“No offense, but I’m glad she’s with me too,” Fletcher told Jason.
Jason chuckled. “No offense taken. I know you’ll take good care of her. But if you or Jordan need anything else, you’ve got my number.”
Fletcher didn’t want to need anything else from Jason. He definitely didn’t want Jordan to need anything from him ever again. But it was probably good for them to stay on friendly terms.
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind,” Fletcher said.
“Good.” Jason did actually sound relieved at that.
Fletcher didn’t know if that just made his conscience feel more clear or what, but it was all good.
They disconnected and Fletcher blew out a breath. He looked around the dark, quiet living room. So there wasn’t anything he could do right now. Maybe in the middle of the night though. And at least he could sleep up there with her. That would make him feel better anyway.
Then he went into the kitchen, grabbed his shoes and keys, and headed out to his truck. He needed to get some Gatorade.
17
She woke up at some point in the night. Jordan lay on her back, staring at the dark ceiling. She knew immediately where she was. Not only from the scent of the room but because she could feel Fletcher’s hot body next to her. He wasn’t touching her, he was just there. And it made her smile in spite of the pounding in her head.
This was the second time she’d woken up in this bed with a splitting headache. The first time had been her own damn fault. She probably should’ve expected this time too. The fatigue, stress, emotional roller coaster of the preceding couple of days had set her up perfectly for a migraine.
Thankfully, she had felt it coming on and had been able to take her medication. It could’ve been a lot worse.
She sat up carefully, knowing that she needed to go pee and drink some water and down some additional painkillers. Okay, that wasn’t so bad.
“I’ll get the Gatorade.”
Fletcher’s whisper came to her and he was up and out of the bed before she could respond.
She opened her mouth to call after him but knew that she would regret raising her voice. Besides, Gatorade was a great idea. She always had some in the house and took it to bed with her when she had a migraine. Last she checked, however, Fletcher hadn’t had any. At least not where she checked.
She pushed herself up from the bed and padded into the bathroom. Without turning on the light, she used the toilet, then washed her hands and patted her face with a cool washcloth. She wasn’t nauseous to the point of vomiting, thank God. That always made her head feel so much worse. That meant she’d gotten to her medication in time to stave off a really terrible headache.
As she came back out of the bathroom she nearly ran into Fletcher. It seemed he’d been pacing on the other side of the door.
“You okay?” he whispered. “Did you throw up?”
She almost shook her head but caught herself in time. “No. I’m not okay but I didn’t throw up,” she clarified.
She stepped around him and headed back to the bed.
When she sat, he handed her the Gatorade. Gratefully, she took it and swallowed three tiny sips. She waited a moment, then decided her stomach was going to continue to behave, and drank a little more.
“Oh, dammit,” she said softly.
“What?” Fletcher asked immediately.
“I forgot to take ibuprofen.”
Without a word he crossed swiftly into the bathroom and was back within a few seconds. “How many?”
Fletcher had never been physically with her during the painful I-can-hardly-function part of her migraines. Once in college he had roused her out of bed at about this stage. She’d looked so bad, he’d slept on the floor outside her dorm room that night. But he hadn’t knocked again. Later she’d realized that no one had knocked, no one slammed the door, no one had loud music playing that entire night. It hadn’t taken much to understand that Fletcher had been policing her dorm room floor for her.
It’d been one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for her. And that was saying a lot.
Knowing him as well as she did, however, she could imagine that this was stressing him out. Fletcher didn’t mind stepping in when she needed him, of course. He’d seen her sick before. He’d seen her struggling in math class. He’d seen her anxious and freaking out driving on the freeway. And, as had been well established over the last few days, he’d seen her in many disgusting and embarrassing situations.
Those were all the things he could fix though. This he couldn’t. And she knew that would be driving him crazy.
“Three,” she said holding out her hand.
He put three tablets in her palm and then set the bottle on the side table.
She washed them down with Gatorade, then sighed.
He laid a cool wet cloth on the back of her neck. “What else?” he asked softly.
Jordan found herself trying to think of something that she could tell him he could do. She did that a lot. Gave him ways to feel hopeful and heroic, she realized.
But right now her head hurt too much. And truthfully, there wasn’t anything he could do. Rubbing her shoulders and neck later would be great, but right now it would make things worse. There wasn’t any more medication she could take and putting anything else in her stomach might change the no vomiting thing she had going.
Right now she just needed to lie back down and, frankly, be left alone.
“Nothing,” she told him honestly.
He simply nodded. “Okay. I’ll be right here.”
She wasn’t sure Fletcher totally understood how great that was, but it was exactly what she needed.
Tomorrow she’d tell him more about her migraines and what to expect. She would have eventually gotten around to it, but they’d only been married for a few days. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to worry about a headache for a while.
Jordan lay down and closed her eyes. She felt like her thoughts were trying to make it through mud. She’d have to think about all of this tomorrow.
She felt the mattress move as Fletcher got into the bed on his side and she rolled toward him, reaching out and finding his hand.
She laced her fingers with his, and then fell asleep.
When she made it down to the kitchen the next day, it was past ten.
She’d awakened, feeling better, but groggy. But the shot of adrenaline to her system when she’d seen the time had cleared some of the fogginess. She’d immediately reached for her phone and found it turned off. No wonder she hadn’t heard her alarm.
Then she’d seen the note from Fletcher.
He’d talked to Charlie and everything at the petting zoo was covered for the day. He’d turned her phone off, told everyone where and how she was, told them to leave her alone until she reached out to them—she grinned imagining the threats that had probably accompanied those instructions—and said she was supposed to take her time this morning.
More ibuprofen and Gatorade, along with a shower, had helped, but it wasn’t until she stepped into the kitchen that she realized everything he had done. There was another note pointing her to the food he stored in the refrigerator for her. There was a cheeseburger—the bun separate so it didn’t get soggy—French fries, and a forty-eight ounce glass of Coke. Not diet. Full sugar. She only drank the stuff the day after a migraine, but it really did help her bounce back. She didn’t know if it was the sugar, the caffeine, some other artificial coloring or flavoring, or the magical combination of all of those, but she didn’t care. A friend in college who also suffered from migraines had turned her on to the magic morning-after elixir, and it worked every time.