Yesterday, I’d been on weed-pulling duty, which was a daunting task, but my sore muscles weren’t the catalyst for my limited range of motion. After lunch—which I’d eaten by myself, again—I’d removed my flannel, pulled my hair up into a messy bun, popped my earbuds in and got back to work. I’d rocked out and zoned out, not even noticing the blazing rays of heat beating down on my back, neck and arms.
It wasn’t until last night in the shower that I realized: Houston, we might have a problem. My first clue was the shriek I let out the second the steaming stream of water bounced off my overly sensitive skin. After turning the temperature down and carefully washing around the affected areas, I’d taken some ibuprofen and gone to bed, only to wake up feeling worse than the night before. The only thing saving me from being held hostage, stretched out on the cool sheets of my bed, was a glorious green gel of the aloe vera variety. It was the only reason I had mobility of any kind. I just hoped it also sped the healing process, because on Monday I was due back up at Emerald Cove and the last thing I needed was one more thing to add to my misery.
I’d spent the last four days up at—what I’d nicknamed the Haunted Ranch—working on the barn, the main house, the bunkhouse, and the landscape that surrounded all three structures. It’d been physically, mentally and emotionally draining. Each day had been harder than the last. Part of that was due to the fact that my body wasn’t responding well to the sudden influx of manual labor. It had decided to let me know that by being in a constant state of excruciating pain. Another part of that was that after Monday’s hand-fantasy-admission, I’d barely seen Hud. It was driving me all kinds of Gwen Stefani b-a-n-a-n-a-s.
I couldn’t stand the fact that he was so close, yet so far. I had a feeling his scarceness was very much on purpose. He was keeping his distance. The only thing that I wasn’t sure about was why?
Why was he avoiding me? Why was he treating me like I had the plague? Why was he barely speaking to me when we did see each other?
I’d come up with a lot of theories, but just like undercooked spaghetti tossed at a wall, none of them stuck. None of them rang true to who I knew Hudson to be. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d said he had a Superman complex. He faced circumstances head on. He fixed things. If there was a problem, then he solved it.
So why couldn’t the man even share a meal with me?
That was the million-dollar question.
A few unintelligible grunts and moans escaped me when I finally rested my ankles on the wooden table. Feeling like I’d just run a 10K, I sagged back into the couch in relief. Closing my eyes, I let myself sink into the cushiony goodness of Destiny’s oversized, fluffy couch cushions. It felt like I was floating on feathers, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d float right into nap-time. I’d been tired before. In college, I’d pulled more than my fair share of all-nighters, sometimes two in a row even. But I’d never achieved this level of bone-deep exhaustion. Sleep had been almost nonexistent for the past few nights. If I wasn’t obsessing about Hudson, I was writhing in pain.
A soft sigh fell from my lips. “You guys have no idea how exhausted I am and how hard it is to get comfortable. I’m miserable.”
After letting myself luxuriate in the bliss of not moving, not speaking, not anything for several beats, I took a deep breath in through my nose and forced my eyes open so that I could be sociable. When I did, I was faced with a death stare from Destiny and a cringed expression from Cara.
“What?” I did a mental playback to figure out why the energy in the room had shifted… Nope. I was lost as to what had caused the friendly tide to change and why the resulting negative wave looked like it was about to crash down on me.
If Destiny was a cartoon character steam would be billowing out of her ears. I noticed her fingers tightening around the armrests of the recliner she was in as her face turned a deep crimson.
Uh, oh.
Destiny had a bit of a temper that she’d been trying to rein in over the past few years. These days she rarely ever got good and mad, but that was definitely where she was at now. I’d never been on the receiving end of her anger, but I’d seen it in action. Slow build up, but explosive result.
“You are not seriously going to complain to me about being uncomfortable.” Destiny spoke through gritted teeth.
Oh, shit.
I immediately recognized my error and started backtracking faster than the Road Runner on rewind. As fast as I could form words I blurted out, “Oh no…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…”
Destiny continued on, unmoved by my apology, her voice rising with each statement she made. “Me, who is almost three weeks overdue. Me, who hasn’t been able to sleep on her stomach for the last four months, and you know that is the only position I can sleep in. Me, who’s gained twenty pounds in the last eight weeks, ten of which have to be in my ankles considering they look like cowbells. Me, who hasn’t seen her feet in a month and can’t even tie her own shoes! Me, who has to pee every fifteen minutes, so that even when I do fall asleep, it’s only in short spurts between trips to the bathroom. Me, who has Freddy Krueger scratch-like stretch marks on her hips. Me, who is going to have a bowling ball come out my vagina!”
Destiny’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.