Page 37 of Lost and Lassoed

When I walked into Gus’s house—I was way past knocking at this point—I felt a warm glow that momentarily made me forget how much pain I was in. It felt like home.

The farther into the house I got, the more I felt like something was different. Even though music was playing, it felt quieter. And it was past Riley’s bedtime, so I didn’t know why Gus was even playing music.

I walked into the living room, slightly hunched over thanks to the cramps that were continuing to ravage my insides. I found Gus sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of laundry and wearing a pair of round-framed glasses. I hadn’t seen Gus wear his glasses since I was in elementary school, and maybe blame my hormones, but damn. He looked good in them. Hot nerdy cowboy with a mustache was not something I thought would do it for me, but…

“Hey,” I said.

Gus looked up. He looked surprised to see me, and then concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you,” I said sarcastically. “It’s so hard to believe you’re single.”

“Not like that,” he said. “You’re…you know. You always look like…you.” He was stammering. I liked it. “But you’re pale—like really pale—and you’re walking like someone just punched you in the stomach.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Your music is a little loud for nine at night, don’t you think?”

Gus sucked in his cheeks. “I forgot to text you,” he said.“Riley is at a soccer sleepover tonight. I was going to tell you that you didn’t need to come until tomorrow night.”

My heart dropped a little, even though I’d still be seeing Riley soon. “Oh,” I said. “Okay. I’ll just—um—head home, then.”

“You don’t have to go home,” Gus said. “You’re welcome here, Teddy.” For some reason, the way he said it made me believe him. There’s a first time for everything. “Plus, I don’t think you should be driving.” Gus got up from his spot on the floor and walked over to me. Before I knew what he was doing, he reached out and put the back of his hand on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you’re definitely clammy.”

I should’ve shrunk from his touch, but I didn’t.

“I’m not sick,” I said. “I just have cramps. The first day of my period always knocks me down and out.” As if to emphasize my point, a sharp pain hit the base of my spine, and I doubled over a little bit more.

“Christ, Teddy. Sit down.” Gus put his hand on the small of my back. That was twice he’d touched me in the past minute.

“I’m good,” I said. “I’m going to go home. I can pick up Riley tomorrow if you need me to.”

“Theodora,” Gus said firmly.

“August.” I tried to mirror his tone but failed miserably.

“Sit down.” He was already moving me toward the couch. He took my backpack off my shoulder while we moved, and once we made it to the couch, I collapsed onto it.

Now that I was horizontal, I brought my knees up to my chest and closed my eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and walked down the hallway toward our rooms. When he returned less than a minute later, he had a heating pad and a bottle of Midol.

“Why do you have Midol?” I asked. Advil or Tylenol would’ve been fine, but a specific period painkiller?

Gus shrugged. “I have a sister. This was always in the medicine cabinet growing up, so it’s always in my medicine cabinet now.” He plugged the heating pad in next to the couch and handed it to me. I took it gladly. I only unstretched from my balled-up posture long enough to lay it across my stomach.

“I’ll get you some water.” Gus’s house was open concept, so I could hear him grabbing a glass in the kitchen and filling it from the fridge. He even got me ice.

He came back and handed me the water, along with two white pills, which I took dutifully. I wasn’t used to this—to somebody caring for me this way. I was used to getting the pills and the water and making sure my dad swallowed them.

I didn’t know until right now how nice it felt to be taken care of—how badly I craved it, to just relax and let go. But I didn’t know how I felt about the fact that Gus was the one who was granting me that.

He resumed his spot on the floor, among the laundry piles, his back against the couch where I was lying.

“You say they’re always this bad?” he asked. He looked back at me. He looked truly concerned.

“Yeah,” I responded. “On day one at least. They’re more manageable as the days go on, but yeah, it’s kinda debilitating at first.”

“And you were just going to push through for Riley?”

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