Page 40 of Will to Run

When I close the door, I stand there with my hands on it. Why can’t I just play it cool?

20

JAXON

On Monday, I wake up with a headache, but think little of it… until ninety minutes into my morning, my telltale migraine symptoms hit like a train. The visual auras appear out of the corner of my eye, and the light sensitivity and nausea set in. My sister is in the lodge, so I tell her and race to get home.

I used to get migraines quite a bit, but in the last ten months or so, I haven’t had one, so I am out of the habit of knowing where my meds are at all times. By the time I make it to my front door, my head is screaming in a way that it hurts to keep both eyes open. Tearing into the medicine cabinet, I fish around for the dissolving tablets, but they’re not here. While I brace both my hands on the counter for support, I try to remember where the hell I could have put them, but all I can think about is how bad my head hurts. Then, I remember I gave my meds to my brother when he was out of his, because of course we have the same prescription, and never got them back. Fuck. I also know he is in a meeting at the bank in town right now. Double Fuck. I shoot off a barrage of texts and wait a few minutes to hear a reply, but it’s crickets. In these situations, his phone is off for everyone except his nanny, Maria.

I debate texting her to ask her to text him for me, but I decide to just resort to my old-school migraine cocktail instead because I simply can’t wait any longer to get anything in my system. Texting Hazel and asking her to get the meds for me when she can, I take a max dose of everything, and slam a cup of coffee before lying down with a shirt over my eyes in an already dark room. This is not the way I wanted to start this week, I think, as I mentally go over things not getting done today, even though that’s not helping my head. I switch to focusing on breathing as I try to wait for the medicine to kick in, knowing it will be at least an hour before I begin to find relief. After writhing in bed for an unknown amount of time, in an act of mercy, I pass out.

But it’s not for long, because soon after I wake up to noise in my living room.

“Hey,” I say as loudly as I can, but not loud at all because my head is screaming. Seconds later, Della is walking into my room. Still only able to open one squinty eye, I sit to look at her and try to process her presence. Am I dreaming?

“Why are you here?” I ask before covering the open one with my hand. Even the minimal light is sending ice picks into my skull. “How are you here? Am I dead?”

“Um… you texted me?” she answers.

“I texted Cayson and Hazel,” I reply, lying back down.

“You texted me Case has my meds. Please get them.”

Holy shit. I did text her. How did I mix that up?

“I asked where Cayson was, and Hazel told me he was at a meeting at the bank. I didn’t think showing up somewhere like that made sense; Lord knows how much time it would have taken me to find it in the first place. Hazel was in the middle of something, so she gave me the gate code to get into your family compound, and I ran to my cabin to get my migraine support care.” She sits on the bed with me.

I open one eye to look at her, and she’s holding two giant caps in her hand, and some long pillow thing. “Migraine support care?” I question.

“Yeah, my favorite is this migraine mask. Even though I get intense nausea, I find lavender soothing, so this mask has a lavender scent and fits around your head to give you some pressure. I have two because I keep one in the freezer for cold and the other available to microwave. They were important enough to make it in the getaway car,” she snickers.

Even with my eyes closed, I can hear her smile. I still can’t believe she’s taking everything in such stride and making jokes about her getaway car. My heart hurts for her, but in the same thought, I think about what her presence is doing to me.

Normally, when I’m like this, I am a beast of a human… or as beastly as one can be with knives being slotted into my brain. But right now, with her here, things feel slightly less bad.

“Does it work?” I ask.

“It gives me relief. At minimum, it doesn’t hurt. Unless you are that sensitive to smells, then we’ll skip that guy.”

“You get migraines?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“A lot?” I ask.

“Enough to have two head masks,” she chuckles. “Here, Jax, take a small smell of this and tell me if it’s too much.”

She carefully holds the mask up to my nose, and I follow her instructions. Nothing about it is off-putting; in fact, it’s almost comforting.

“Does it bother you?” she asks.

“No,” I reply.

“Okay, good. Can you stomach a drink of this?” She holds some orange liquid up. I’m in too much pain to even ask what it is, so I just take a few sips. While I’m sitting, she puts her pink relief cap over my head. I must look ridiculous, but it’s cold, and the pressure and temperature do feel good. How do I not have one of these things? I probably was too skeptical to get it. Lying back down, I take a breath.

“Be right back,” she says. A minute later, she returns and puts the long pillow that seems to be full of hot rice behind my neck. She must have heated it up, but the combination of the cold and the warm feels incredibly soothing.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, putting her hand on my chest. The gentle touch is comforting, which is wild, because I normally don’t want to be touched at all when I’m in this state.