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Busy learning his new job in the Army’s Striker units eight hours away at Fort Lewis, Washington, Michael heard about the marriage after the fact. A year ahead of Frank’s original class, he’d known Kim and Deb only by sight in their tiny school, but if he’d known ahead of time he might have warned her off. Someone certainly should have.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda. So many things in his life fell into those categories and thinking like that only brought guilt, which wasn’t helpful. Michael concentrated on the air going in and out of his lungs and the rise and fall of his chest until he finally fell asleep.
The next morning, Michael opened his eyes and immediately slammed them shut, the sliver of light shining through the shades piercing his brain like a laser. The left side of his head throbbed, his stomach churned, and he reached for the medication he kept beside his bed. But it wasn’t there—he’d probably left it with all the others in the bathroom.
Stupid. He’d known travel might trigger a migraine; he’d been lucky on the way to Louisiana, but the potential was just as great going home. Maybe more so, because he’d changed his sleep schedule, gained altitude and eaten unusual food all week.
Despite his pounding head and the tossing waves in his stomach, Michael slid his legs to the edge of the bed and stood, leaning on the nightstand, then the wall. Ignoring the flashing lights partially obscuring his vision, he shuffled into the bathroom, forced down a glass of water, and then found his medication, popping the pill under his tongue. Patting the countertop, he grabbed and squeezed his emergency ice pack and shambled back to bed, sliding under the covers and putting the cold pack under his neck.
With no actions left to distract him from the pain, he concentrated on his breathing. All he could do was endure until the meds kicked in, and then call Nic. Fortunately, Kim had set up a voice trigger on his phone. “Phone, migraine alert.” Other people had clever names for their phones; he only wanted it to work when he needed it.
“Notifying Nic you have a migraine.” The phone’s voice was a soothing, low female tone that didn’t make his head hurt worse.
Michael endured until the throbbing lessened and the ice pack warmed. He pulled it away, letting it fall to the floor, and slept.
He woke, pain free but groggy and tired, and checked his phone. A little before noon; not his worst episode. Nic had sent a “got it, sleep” text he hadn’t noticed while suffering through the waves of pain. Fortunately, Michael hadn’t scheduled any estimates or committed to finishing a project; experience had proven his health was too shaky after travel.
Getting out of bed, he showered, shaved and dressed, then drove to Nic’s worksite.
Nic was putting tools away in the work truck. “How’re you feeling, bro?”
“Better.” Michael shrugged. “Are you done here?”
Nic nodded and slammed the tailgate. “Sure am. Time for a coffee. Join me?”
“Sure, why not?” He could get a decaf. With all the extra sleep, he’d have a hard enough time falling asleep at his normal time, and regularity was critical to preventing another episode.
Nic’s lips pursed. “Actually, I need some food too. Let’s stop by Deb’s.”
Michael grimaced. “I’ll head back home and work on the books.”
“Kim’s got the books.” Nic huffed. “Come on, don’t be a chicken. Deb’s cupcakes are the best and you know it.”
Michael glared at his brother. “Don’t be trying to set us up. The sisters and brothers thing is too weird.” And she deserved better than some broken down guy who couldn’t even get out of bed at least one day a week.
Nic guffawed. “Yeah, only if you make it weird. It’s not like we’re related to them by blood or marriage other than me and Kim. But no, I’m not messing with your love life.” He smirked. “But Kim might not be so restrained, and I’m not telling her no.”
“You’re so whipped.” He didn’t really mean the words, and Nic knew it.
Nic grinned. “Happily. I’m getting a cupcake, whether you are or not.”
“Fine.” He’d admit Deb was the best baker in town, probably the best in the state, and her treats were almost worth the certain awkwardness. He got in his truck and followed Nic. With any luck, Deb would be so happy to see Nic that she’d ignore him. They parked in the small lot behind the bakery and he followed Nic in the back door.
The heat hit him like a hammer, reminding him of summers in Afghanistan, but the smell was much better. Browning sugar and bread, cinnamon, yeast, vanilla, and a dozen others swept over him. They wove through the machinery and cooling racks to the front of the store. Just before the bakery display case, Deb sat at a table, rotating a cake on a stand with one hand while spreading white frosting with the other.
Cold air blasted down his neck, fighting the heat of the commercial ovens, and Michael stepped to the side. Deb—and her cake—needed the air conditioning more than he did. Besides, extreme temperature shifts could bring on another migraine.
“Nic!” Deb grinned.
Nic put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Hey, how’s my favorite sister-in-law?”
“I’m your only sister-in-law.” She chuckled, then her eyes met his and the smile fell from her face. “Michael.”
“Hey.” He lifted his chin like an idiot kid.
She turned back to Nic. “So let me guess. Cupcakes?”
“For your nieces, of course.” Nic nodded like a bobblehead doll.
