But I knew better than most that family dysfunction came in all shapes and sizes.
Dex tapped the window. “Pull over. Please.”
I obeyed, parking on the side of the road, shaded by sugar maple trees. He jumped out and retched, his shoulders trembling. I froze, unsure what to do. I got out of the car and hurried to his side.
I set a hand on his shoulder and rubbed the base of his neck. “Shh. It’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah…right,” Dex huffed, slowly straightening. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. This was a mistake. They say you should always listen to your gut, and I didn’t. And now I gotta warn you…I’m going to have a migraine within half an hour or less. I have pills at the cabin. They’ll help, but they won’t undo it. I’ll ride it out, and I’ll be better in the morning. I’m sorry.”
“No more apologies. Are you ready to go now?”
He swiped angrily at the tears in his eyes and nodded.
True to his word, Dex was immediately out of commission. He crawled into bed at three in the afternoon and didn’t stir until four in the morning. I slept on the sofa to give him space. I had no experience with migraines, but I thought he might want to be alone, and I was nearby in case he needed anything.
I sat up at the sound of shuffling feet.
Dexter’s hair stood on end. He seemed disoriented with slumped shoulders and eyes blown wide. “What time is it?”
“Early. Go back to bed.”
He licked his lips. “I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water. Lie down.”
Dex took my place on the sofa. “No. I’ve been asleep long enough. You take the bed, and I’ll rest out here.”
I handed over a glass of water and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, careful not to crowd him. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible.” He melted into the cushions and took a miserly sip. “Migraines are fucking evil.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“And I’m embarrassed.”
I scratched my head. “Don’t be.”
He flashed a sardonic glance my way and closed his eyes. Lines of fatigue etched creases on his forehead and mouth, and the desire to protect flared. Dex was a grown man, capable and strong. I wished I could do something to ease his head or fight hisbattle with his mother; however, it wasn’t my place and I knew it. I was an accidental witness, not a savior.
Minutes ticked by, and the light slowly began to change. I thought about making coffee, but I didn’t want to disturb Dex. His breathing had evened out, his lips parting with every inhale and exhale.
“You’re staring at me,” he murmured.
My lips quirked in reluctant amusement. “I thought you were asleep.”
“That’s not creepy at all.”
“I wondered how long you could hold that water without spilling it,” I countered.
He opened his eyes then and set the glass on a battered side table before meeting my gaze. “I have a brain injury. I’m okay now, but it was severe. Traumatic, even.”
“In college?”
Dex hummed. “Fourth quarter concussion…game against the Wolverines. I was a sophomore quarterback. I was good. Really good. I was getting transfer offers, and my agent wanted me to skip all that and go pro. He said I’d proved myself and all I had to do was get through my season unscathed.”
“That didn’t happen.” I rubbed his thigh with my foot. “You don’t have to tell me the rest. I looked you up on the Internet while you were asleep. If it makes you feel better, it’s mostly about donuts.”
He chuckled lightly. “It does. I only know what happened after I saw the tapes. The last thing I remember was scanning the end zone for Serrano. I woke up the next day hooked up to a bunch of machines in a hospital room. My parents were there—MomandDad, and my girlfriend. Shelly or Shana. I don’t remember. I was flown to a trauma center in Ann Arbor. My mom hired preeminent neurologists and neurosurgeons to poke in my brain. Only the best. Everyone said the same thing. ‘He’ll be okay…it’ll just take time.’ I was hoping for a week or two, maybe a month and I’d be back on the field, but it took years. I was like that old man who fell asleep under a tree and woke up two decades later.”
