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It had been at least a month since my last migraine. And usually, with meds and healthy lifestyle choices, they were manageable.
But I hadn’t recognized the signs. And meds could only do so much once the aura hit.
I made it to the bedroom and yanked the curtains closed, then rummaged through my bag for the damn meds. After several passes, I resigned myself to the fact that they weren’t where they should be.
Before I could look further, a wave of nausea overtook me. I dropped to the floor and closed my eyes to keep the dizziness at bay.
The pounding behind my eye socket was so intense it felt like the bones of my skull were throbbing. With a fortifying breath, I hauled myself up, then crawled into bed, feeling every vertebra ache as I lay down. My arms shook as I tried to find a comfortable position, shifting on the mattress as the pain intensified.
Tears stung my eyes as I cursed myself for ignoring the signs. I had experienced my first migraine at nine years old. I knew how to prevent them, or at least minimize their impact. How could I have been so irresponsible?
I cracked one eye open just a little and homed in on my phone on the nightstand. Paz and Henri were expecting me at the office tonight. We planned to review files and work up a list of potential persons of interest. Now that I had done the basics and had learned the ins and outs of the business, it was time to start looking at individuals in the Gagnon Lumber world and create a list of people who could have sabotaged the truck.
It was already three. There was no way I could make it out of this bed, never mind across town in a couple of hours. Migraines like this one could take days to subside. And until my vision cleared up and the pounding dissipated, working and driving would be almost impossible.
I inched toward the nightstand gingerly so I didn’t jar my head and neck while I reached for the phone. When I got it, I unlocked it with my thumb print and shot off a quick text to Paz to let him know I couldn’t make it.
Then I collapsed into the pillows and breathed through the pain.
Sometime later—it could have been days or hours, I wasn’t sure—my bedroom door creaked open, and a shaft of light lit the room dimly.
“Parker, what’s going on?”
I kept my eyes shut but turned my head toward him.
The light dimmed as he shuffled over to the bed.
I cracked one eye open when I could feel him hovering over me.
He wore a concerned frown, and he was still wearing his coat. “Are you sick? Your text didn’t make sense. Why are you in bed? What can I get you?”
“Migraine,” I rasped, pulling a pillow over my face.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry. What can I do?”
I waved him off. There was nothing he could do.
The pain throbbed so forcefully, even my jaw ached. It felt like my back teeth might fall out of my mouth.
“There must be something I can do. What makes it worse?”
“Light,” I said, my voice cracking. “And noise.”
“Do you need medicine, water?”
“I couldn’t find the medicine,” I said.
“Okay. I’m going to move you. My room has blackout shades. That way the sunlight won’t bother you. And I’ll find your medicine.”
“No. Can’t move.”
“I’m going to pick you up and carry you there. Okay? Then I’ll get you anything you need. Let me know if this hurts too much.”
He slid his thick arms under me and lifted me with ease, then cradled me against his chest with more gentleness than a man his size should be capable of.
I winced and rested my head against his chest as he stood up straight. His heart was beating wildly against my cheek, and warmth radiated from him, seeping through his jacket and calming me instantly.
“Okay,” he said softly, “I’m going to carry you down the hall. Ready?”
