Page 13 of My Ex for Christmas
“Text me your list.” When she hesitates, I double down. “You’re sick. I’m offering to run your errands, so let me.”
She’s quiet for a moment longer. “Can you maybe…write it down?” she asks softly. “My vision is kind of blurry, and I’m dizzy.”
That explains the wrong number dial.
I grab an old invoice tucked beside the register and pull the pen from behind my ear, jotting down the items as she lists them off. Then I add a couple of my own.
“I’m leaving the bar now. I’ll be there soon.”
“Brooks?” I pause, waiting for her to continue. “Thank you,” she adds quietly.
“Anytime, Hads.”
Once I hang up, I call out to Luce, letting her know I’m dipping out early. She doesn’t put up much of a protest—more tips for her. Then I shrug on my coat, head out to my truck and drive to the pharmacy down the road.
An hour later, I knock on the door to Hadley’s suite, the location of which I had to coax out of the front desk staff. It takes her a minute, but she eventually opens it, though barely.
“Hi,” she croaks through the ajar door.
I raise a brow. “Are you planning on letting me in?”
She frowns. “I wasn’t, no.” She sticks her hand through the gap. “Just give me the bag and tell me how much I owe you. I’ll e-transfer you.”
I hold the bag from the pharmacy out of reach. “Hadley, don’t be ridiculous. I brought food, and I’m going to be very disappointed if I have to eat it alone in the hallway.”
She’s silent for a moment, but I can tell her curiosity has been piqued. “What kind of food?”
I chuckle. “Why don’t you let me in and you can find out?”
With an eye roll, she gives in. The door opens wider, and I get an eyeful of her matching pajama set complete with dancing gingerbread men. It’s cute. She’s cute.
When I step inside and look around, I note that the suite looks as I expected it would—neat and tidy, just like Hadley—except for the blankets and pile of used tissues strewn across the couch.
Hadley notices where my focus has settled, and she curses under her breath. Rushing forward, she straightens the blanketsand then scoops the tissues up, depositing them in the garbage in the small kitchenette. And then she slumps against the wall.
“Whoa,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut.
I set my bags on the counter and place a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Dizzy. I just moved a little too fast, I think.”
“Leave it to you to think you need to clean up right now,” I say with a shake of my head. “You’re allowed to exist in something slightly less than perfection every once in a while.”
When she opens them, her eyes are guarded. “My head already hurts. I don’t need a lecture from you, too.”
I sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Now will you please go sit down? I’ll bring you your food.”
She reluctantly does as I ask, and once I’m sure she’s not going to fall over again, I turn back to the bags I brought with me. From one, I pull out the medicine I bought at the pharmacy, and from the other, a container of chicken noodle soup from the diner in Sugar Peak. When Vicki, the owner, found out who I was ordering it for, she gave me a second container on the house and threw in some extra crackers. Can’t have chicken noodle without crackers, according to her.
“Take this,” I say, handing Hadley two pills and a glass of water, “and then eat this.” I set the soup on the coffee table in front of her.
Grabbing my sandwich from the counter, I cross the room and settle on the couch beside her.
She shakes her head. “Don’t,” she says, leaning away from me. “You’ll get sick.”
“I don’t care.” I should care. I can’t afford to get sick and miss work. But I don’t move. “I’m staying right here.”
She levels me with a disapproving look. “Brooks…”
