“I’m getting a headache,” I admit. “I was cleaning this morning and skipped breakfast.”
“It’s not a migraine, is it?”
“I hope not,” I say.
Katie smiles thoughtfully. “I’ll pick up Hannah when her flight gets in. You should probably eat and take some medicine just in case. Is Nolan still asleep?”
“Probably.” It’s the truth.
When we get home, my headache is worse, bringing the familiar side effects of nauseousness and light sensitivity that warn me it’s in fact a migraine, about to ruin what’s left of my Sunday.
“What can I do to help?” Katie asks.
I shake my head. “I just need to take some medicine and lie down.”
We head inside where the scents of chocolate still hang in the air from my baking. “There are cookies and brownies if you’re hungry, and I have a tray of ham and cheese sandwiches left over in the fridge.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” Katie asks, frowning.
“I’ll be okay in a few hours.”
Her frown deepens with sympathy.
I snag one of Nolan’s coffees from the fridge and head upstairs, swallowing a tablet that I chase with the bottle of coffee. I close the shades in my room to make it as dark as possible and climb into bed, still dressed, feeling the roll of nausea growing stronger as the pain increases.
Minutes later, I’m in the bathroom, losing the coffee and medicine as my head screams with pain and my stomach churns. A lack of sleep and inconsistent eating are two of the many triggers for my migraines. I wipe the tears that slip from my eyes, the pain so intense it’s difficult to think of anything else as I brush my teeth.
“Can you take something again?” Katie asks as I open the bathroom door.
“My stomach’s too upset,” I tell her.
“Where’s Nolan?” she asks, following me to my room.
I collapse on the bed. “I don’t know.”
Chapter32
Nolan
My head objects as I open my eyes. The sun is too bright. The room is too damn bright. And way too fucking cold. Even without the sun or the chill, the terrible noise keeps me from trying to go back to sleep.
I sit up, and my stomach roils.
I haven’t had a hangover since freshman year, following my breakup when Lenny took me out to get shit-faced drunk and Pops had to sneak us back into the dorms. I still have a scar on my ankle from where Pops cut the corner to the elevator too close and peeled off a layer of my skin.
Through squinted, bleary eyes, I look toward the source of the noise that sounds like a broken train engine, and spot Lenny passed out on a couch. He’s lying on his stomach still dressed, with one shoe on.
Fuck.
I’m on the damn hardwood floor.
I climb to my feet on unsteady legs, my stomach sloshing violently as I peer down at my jeans, shoes, and bare chest. “Where in the hell’s my shirt?” I ask.
Lenny’s snore breaks into a loud snorting.
Bile rises in my throat. It takes every ounce of my energy to get to the bathroom before I lose the contents of my stomach. Twice.
I lie on the bathroom floor, the cold a now welcomed reprieve.