Boy, Sean was the color of kindergarten paste…except for the smudges of black under his eyes. His brows were cranked together, his breathing shallow. His big body was so still, it was obvious the slightest movement caused the headache to get worse. Still, he didn’t seem to be in any medical danger. He was just miserable.
“So can you call Billy for me?” he asked. “I’m going nowhere this afternoon. He’ll also know how to get hold of Mick.”
“How do I get in touch with your brother?”
“I’ll give you his number.”
She memorized the digits as he recited them. “You want anything?”
He managed to say the word no without moving his lips at all. Then tacked on, “Wait, my duffel bag from the car would be great. Has my toothbrush in it.”
“Be right back.”
After she got the bag and put it just inside her room, she shut the door and headed for the phone in the living room. While dialing his brother’s number, she held her breath. She’d never spoken to a pro football player before.
The voice that answered was a low drawl. “Yeah?”
“Is this Billy O’Banyon?”
“Depends. Who are you and how did you get this number?”
Whoa. Evidently, linebackers had nice voices. “Assuming you are him, your brother Sean gave it to me.”
There was a pause. Then the voice got sharp. “Is he okay?”
“He has a migraine. Bad one. He asked me to tell you that he won’t be able to come to the game today.”
“Oh, hell. Considering all that’s been going on, I should have known one was coming. Where is he?”
“At your house.”
“My house? Which one?” As if he had so many he couldn’t keep track.
“Um…your father’s house, I guess. In South Boston.”
The man’s tone turned incredulous. “He’s still staying there? ”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Wow.” There was another pause. “Tell him I’ll stop over after the game.”
“I’ll pass on the message. Oh, and he wanted you to call Mick and let him know what’s going on.”
“Yeah, okay. Wait, who are you?”
“I live in the apartment below. I’m kind of taking care of him. My name’s Lizzie Bond.”
“Well, I appreciate your making the effort, especially because I’ll bet you’ve got to tie him down to keep him still. That brother of mine never slows up.”
“Well, he’s slowed up now. Has been since last night.”
“Poor bastard. How bad is he?”
“You can see for yourself. When you come by, just knock on the downstairs door. I’ll be here, and considering how he’s faring, so will he.”
“I’ll do that. And thanks again for watching over him.”
As she hung up, she heard a noise from the bedroom and went down the hall. Sean was writhing on the bed, his big body twisting in the sheets, his brows drawn tight. He made a noise deep in his throat, a kind of strangled protest, then shook his head back and forth on the pillow.
She went over and touched his shoulder. “Sean?”
He woke up on a full recoil, his hands shielding his face as if he were about to be struck. In a voice that didn’t sound like his at all, he said, “Please…no.”
They’d done this before. The night of the storm.
“Sean?” she said gently, though she was thoroughly creeped out and worried about him. “Wake up. You’re just dreaming.”
“Mac?”
She frowned. “No, it’s me. Lizzie.”
He blinked a number of times, then sank back down into the pillows and closed his eyes. “Lizzie? Oh…yeah…yeah, I know. Sorry.”
She stayed over the bed, the sound of his voice ringing in her mind. Mac was his other brother, right? And what had he been so afraid of? She had a feeling the dream was a repeater.
“Sean?” When he made an affirming noise, she said, “I’m going to go out for a little while, if you’re okay?”
“I should probably leave, too. Not fair. Take up all your space.” He started to push himself up, moving slowly as if he had an unbalanced load on his neck. Or maybe a ticking bomb.
“No, Sean. I want you to stay.” The way he collapsed back down told her just how weak he was. “Listen, I have my cell with me and I’ve left the number by the phone, okay?”
“Don’t want you to have to nurse me. ’Nough of that on your day job.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She truly didn’t. Although she was sorry he felt bad, she was glad he was in her bed, his hair dark against her pillows, his heavy shoulders filling out her blankets and covers. In her room, between her sheets, he was safe and she could care for him and he would be far more comfortable than upstairs on that couch he insisted on using.
“Thank you,” he said in a garbled voice. “Once again.”
Before she left, she had a consuming urge to kiss him on the forehead, but she resisted. “I’ll be back.”
She went out the front door a couple of minutes later and walked the long distance to the nearest T-stop. In the back pocket of her jeans was a list of open houses for apartments in Southie, Charlestown and Cambridge. She figured it was going to take a while to see them all.
She was right. And the prospects were bleak.
After three hours of hoofing it up and down stairs and taking the T around, she had a sense of what she could afford and it was not a lot. Prices had skyrocketed in the two years since she’d last been looking, and for what she was paying now, her only options were cramped studios in buildings that were kind of run down. Her only other choice was to look even farther out of Boston proper, to Watertown, for instance, but then getting to work would be more of a hassle.
On her way back home on the T, she called the service station and had to curse to herself. Her car was going to need a thousand dollars’ worth of work. Evidently, it wasn’t just the starter this time.
As the T trundled along and sank underground, she looked out and saw nothing but a rhythmic pattern of tunnel lights, some of which had burned out.
She really needed one of those job applications to come through. Fast.
***
For Sean, the migraine’s pain started to recede about 250 years after it had started. Or maybe it was twenty five minutes. Hard to tell. Time had warped, becoming like cloth that was bunched up and wrinkled. Maybe if he made an effort he could smooth it out and count the hours. But he really didn’t care that much.
He rolled over onto his side and cracked an eyelid.
He was still in Lizzie’s bed. Hell, he’d taken it over, lying in the middle as if he owned the damn thing. Man, bad enough to have been sick in front of her, but to have all but kicked her out of her own room? That was just awful.
He gingerly pushed himself onto his elbows and gave his head a moment to adjust to the altitude. Then he looked at the clock. It said nine and he was pretty sure that was nine at night. Yeah…no slits of sunlight through the drapes. Definitely nighttime.
He moved himself to the side of the bed slowly, feeling as if there were an anvil on the left side of his head. Still, the dull pain was a big improvement over the ax blade that had been there before.
As his feet hit the floor, he thought, okay, he could handle upright. And it was time to plug back into the real world. He needed to call Mick and get a status report on Condi-Foods. Had to check in with his office—
Whoa. The mere thought of doing either of those things brought the ax back. As his head started to pound again, he thought maybe he and his BlackBerry would stay estranged for a little longer.
Throwing the thoughts of work out the window, he concentrated on getting to the bedroom door in one piece. When that mission was accomplished, he opened the thing and followed the muted tapping of computer keys out to the living room.
“Hi.”
Lizzie twisted around in the armchair by the window. “Hello!”