Page 8 of Almost Always

“I won’t make any promises.”

Louise chuckled and they chatted for a few more minutes about living in a small town, the adjustments he had to make and being somewhere new. They booked dates for future sessions as he returned to the coffee shop. Once he thanked her and hung up, his alarm buzzed. Boots did a little tap dance already aware of what it meant.

Standing outside the school twenty minutes later with the dog beside him, he smiled when he saw Cal talking animatedly to a kid with strawberry blond hair. Boots barked and got his son’s attention. Cal’s face lit up with a wide, ear-to-ear grin before he grabbed his friend’s hand and ran over to them.

“This is Boots. Isn’t he awesome?”

“He’shuge!”

“I know! And fluffy. He sleeps in my bed and sometimes crushes me,” Cal added with a giggle, making his friend also laugh.

“That’s so cool!”

Rafferty chuckled. “Hey kiddo. Who’s your friend?”

“Daddy, this is Indigo. Indigo, this is my dad.”

“Nice to meet you, Indigo. Do you need a ride?”

Brushing back their hair, the kid said, “My dad should be here any minute. Thank you, Mr. Ames.”

“All right. Why don’t we wait until he gets here.”

“Can we play with Boots while we wait?”

“I don’t see why not.”

He handed the leash over and watched as the furry gentle giant bounced between the two kids. With his hands shoved into his pockets, Rafferty realized that maybe this was enough. One friend that brought him joy, one dog that filled his soul and one safe home that would always be there for him—maybe that was all Callahan needed right now.

CHAPTER 3

“Fuck,” she groaned as the metal brass band in her head went batshit crazy. Squeezing her eyes shut, she burrowed under the covers, blocking out all of the light. She should have listened to the dull throbbing behind her forehead the night before and taken her meds, but she was so focused on planning out the flowers for the next few events that she ignored it. She was paying for it now. Pressing her face into the pillow, Daisy forced herself to breathe slowly and hoped that would do the trick. It sounded sensible in theory, but barely made a difference in reality.

At least I’m not nauseous?

The moment the thought popped into her head, her stomach lurched. It wasn't enough that her migraines made it difficult to think or breathe, every movement made her feel like she needed to empty her stomach. She massaged her temples slowly knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference. But it was easy to convince herself otherwise. She’d fall asleep eventually and maybe when she woke up next, everything would have settled.

“Famous last words,” she muttered.

The migraines had started during her divorce proceedings. She’d always been aware of her anxiety, but never her stresslevels. The minute she filed the paperwork and Clarke signed them, she started to stress about everything. She hadn’t been on her own in years and that worry kept her up at night. The lethal combination of anxiousness and constant tension caused enough imbalance to trigger her first migraine. Or at least that’s what the doctor said after her father dragged her to the clinic.

She was given medication and a stern talking to about her stress. Like it was that easy to turn off the tension while going through something so heartbreaking. Thankfully the medication helped and over time, she’d found ways to battle it. But every now and then, she would ignore all of the symptoms and signs, getting too caught up in what she had to do.

Her therapist called that perfectionism—a need for everything to be flawless while criticizing herself constantly. It stemmed from her childhood with her mother and bled into adulthood. Running a business and presenting herself a certain way was important, but she also kept forgetting to take care of herself.

It would have been great if her migraines manifested the same way every time. That would be asking the universe for too much, obviously. Some days, she could work twelve hours with the light throbbing in the back of her head. Other times, it would be difficult to even open her eyes, so forget working. There were the occasions when she was trapped in her bed for more than a day, swallowing pills and throwing up water. She never knew what kind of migraine would greet her, so she did everything to fight it off.

In short, of all the bad luck that she could be cursed with, this was probably the most debilitating.

A few hours later, she was able to open her eyes long enough to send Eden a voice note to let her know that the ‘migraine monster’ was visiting and went back to sleep. Since she’d had these migraines for years, her staff knew all about them. They’d witnessed her suffer through them multiple times too. Her medicine and cold compresses were hidden all over the shop in case she needed them.

Her phone vibrated and she knew it was Eden acknowledging her message.

As she drifted back to sleep, her brain went into a guilt spiral, feeling like she was taking her staff for granted while she was cocooned in her bed. She knew that she wasn’tskippingout on work, but her brain wouldn’t accept it that way.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but constant buzzing woke her up. Groaning, she stretched her arm out blindly for her phone. With one eye open, she swiped to answer the call on speaker without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” She sounded scratchy and groggy, like she’d swallowed glass.

---