“Migraines.” Brady crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table. Rachelle touched his arm, but at the slight shake of his head, she sat back again, and he locked eyes with Dash. “And when I say migraine, I don’t mean an irritating headache. I mean a crippling neurological condition that puts me flat on my back for days at a time at a moment’s notice. I mean feeling incredibly blessed if I can get through a whole week functioning at a semi-normal level. I mean trying every medication and alternative therapy and coping strategy on the market and still having random people on the street think they know what I’m feeling and how to fix it.”
No, that wasn’t right. It was all true, but that last part especially had been too harsh—too bitter. He’d worked so hard to forgive the people who didn’t get it—years ago in a group and as individuals every new time it happened. It was baggage he shouldn’t have been carrying at all, let alone airing to a group of near-strangers. Brady dropped his head into his hands.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t!” The word came harsh and fierce in Dash’s rasping voice, but the next one almost quivered. “Don’t. You think we haven’t been through it? Well, we have. You threw me for a loop is all—and for the record, I still think your power is extremely creepy. But you don’t jump into a treatment like Mattox’s for nothing, so I’ll make you a deal. You don’t tell me I’m too young for Parkinson’s; or that I’d get better if I just put my mind to it; or that every time I drop, spill, or trip on something, I’m acting out for attention, and I won’t pretend you’re a wimp who can’t handle a lousy headache. Take it or leave it.”
Brady raised his head and met Dash’s eyes for only an instant before the young man jerked his wheelchair around and left the room without another word. Rachelle shifted in her chair like she wasn’t sure whether to follow him, and Brady laid a hand on her arm.
“It’s okay. We’re good.”
Rachelle sat back with a little breath of relief, and Harper leaned her head on one fist as she looked up at him.
“Don’t let Dash bug you. He’s a serious grump, but he’s really pretty fun when you get to know him.”
Brady opened his mouth, then shut it again. He might have doubts that both could be equally true, but there was no use stirring up the water when it was finally starting to settle.
“Did I forget your name already or just forget to ask?” Harper yawned, and Brady chuckled.
“I guess I forgot to give it. It’s Brady. Brady Owen.”
“That…is an extremely cool name.” Harper sighed. “And…I can’t wait to find out more, but…” She yawned again and pushed slowly to her feet. “Guess it’s my turn for a nap.” She flopped onto the nearest couch and stretched out with one arm under her head. “Sorry. Don’t go away, huh? I still…want to…talk…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes closed.
“She okay?” Brady whispered, glancing over at Rachelle, who smiled softly.
“As okay as she can be. The fatigue is her baseline, especially after exercise. Mostly because of her blood issues. Although—” She waved a hand around at the other couches. “She’s not the only one who needs to lie down randomly. Just the one who falls asleep fastest.”
“I feel that.” Brady glanced down at the food lying forgotten on the table, and Rachelle shook her head.
“You want me to warm that up for you?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He scooped up a bite, and Rachelle grimaced.
“Brady…”
“Seriously, it’s fine.” Brady mumbled the words around a mouthful of rice and broccoli, feeling just the tiniest pang at the thought of how Eden would have scolded.
“Cold rice?” Rachelle stuck her hands on her hips, and Brady couldn’t help a grin.
“More like—slightly lukewarm.”
“Give me that.” Rachelle scooped the plate up and took it to a microwave, then leaned her shoulder against the shelf as she waited for it to heat. “Thanks for not killing Dash. I know he didn’t make it easy.”
“Not really a violent person.” Brady shrugged, and Rachelle ducked her head.
“No, I know. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yeah, I know.” Brady waited for her to look up again and offered a small smile. “He’s been hurt pretty bad, huh?”
“Very.” Rachelle swallowed hard. “I’d like to tell you, but—”
“No, it’s private. I understand. Let him decide what he wants me to know. Besides, I have to agree with him. I’d be creeped out by someone like me too.”
“You’ll find your way, Brady.” Rachelle removed his plate from the microwave and brought it back to the table. “And your purpose. God brought you here for some reason. I know it’s not easy to see, but He’ll show you when He’s ready.”
“Are you a Christian, Rachelle?” He thought he could guess the answer, but somehow he needed to know for sure.
“Yes.” She gave him the same smile she had when he’d answered the question for himself—the one that he now recognized as an acknowledgement of kinship—and motioned toward his plate.
“Are they?” Brady obediently picked up his fork, and Rachelle waited until he’d taken a bite before she answered.
“Harper isn’t. You wouldn’t guess it from watching her, but she’s taken a lot of hard knocks in her life. Dash…I don’t know. He grew up in the church, but…he’s been hurt.”
“I get that.” Brady scooped up another forkful of broccoli but paused before it reached his mouth. “Is it just the three of you, or are there more I’m supposed to meet?”
“No, it’s just us. And Grace. Speaking of which—” She twisted in her chair to glance at the clock, then jumped to her feet, but in the next instant, she fell back into her seat with a pained cry.
“Rachelle?” Brady shot out of his chair and hovered over her helplessly, trying to fight the sudden panic that engulfed him.
“It’s okay.” The strain in the terse words told him it definitely wasn’t. “Just—dislocated my kneecap.”
“That—sounds painful.”
“It is.” Rachelle attempted a laugh. “But it happens.”
“What can I do?”
She let out a long breath between pursed lips—a move Brady knew all too well—then turned an apologetic gaze on him.
“Can you—help me to the recliner?”
“Just show me how.” Brady slipped an arm around her back and held her upright as well as he could as she limped to the chair. He bit his lip as Rachelle raised the footrest and sank back into the cushions with her eyes closed. “What can I get you?”
“A couple pillows? And the pill box from my nightstand—first room on the left.”
Brady quickly obeyed and waited while Rachelle took the pain medicine and settled her leg carefully on the pillows. She threw another glance at the clock and winced.
“I hate to ask this, but with Harper asleep—”
“Name it.”
“Would you knock on Dash’s door—the one between us—and see if he can meet Grace? I wanted to introduce you to Shavonne—her carpool—but that can wait.”
“You relax. We’ll take care of it.” Brady gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then squared his shoulders and walked back down the hall, hesitating only an instant before giving a light tap to the second door on the left. After a few seconds of silence, the door clicked open, and Dash fixed him with a glare that held less hostility than it might have.
“You want something?”
“Rachelle wants to know if you can meet Grace for her.”
“She all right?” Dash’s face barely changed, but there was no mistaking the protective spark that leapt into his eyes.
“Dislocated her kneecap. She’s resting it, but Harper’s asleep, so…”
“Yeah. Tell her I’ve got it. You know what, no. She knows that. If you’re joining this freak show, you might as well make yourself useful. Come on, and I’ll introduce you to the carpool.”
Ahh, this is so good! Your stories just always make me want to keep reading. I can't wait to see the rest of the adventures. And learn more about these characters. I love it!
Oooh, I keep loving this story! And boy do I relate to the misunderstandings about migraines, and the unhelpful things people can say sometimes.... though, I have a lot of supportive friends and church family, so I don't really have that much to complain about! 🥰