Page 68 of Reset

Sarah was scared. Had he hit his head when he was under the water and not told her? What if he’d suffered another concussion? His neurologist was worried about that happening again, although Ryan didn’t seem that bothered. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to be that bothered about it.

Hurrying across the room, Sarah retrieved some of the hessian sacks he’d found earlier. Quickly, she made a pallet to lie on to keep the cold stone from seeping into them. It took a few trips to retrieve the sacks, and a hefty amount of effort to maneuver Ryan onto them, but she managed it.

Once he was settled, she wet her blouse and placed it on his forehead. Then taking the phone, she sat down beside him. Gently, she raised his head to rest it on her thigh.

She stroked his shoulder, more to reassure herself than him, as he clearly wasn’t aware of anything now. He was locked inside his head, consumed with pain.

“It’s going to be okay,” Sarah said. “You’ll get through this, I promise. You aren’t alone, I’m here and I’ll take care of you.”

Knowing from experience that light aggravated a migraine, Sarah turned off the phone. Immediately, they were plunged into absolute darkness. But this time, she was more afraid for Ryan than she was of anything she couldn’t see.

As the silence settled in around them, she stroked his hair, adjusting the damp blouse to keep his forehead cool. There was nothing else she could do, except wait.

Ryan woke up thirsty. There was a dull throbbing pain in his head, along with an awareness that time had passed. How much time, he didn’t know. Smooth, warm skin was a pillow beneath his cheek, and he let out a breath knowing Sarah was there. He vaguely remembered her resting his head on her thigh. Now it seemed that, sometime during the night, she’d shuffled down to lie flat, and his head was now on her belly.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, as though she’d been stroking it in an attempt to soothe his bruised brain. It was sweet, but pointless. When the pain hit him, there was nothing anyone could do to help—short of knocking him unconscious.

“Ryan,” she said, her voice husky from sleep. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Better. I could use a drink.”

“I’ve got some water here.” She shifted, and he felt a bottle being pressed into his hand. “Can you cope with the light on?”

“Not yet,” he said honestly.

As he drank, he took stock of how he felt. His head was throbbing, his eyeballs felt firm and swollen, his right arm felt weak, and his thinking seemed sluggish. There were still some sparkling lights going off randomly in the corner of his vision. Lights that were purely in his head. Thankfully, he didn’t feel nauseous. Probably because the only thing in his stomach was raw mushroom.

“Have you always had migraines?” Sarah said as she gently brushed at his hair with her fingers.

Ryan lay his head back on her soft belly. “They started after the coma.”

The ache in his head seemed to ease as Sarah carefully massaged his scalp. “Do they happen often?”

“Depends on how you define often.” He deflected the question.

Obviously not enough. “How do you define often?”

He curled his hand around her thigh. She was warm, and smooth, and felt like heaven. “Couple of times a month.”

He felt her stiffen in reaction but then quickly relax again. “Does something trigger them?”

“Like all the bright lights we’ve not been experiencing?” He traced the curve of her inner thigh with his fingertips.

Her breath quickened. “No. Would hitting your head again set them off?”

“I haven’t hit my head recently.” His fingers smoothed down to her knee and back up her thigh. “It’s no big deal, Stats. It’s just another weird side effect of being shot in the head.”

“Like the spasms in your hand that you think I don’t notice?”

Oh, she was tricky. If his dull, thudding brain wasn’t so preoccupied by the curve of her leg, he’d probably put more effort into being a whole lot more careful around her.

“The headaches are getting better,” he said as he slid his hand, very slowly, up the inside of her thigh. “I don’t have as many episodes as I did when I first woke up.”

She sucked in a breath as his knuckles brushed the V between her legs, skimming over the cotton of her underpants. He stilled, his heart loud in his ears, waiting for her to object to his touch. She didn’t, and with a smile, he teased her by sliding his hand back down her thigh.

“Does the neurologist think these episodes will disappear entirely?” She sounded a little breathless. It suited her.

“She says there’s no way to know for sure. They could vanish one day, or the time between them could increase until they just don’t happen anymore, or this could be as good as it gets.”