I move to sit up and bite back a groan. My headache is still sharp, and the movement makes my stomach roil again. “Fine,” I say. “You can bring the girls in. I don’t want them to worry.”
She releases a breath of air that sounds like a soft laugh. “You want me to wake your girls up after midnight when they’re sleeping peacefully?”
“Well, where are you going to sleep?” I point out. “If my girls are in your bed?”
“It’s a double queen room,” she says. “Besides, you don’t sound fine, Chad. When’s the last time you took something for your headache?”
I swallow. How do I explainnever? Especially since she can tell how much it hurts. “Ummm.” Maybe she’ll think I can’t remember.
“Have you been sleeping the whole time we were gone? You’re probably safe to take more. Where’s your bag? I’ll get something for you.” She turns on her phone flashlight, but she keeps it low to the ground as she sweeps it around the room and then moves into the bathroom.
“I don’t have anything,” I say. No point in having her search my room for nonexistent pain medication.
Ivy sucks in a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me or Law earlier? We could have gotten you something. You’ve been suffering this whole time … sheesh, Chad, no wonder you’re in such bad shape. I’ll be right back. I think I’ve got ibuprofen in my purse. But we probably need to get you something stronger.” She moves toward the door.
Ivy has always been a caretaker. It’s what makes her a good life coach. After Shelby left, she’d drop something off at my house whenever she was over at Law’s house. Crayons and coloring books for the girls, a sugar cookie kit once, takeout from a Thai place I’d mentioned that I liked. Today is a prime example. She laid eyes on me earlier and immediately figured out how she could help.
“I can’t take anything, Ivy,” I say to stop her. Admitting this is better than her seeing me unable to swallow a pill.
“What do you mean? Are you allergic? So Tylenol? I know I have that in my bag?—”
“Not Tylenol either,” I break in before she gets rolling again.
“You’re allergic toallpain medications?” Her phone light switches off and she comes closer, plopping down in a chair near the bed. The clock light is just bright enough to show that she’s frowning at me.
I sigh and sit fully up, hanging my legs off the edge of the bed. “No. I’m not allergic.” I don’t answer right away.
Ivy just sits there. Her frown smooths out, but her eyebrows are still pinched together. She doesn’t rush me for an answer either.
“I sort of … freak out when I have to take medications.” I draw in another long breath. “Because … because of …” It’s stupid that I can’t say her name. I’ve been seeing a therapist for the last few months. My anger at Shelby caused such a huge misunderstanding between me and Carlie. I knew I had to get help so I could take care of my girls the best way possible. I had no idea how to talk to them about their mom and her drug addiction. It’s frustrating that Shelby still has a kind of power over me, like saying she’s the reason I can’t do this makes it worse.
“Shelby,” Ivy whispers when I go several long moments without finishing. “I see. You have panic attacks?”
I grunt in response.
“Okay.” She nods at me. “I’m not going to try to tell you that your panic attacks aren’t real or that you can muscle through it or something. You can’t logic your way out of a panic attack.”
There’s more to that. Ivy is still in fix-it mode; she’s just also put on her life-coach hat. “But …?” I prod her.
She laughs very softly. “No but. What’s going on with your body with taking medications is your brain’s way of trying to protect you. It’s wrong—yes. And you know it is. Taking a Tylenol isn’t going to make you an addict like Shelby. I know you get that in theory, but your brain is in overdrive because now it’s up to you to take care of the girls. And your brain is saying that you can’t even take the nonexistent chance.”
I haven’t talked to my therapist about not being able to take an ibuprofen for a headache, but Ivy’s words echo themes of our discussions about my anger at Shelby. About how I’ve been trying to protect the girls and myself from the destruction of her choices. About how I don’t always do that in healthy ways.
I quirk an eyebrow. “And …?”
She laughs again at my change from “but.” “AndI think you want to be present with the girls the next few days. For Christmas and for the football game. You can’t do that if you’re sick. Do you think you could get some pills down if you could convince yourself it’s for the girls?”
I want to say,Sure, of course! Anything for my girls!I don’t know what makes me feel okay to be vulnerable with Ivy right now. She’s a friend, yes. Someone I trust with my daughters. But I haven’t seen her in months. So it’s surprising that what comes out of my mouth is, “I don’t know.”
She nods. “That’s fair. What do you think you could do right now to take a step in that direction?”
Maybe it’s the darkness surrounding us or the way Ivy’s slipped into professional mode that makes me feel safe with her. “Why don’t you go get me some pain medications and we’ll see what happens after that?”
“Alright.” She stands up, casting me a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
CHAPTER 3
IVY
