the courage to ask? What do you tolerate for her sake but really just want her to stop? And what does she know better than to even try?”
It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d thought about Eden today. Or even the most vulnerable he’d been when it happened. But Rachelle’s persistent questions reminded him so much of Eden’s stubborn mantra—“I can’t make it better, Brady Ray, but I won’t let you fight it alone”— that tears suddenly flooded his eyes. He slammed them shut and drew a shaky breath, and the next instant, he felt the slight shift of the couch cushion as Grace turned toward him.
“Do I need to stop ‘cause your head hurts?”
The lump in his throat had grown to the size of a boulder, and Brady didn’t dare speak. He shook his head instead, trying desperately to gain enough control to reassure her without making a fool of himself in front of everyone. He heard Rachelle’s barely mouthed “it’s okay, baby,” but even his enhanced senses gave him only a second of warning before Grace launched herself from her corner and into his side, wrapping her arms around him and holding on like a little octopus.
Somehow that artless hug managed to pull him back from the brink, and he patted her back gently for a moment before whispering, “Thanks, Gracie-girl. I’m okay. Finish your show.”
Grace let go but snuggled closer as she turned back to her tablet, and Brady kept his eyes closed for a moment, trying to make sure the tears were in full retreat before he met anyone’s gaze again.
“You know you don’t—”
“Baseline understanding that you’re not asking and no one’s obligated.” Rachelle’s tone somehow blocked any further argument without losing a fraction of its gentleness, and the last of his resistance melted away.
“Eden would sit with me—not talk, but stay close—not all day, just when she could. She’d rub my back when things got really bad—but if you ever try it, you have to stop when I say. Sometimes it’s okay; sometimes I just can’t take it.”
“Understood.” There was nothing either flippant or condemning in the answer, and Brady pressed his eyes closed for a last second before raising them to meet hers again.
“Whatever you do, please don’t touch my head. My hair, anything. It helps for regular headaches sometimes. Not for migraines. At least not mine. And a cold washcloth? I know most people swear by it, but I guarantee it makes me worse. Can’t explain it. Might give in and try again if you push, but I will regret it.”
“Got it.” Rachelle nodded, and Brady lifted his gaze to the ceiling, pulled it back when it started to penetrate the floor above, then shook his head slowly.
“That’s—pretty much it. All I can think of anyway.”
“And the beds here aren’t a problem? You don’t have a special pillow you need, or any issues with the blankets?”
“I mean, I did bring a pillow. I don’t know that I actually need it—I’m sure the ones here are fine, but—” Honesty was one thing, but there was no way he was ready to confess just how threadbare the tag on that one particular pillow had become from his habit of rubbing it when the worst of the pain made him desperate for the smallest distraction.
“It’s upstairs?” Rachelle sat up straight, looking nearly ready to spring from her chair, and Brady raised an eyebrow.
“Unless they put my stuff in storage when they brought me down this morning, I guess. Where do you think you’re going?”
Her face scrunched in frustration, then she bent forward to see around him.
“We never got Brady’s stuff moved down here before my knee interrupted. Who’s available?”
“He’s a big boy, Midge. Pretty sure he can handle it,” Dash muttered, and Brady’s cheeks flamed, but before he could answer, Rachelle was speaking again.
“Like you and Harper did?”
“You gotta admit he’s not nearly as conspicuous wandering the halls with a suitcase as Harper would have been.”
“I don’t need—” Brady started, but a little snort from Harper cut him off.
“Oh, you’re months too late for that.” She stretched hard and sat up, slipping her feet into a pair of flip-flops. “We’re all sucked into Rachelle’s ‘all for one, one for all, nobody stands alone’ thing, like it or not. Dash is coming too; he just has to grumble about it first.”
“Seriously, I can—”
“Shut it, Owen,” Dash growled. “I’d rather face Harper’s bad cliches than Rachelle’s pitiful puppy eyes, that’s all. You coming, or you trust us not to swipe your stuff?”
“I—” Brady was halfway to his feet before the catch in the question hit him, leaving his mind scrambling for a response.
“Ignore him.” Rachelle gave a resigned sigh, and Harper laughed.
“Do better. Stick him with the heaviest bags. You’re part of the team now, so payback’s fair play. Let’s go.”
Brady could only shake his head as he threw a last glance back at Rachelle and Grace, then followed Harper and Dash out the door.
Also, sorta random question, but have you thought about putting this on Goodreads? I think you could probably consider it as a book, and I'd love to gush about it over there!
I just love Rachelle. Such a good friend!