Page 100 of Revival

A quiet knock sounds on my front door sometime later, followed by a creak as it opens. I want to call out, but I know the sound will go straight to my head. Instead, I listen. And pray that this is Ollie or even Spencer and not some masked murderer waltzing through my front door.

The presence of someone moving closer sends a prickle through my skin. A shadow crosses the couch, blocking out the light from the kitchen.

His scent wraps around me a moment before he lowers himself to the floor and brushes his fingertips across the back of my neck. They’re cold, most likely from the AC in his truck. The cool, gentle touch feels heavenly against my heated skin.

“Cortney,” he says quietly.

A small whimpering response comes out of my mouth.

“What are you doing here?”

“How can I help, sweetheart? Do you need a doctor?”

“No.” My voice is barely audible. “No doctor. Just rest.”

“How did this happen?” He’s still murmuring.

“Dumb fluorescent lights.” And hormones too, probably.

“Do you take any medicine?”

“Ibuprofen,” I mumble weakly.

Spencer swears beside me. “Headaches this bad and all you take is ibuprofen?” he says more to himself than to me.

“And ice for the pain.”

“Jesus, baby.”

“He’s not here at the moment.”

In the silence that follows, I picture Spencer’s scowl. I’d smile if moving my facial muscles didn’t hurt so much.

“There has to be a better remedy than that.”

“It’ll go away.” I bury my face deeper into the couch. “Other meds make it hard to function.”

“You call this functioning?”

Pain pulses in my head. I suck in a deep inhale. “Stop talking.”

“I’m taking you to bed.” Spencer’s tone is all business as he shifts at my back.

I’d make a joke about how I’m not up for sex at the moment, but the pain is intensifying. It usually does. I’ll be on the incline for about twelve hours until I reach a peak and things slowly return to normal.

With careful movements, Spencer helps me sit up. His concerned face is blurry. The increasing pain pitches my forehead into his rock-hard stomach. My arms hang limp, shoulders and neck tense as I breathe through the ice pick in my skull.

“You’re breaking my heart here, my love.” Spencer’s voice sounds as pained as I feel.

“I have it, Spence,” I inject strength into my voice, but it comes out as a whimper.

Ceasing all arguments, he picks me up like a sleepy toddler napping on the couch after dinner. My legs cinch around his hips, and I circle my arms around his neck, burying my face in the comforting space.

Spencer grips the backs of my thighs and carefully lumbers from the room.

“Which door is yours?” He’s all whispers and hushed tones as we venture down the dark hallway.

“Last one.”

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