Page 82 of After We Fall

I sigh, the release sounding more dreamy than I intended. “I miss the original misconceptions I had about you.”

“And what are those?”

“You’re supposed to be restless. And noncommittal. And distant.”

“But what am I really?”

“You’re thoughtful. Generous. And you won’t go away. I’m not quite sure what to do with you.”

He grins.

“Any word on Finley?” I ask.

Luke stands. “No. She and Marcus are lying low at his place. She hasn’t reported to work. Other than one visit to his attorney’s office and the occasional pizza delivery to his pad, nothing. What about you?”

“She’s blocked everyone’s numbers associated with the ranch. Tanya tried to check on her at the grocery store once.”

Luke stiffens at the news, disapproval written in his eyes. “I don’t like the thought of anyone looking for her.”

“I know. I don’t either. When I asked her about it, she claimed she was in search of coniferous vegetables for a recipe.” My lips twitch as I recall the miscommunication. “When we finally concluded she was looking for cruciferous vegetables and not, in fact, evergreen trees, I asked her to stop looking for Finley at the grocery store, or otherwise.”

“Never a dull moment here at the ranch.”

“Nope.”

“Does it scare you sometimes that we’re the adults in charge?”

“I feel completely comfortable in charge. It scares me that you’re an adult in charge.”

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, his lips twitching. “Do you think Tanya will comply?”

“I do. She doesn’t like it. But she understands that with Marcus as a loose cannon, we all need to be careful.”

Luke runs a hand down my hair and places a piece behind my shoulder. “I’m going to work with Bianca on the drums for a while. I’ll be back later to take you to your next neurofeedback appointment. Get some rest, please.”

As he exits the room, he knocks his fist on the doorframe twice, and I grin at my new slippers, wiggling my toes.

Seven.

My pain is at a seven.

Hurtling quickly toward an eight as the wheels of Luke’s truck tear up the road between the ranch and Dr. Ridding’s office.

The doctor asked me to work on quantifying my headache pain with a number. Zero to ten. Anytime I feel a twinge of pain, I’m supposed to note the exact level. Just like the stupid poster at the hospital with the faces that mocked me, the headache numbers now mock me.

“Penelope, I still think we should go to the ER,” Luke says.

“Please.” I swallow. “Just the doctor.” It takes everything in me to form a word. I can’t explain to him that an ER will put me through paperwork and unnecessary tests, and might not understand the best route of medication as expertly as someone who specializes in headaches. Someone who specializes in me. Dr. Ridding’s office is set up to administer IVs to patients experiencing a headache they can’t manage.

Luke taps his hand on the steering wheel, not unlike the rhythm of the drums that earlier sent me straight into the pain crisis I’m experiencing. “I shouldn’t have given Bianca that lesson. I thought the walls were thick enough that the sound wouldn’t touch you.”

“Luke.” My voice wavers. “Your hand. Stop, please.”

An expletive bursts from his mouth. “I’m sorry, Penelope. I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry.”

Luke’s guilt fills the air like it’s another passenger in the car. I wish I could explain all the reasons this isn’t his fault, including the part where I chose not to tell him the noise bothered me. I thought I could push through, that the building headache would dissipate when the lesson was over. But speaking isn’t an option right now.

After a painstaking effort by Luke and myself to walk me into Dr. Ridding’s office, I lie on an exam table while the doctor evaluates me.