Page 50 of High Hopes

Birdie puked.There’s vomit on her shoes, and she’s doubled over, struggling to catch her breath, the remnants of whatever composure she had left splattered on the pavement.

Not exactly an elegant exit, but at least she made an impression.

Tears are streaming down her cheeks, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, and I wish I could wave a hand and take this moment away for her. Erase it, rewind it, do anything to spare her from this.

For a moment, I just stand there, trying to figure out the best approach. She’s already embarrassed enough, and the last thing she probably wants is me charging in like a bull in a china shop.

But she needs me, needs something steady to hold on to, so I push forward.

“Birdie, baby,” I murmur, keeping my voice low and gentle as I crouch down beside her. “Hey, you okay?”

Her watery eyes dart to mine, filled with both misery and mortification. She shakes her head faintly, and I can see the effort it’s taking for her to stay upright.

“M—migraine,” she stutters out.

“Okay,” I say softly, inching closer without crowding her. “Let’s get you sorted out, yeah? No rush, no judgment. Just me and you.”

She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing what’s left of her makeup. “They think ... I’m a mess?”

I shake my head, already reaching for her arm to help her up. “Nah, it’s not like you planned to projectile vomit all over the sidewalk.”

She lets out a wet, shaky laugh. “Un ... helpful.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly great at this stuff,” I admit, sliding my arm around her waist to steady her. “But I can be good at getting you out of here. Let’s go.”

Birdie leans into me, her body trembling. The migraine’s clearly wrecking her, and I don’t know how long these things usually last, but I know enough to get her anywhere other than here.

“Okay, okay,” I mutter as I scan the street. “Let’s just get you to my car.”

“Your . . . dad.”

“We don’t need to explain anything to my dad or Claire right now,” I say gently, shifting my grip to support more of her weight. “You just need to lie down.”

She shakes her head weakly. “But they’ll won—”

“Screw them,” I cut in, keeping my tone firm but soft enough not to jar her. “They’ll live. You’re the priority right now, Birdie. You’re about to collapse out here. Let’s get you somewhere you can rest.”

She hesitates, then nods, her eyes closing as if the simple act of agreeing takes too much energy. I guide her carefully toward my car, keeping my movements slow and steady, making sure she doesn’t have to do more than shuffle along.

When we reach the car, I open the passenger door and ease her inside, tilting the seat back so she can lie down. Shecovers her eyes with her arm, trying to block out even the dim streetlights.

“Just breathe,” I say, crouching beside her and brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “We’ll figure everything else out later. How’s the pain?”

“Better,” she mumbles, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I just need ... dark. Quiet.”

“Got it.” I shut the door gently, then slide into the driver’s seat. “We’ll be at my place in ten. I’ve got blackout curtains and aspirin. And you can sleep it off there, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, her breath hitching.

I reach over, squeezing her hand briefly before pulling away. I’m not good at physical or emotional comfort, but if I can get her through this, maybe that’ll be enough. My chest tightens as I feel her pain, and it’s like there’s a weight pressing on me, freezing up my words.

Birdie’s strong, but that doesn’t mean she has to be invincible all the time. She’s always trying to prove that she’s got it together, but she deserves someone to lean on when things get hard. Even now, she’s trying to apologize, trying to hold it together.

She doesn’t have to do that, not with me.

I grip the wheel a little tighter, focusing on the road ahead, each turn bringing us closer to my place. The hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on the pavement steady my thoughts. Right now, that’s what matters—getting her somewhere safe, quiet, where she can rest.

It hits me that I could’ve taken her back to her own place—probably should’ve. But for whatever reason, my mind jumped to this, to bringing her to my house. Maybe because I didn’t want her to be alone, or maybe because I didn’t want to leave her. Either way, this felt like the only option that made sense.

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