Page 31 of Late Bloomer
Chapter 12OPAL
It’s another restless night for me but, for once, I’m not bothered. I had a purpose in those wide-awake hours. A reason to keep watch: Pepper and whatever made her sharp whimpers cut through the cabin around midnight.
I’d anxiously loitered outside her room for close to an hour, her grunts of pain coming frequently through the door, but it was when I heard her start to cry—tiny, choked sobs that were equal parts frustration and fear—that I opened the door and kneeled at the side of her bed.
What’s wrong? Are you okay?
She’d grabbed my hand instead of answering, squeezing tight.
My head, she’d eventually said through gritted teeth.Migraines. Happen sometimes.
What can I do?
She held my hand even harder, a small pull toward her.
Now, Pepper’s arm is looped around my waist, her forehead and cheek resting on my shoulder, each breath she takes a deep, gentle puff against my neck that sends small electric sparks across my skin. I’d started the night sitting on top of the sheets, back resting on the headboard, but at some point, I must have dozed off, tucking myself under the well-loved quilt with Pepper.
She’s loose-limbed and pliant against me, my hand splayed wide across her back as I keep her pressed close. I have an odd, gnawing type of panic building up in my chest at the knowledge that any moment she’ll wake up. Pull away. Tense all those relaxed muscles as she looks at me. Whatever delicate comfort I deluded myself with in the gauzy hours of night where emotions feel rounded and approachable will disappear like the smoke of a snuffed-out candle.
Pepper stirs in her sleep, burrowing closer to me in the process, her cheek nuzzling against my breast, my pulse kicking up, pounding in a heavy rhythm. She lets out a small sigh, and it’s like I can see the delicate curve of the noise travel through her parted lips.
She’s so warm and so damn pretty and as much as I want to resist the impulse, I hug her tighter, squeeze her to me like I can keep her there for hours, this new bubble of comfort my favorite place in the world.
But, because I can never do anything right, the movements rustle her too much, and her breathing changes, becoming shallower. She stiffens with alertness as she surfaces from sleep and feels me next to her.
Her arm retreats to her side, her head pulling back as she looks at me with those wide brown eyes.
The bubble is popped.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “I was so worried about you.”
Pepper stares at me, sizing me up like she’s ready to fight. She’s always ready to fight.
She sucks in a deep breath, and I can tell she’s shoring up the energy to tell me just how fine she is. How nothing is wrong. But her eyes are pinched at the corners, her frown taut as she tries to hide a wince. After another heavy moment of her looking at me—gaze searching and almost desperate—her eyes flick away, and she deflates a little.
“Kind of shitty, to be honest.” She says it with a sigh of defeat, like she just let the gate down on a stronghold and I’m about to lay siege.
It takes everything in my power to hold back a laugh at the melodrama.
“I’m not surprised. Last night seemed rough. You said it was a migraine?”
Pepper gives me a curt nod, then pulls further away, sitting up and digging the heels of her hands into her eyes. Her legs knock mine in the process.
“Sorry, I’m all knees and elbows,” she says, staring down at the mattress.
“I don’t mind at all.” I sit up too. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“No.” The word comes out clipped, automatic, that denial of help always sitting like a loaded spring at the tip of her tongue.
I know I should leave, but I hesitate. A kind, considerate me would swing my legs off the bed, tell Pepper I’m around if she needs me, and leave her to her peace and quiet and aloneness. But I’m a selfish creature—a needy one—and the soft, subtle ache for more of this closeness expands through my chest.
“Thanks for, um—” Pepper waves her hand at me, a deep red creeping up her neck and cheeks as she continues to stare at the comforter. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
I shake my head, ducking to get in her line of sight. “Please don’t apologize,” I say, finally catching her gaze. She looks skeptical. “I’m serious. I rarely sleep most nights anyway, so I was already up. I… Well, like I said, I was really worried about you.”
Her blush intensifies and I watch the way her diverted eyes roam around the room, trying to find somewhere safe to land.
“Do you get migraines like that a lot?”
