That day wasn’t a lucky one.
“You need protein,” he said as my jaw clenched, and I gripped the edge of the table. “Carbs and fats, too, but protein is most important.”
“I’m not hungry,” I countered through my teeth, staring at the salt and pepper shaker.
“I’m not askin’,” he replied firmly, setting down a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.
“I’m just going to throw them up.”
“Maybe not.”
I let out a huff of disbelieving laughter and stuffed a piece of bacon into my mouth.
“Finish that entire plate,” he ordered. “Thunder! Let’s go outside, boy.”
I struggled to choke down the food once they were outside. I knew he was right—I needed the calories—but the food tasted like ash in my mouth.
I was losing weight. Not a lot, and it wasn’t super noticeable, unless you knew me very well. My shirts hung a little looser, my jeans had a gap in the waist that wasn’t there before, and my collarbone was just a little more prominent. I was losing muscle mass that I’d worked for years to gain.
I was throwing up too much, and even when my stomach settled, I had very little appetite.
Pop had noticed. Daniel hadn’t.
I couldn’t fault him for it. He had intimate knowledge of my body, but it had only been weeks since we met. There was no way that he could’ve known that the only time my weight fluctuated normally was when I’d put on more muscle or I was sick. He didn’t realize that my cheekbones shouldn’t have hollows beneath them.
Pop noticed everything—that was what came from a career in intelligence and then years of watching the love of his life waste away. He clocked the changes instantly, and they were impossible for him to ignore.
My phone began ringing where I’d put it on the counter and forgotten about it, and I nearly jumped out of my skin in surprise. I looked at it for a long moment, wondering if it was worth getting up for, but when it continued ringing, I got to my feet with a groan. Everything hurt.
Aunt Halle called every day, always when Daniel was gone, always when Pop was out of the room.
Like I wouldn’t realize that he was telling her when to reach out.
“I’m fine,” I answered, walking toward the living room. “Getting ready to watch a movie.”
“You sound like crap,” she argued. “Did Gary give you?—”
“Yes, I’m high. No, it’s not touching it.”
“Maybe you need more.”
“If I have any more, I’m going to feel like shitwhileI’m drooling like a baby.”
“It should be taking the edge off,” she fretted. “It always does for me when Dalton has to go away for a day.”
“Maybe it is,” I replied. What a scary thought. How much worse would it be if my pop wasn’t dosing me? “Why is it still this bad? I thought once we completed the bond, the symptoms would get better.”
“They should be,” Aunt Halle replied. “Have you noticed any difference?”
“It’s worse,” I complained as I curled up like a shrimp on the couch.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Reassuring,” I grumbled, pulling a crocheted blanket off the back of the couch so it would stop digging into my hip.
“Everyone is different,” she reminded me quickly. “And it’s not all sunshine and rainbows right now. Your body is probably reacting to that. Your mind and your emotions and your body all work together, you know. If you’re anxious, of course you’d feel worse.”
“Right.”
