That night the migraine had barreled in swiftly, too fast for him to try to head it off with medication. All he’d wanted to do was lie in a darkened room, put a blanket over his head, and pretend the world didn’t exist. He had tried to push through it, getting dressed for the game, taping his stick, running through his mantras.
You are better than anyone here.
You can overcome anything they throw at you.
You deserve this.
Only when he vomited in the locker room did he realize that no amount of positivity-boosting self-talk could get him into that game.
Henri hadn’t spoken to him for a month. The team made the final and two nights later, Reid was back in action and even scored a goal, though they lost in the end. His stepfather wouldn’t come down for that game, too disappointed at Reid’s failure the game before. Too disgusted that the boy he had trained to be champion would let “a girl’s problem” fell him.
Reid would never give Henri an excuse to doubt him again. He watched his diet, was a slave to his exercise regimen, kept his entire life on an even keel so there would be no interruptions. He hadn’t told the Rebels team doc or Coach Calhoun. Better to play that by ear. No one should perceive weakness in him.
But today he could feel it on the edges of his brain. He stood too quickly from the sofa, and a stab of pain slammed through his skull. He needed quiet and dark and … his dog.
“Come on, boy,” he whispered. “Time for a nap.”
Bucky trotted after him and Reid dithered over leaving the door ajar in case the dog needed to get in or out. He couldn’t be expected to sleep on Reid’s schedule, after all.
At times like this, he wished he didn’t have a roommate. Would she make noise? Would she close the door if she saw it open?
Best to give her a heads up. He walked to her room and raised a fist, his ears alert to Dolly Parton being far too nice to that Jolene chick. Bust her up, Dolly.
The door was yanked open abruptly.
“Hi!” As if she was surprised to see him. “Listen, about yesterday at the practice, I’m sorry if I made things awkward for you. I wasn’t sure how much you’d told people about the living situation and I understand if you want to keep that private.”
“It’s no big deal.” True, he didn’t like people knowing his business but he couldn’t keep Kennedy under wraps, as much as he’d like to. “They’re huge gossips and would jump to conclusions anyway. As far as they’re concerned we’re banging six ways from Sunday on every surface in the apartment.”
“Yeah, pretty crazy idea. Hot hockey player, gorgeous dog-walker, close quarters. Who’d jump to a conclusion there?” She winked, eminently amused with herself. “Happy to be your cover, roomie.”
“No—I mean I’ll put them straight.”
“I don’t care what they think, to be honest.” Her eyes were bright lights, obviously enjoying the notion of fooling his teammates. “Oh, I’m sorry. You wanted to tell me something?”
“I’m going to take a nap in my room.”
She nodded, confused. “Okay.”
“I’ll leave the door open for Bucky to come and go but I’d appreciate if you didn’t make too much noise if you’re walking by.”
“Oh, right! Sorry, am I making too much noise now?” She moved away from the door. “Let me turn this down.”
He peeked in. No efforts to make it more personal except for the watercolor still standing on the nightstand beside the potted plant. He wasn’t sure why that bothered him. Did he truly want her to make the place her own?
“No, it’s fine. I’m just letting you know.”
She held his gaze for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Pulling the door open fully, she closed the gap, her hand immediately stretching to touch his jaw. He did everything in his power not to lean into it. He could get to like that too much.
“No, there is. You look pale.”
“I have a headache, that’s all. I get them sometimes so I’m going to lie down.”
“What kind of headache?”
“A migraine.” He should withdraw from her touch, but to be honest it was making him feel much better. “I’ve had them before. It’s something that goes away with sleep.”
“Did you take something for it?”
“I will. I just wanted to give you a heads up about the open door to my room.”
“Sure. Should I wake you at a particular time? I have to head out soon, but I can call you later and make sure you don’t oversleep or anything.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just go about your day.” But without making noise. That was all, pretty simple.
“Got it.”
On tip toes, Kennedy crept past Reid’s open door, then stopped to listen. A triangle of light from outside created a geometric spotlight for her to stand in and she quickly stepped outside it, not wanting to disturb him.
Why are you standing there in that triangle of light?
Oh, me? Just watching you like a creeper.
Normally she wouldn’t worry about something like this. Just a migraine, after all. But Reid had appeared so pale. Migraines were debilitating for some people, and it was strange to see the usually robust rock of an athlete looking like he’d been clobbered with a hockey stick.
He was laid out on the bed, positioned on his stomach, with Bucky by his side. He looked peaceful and untroubled. And hot, of course, as in unbearably handsome.
Bucky hopped off the bed and rushed by her, as if he’d seen a mouse. So highly-strung.
“What’s wrong?” A sleepy voice called out.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
He raised his head. “Is Bucky okay?”
“He’s fine. He just ran out like he was chasing something.” She backed into the shadows. “Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”
“Kennedy,” he murmured, his voice sleep-rusty. He patted the bed. “Come here.”
“I should let you rest. Give me a shout if you need anything.”
“I thought you had to go out.”
She stepped inside. “Class was canceled. I’ll be on hand to look after things.”
His eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. “My head hurts.”
“It does?” She moved forward quickly, laying her palm on his forehead. Not clammy or feverish. “More than before?”
“No, the same.” He grasped her wrist. “Stay and talk to me. But not too loud.”
“It would be better if you slept.” But she might feel better if she talked to him. Make sure he wasn’t delirious or unusually groggy or even nauseous. She had no idea why she felt such anxiety.
Her mom used to get migraines. Sometimes they’d be cooking together and they would strike her like a two-by-four. Kennedy had always felt so helpless, hating to see someone she loved in pain and desperate to do anything to relieve it.
She sat on the edge of the bed, though Reid still held her wrist. He moved his thumb over her pulse point and stroked. Her heartbeat reacted predictably.
“Talk to me, roomie,” he murmured.
“You’re sick.”
“I want to hear your voice. Tell me something no one else knows about you.”