“Go change. Grab your shit. And let’s get to the rink.”
Lifting my chin, I look him in the eyes, just like Coach Knight taught me all those years ago.
“Yes, Coach.”
Chapter 28
CORA
Todayisbetterthanyesterday because I don’t have a migraine. This week has been brutal—the pressure from the seasons changing, constantly feeling like there was a migraine about to take me down.
I’ve been to every kind of doctor, done all the fancy tests, tried all of the meds—including monthly shots—and I know less now than what I did before all of this.
When I was fourteen, I got my first migraine. I was at the movies with my friends and I thought I was having a stroke. Mine always come with an aura, which could be squiggly lines, circle floaters, or just no peripheral vision. I called my parents, who picked me up and took me to the emergency room.
I’ve never known something so debilitating with such limited answers. There’s not much research that proves why women suffer more than men, and when we’re talking about the leading cause of disability in the U.S., it feels unacceptable.
After all the tests and trying new meds, plus odd lifestyle changes—like the two month period where I had zero citrus fruit—I’ve essentially learned how to cope and take care of myself. Mine are mostly hormonal and weather driven—two things that are cyclical and can’t be turned off.
Or sometimes, it’s due to stress. And that’s also in the back of my head for the way I’ve felt the last few days.
I’m taking eighteen credit hours, teaching spin and yoga at the rec center, doing stats for hockey, and pretending to have a social life. Oh,and don’t forget the research I’m supposed to be doing, but can’t, considering Lane and I aren't speaking.
With that comes the amount of pressure I’m under to get this into a place that’s tangible. Each day that passes where I don’t have the data to even get started digs a pit deeper in my stomach. The thought of going back to Professor McCullough and telling her, “Just kidding, won’t be doing any research, sorry to be a waste of time and space!” has me frequently chewing the inside of my cheek.
I think I’m going to ask Leo or Troy to help me with the research.
I’m walking out of the rec center when someone calls my name.
It’s Lane.Holding two coffee cups. Leaning against a wall outside the rec center.
Certainly not what I was expecting.
He walks over, saying nothing further as he offers me a coffee.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Your coffee order,” he answers, tilting his head to the cup warming my hand.
Handwriting on the cup includes Lane’s name with a heart next to it—real subtle barista behavior—and then oat milk vanilla latte.
Before I can ask how he knows it, or the bigger question—what is this, really?—he says, “Leo helped me. Got it from Brinn.”
“Gold star. Thisismy coffee order.” I lift the cup to him. I could keep pressing until Lane tells me what he’s doing, but it’s not my job to dig.
He looks around, his breath creating puffs of white—it’s chilly this October morning. “You were supposed to teach yesterday?” Lane says it like a question.
How does he know that?
“I had a migraine yesterday. Had to have someone cover.”
“Well, I tried catching you then.” He looks down at the ground before taking a sip of his coffee. “Don’t worry, these are new.” Lane tries to smirk to match his joke, but I don’t laugh.
“What is this?” I rest my weight on one leg.
“A peace offering. You were trying to be nice.And—”
I finish his sentence. “You were an asshole.”
