Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BEAN

I had a headache.

I didn’t even need to do the self-scan to figure that out because it announced itself as soon as I opened my eyes. There was pressure in my head, a low throb in my forehead and behind my eyes.

No wonder since I hadn’t slept well, spending most of the night tossing and turning. Something told me that wasn’t an isolated incident, but I’d have to check my notes for that.

On any other day, I would’ve considered calling in sick, but not today. When I checked my notebook, I discovered Zayd was absent today, attending a friend’s wedding, so I needed to be there. With some painkillers, I should be fine. I had to be fine.

After dragging myself into the shower, I got dressed and headed downstairs. Everyone else was gone, a note in Nash’s handwriting explained. Creek was at work, Tameron was doing heaven-knows-what, and Nash had some kind of secret appointment somewhere, which was probably code for hooking up. Though why he’d want to do that this early in the day was a mystery to me.

I was glad I was by myself, if only because Nash would’ve taken one look at me and sent me back to bed. The man meant well, and I appreciated it, but it could get overwhelming some days.

I poured some cereal, added milk, and parked myself at the kitchen table. What was on the schedule again today, other than work?

Crimeny cripes, it was my mother’s birthday, which meant I had to call her. If I didn’t already have a headache, that alone would create one. Phone calls with my family were exhausting.

There was no way around it. I’d have to suck it up. If I didn’t call, I’d be guilt-tripped into eternity—not a price I was willing to pay.

At least I had a date with Jarek to look forward to. According to my notes, I was going to teach him to cook again, which should be fun. Now that I’d seen him several times, I had less of an issue remembering him, though many of the details were still vague. But Nash’s trick with telling myself a story about Jarek and me had definitely worked.

But before I could be with him, I had to get through the rest of the day, and I’d better start by calling my mother right after breakfast. She’d have been up for a long time anyway, what with the three-hour time difference with the East Coast.

As soon as I’d rinsed my bowl, I grabbed my phone and called, putting it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Happy birthday, Mom,” I said with all the cheerfulness I could muster.

“Merrill. It’s good to hear from you. I wasn’t sure if you would call.”

And we were off to the races. Great. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve never forgotten, have I?”

“Well, there have been a few times where you didn’t call.”

“Because I was in the sandbox and unable to, and I called as soon as I could.”

“I know you did, and let’s not squabble about it. I just wasn’t sure if you’d remember this year.”

Considering my injury, that was an innocent enough remark, yet it rubbed like sandpaper against my skin. “I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget. Just like I write down all the important things.”

“I appreciate the effort, Merrill. How have you been?”

My answer should’ve been the mother of all platitudes: good. But no, I had to open my mouth and actually share something from my life. As if I hadn’t learned from all previous times that it would inevitably lead to trouble. “I have a new job.” When she didn’t say anything, I added, “As a cook in a bar.”

“Are you sure that’s smart?” she finally said after another long pause.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Merrill, your brain doesn’t work. What if you make a mistake and accidentally poison someone?”

“Poison? What on earth could I even poison them with? It’s food, Mom. The worst thing that could happen is I add too much salt.”

A memory tickled at the back of my brain. Someone had added too much salt to a dish, but who? It didn’t matter.

“What if they have severe allergies and you forget while cooking? You could cause anaphylactic shock.”

“We’re not an allergy-friendly kitchen since we’re way too small for that. Our menu says there’s always cross-contamination, so our customers know that. People with an allergy that severe would never order food from a place like ours.”

“Right, of course. You said it was a bar, not a real restaurant.”

I rubbed the throbbing spot between my eyes. “Yes, it’s a bar. But it’s a real job, and I’m proud that I’m working again.”

“I hope you’ll be able to keep it. It must be hard for your employer to have someone like you since you’re unreliable. Not your fault, of course, but still.”

I slowly counted to three before responding. “Luckily, he’s very understanding of my limitations. Besides, I need to do something for a living.”

“You could move back home. I’d be happy to take care of you, and you could help your brother. He has plenty of work you could do.”

Hell no. I’d have to be dead before moving back in with my parents, and even then, I’d stipulate I wanted to be buried somewhere in San Francisco. “Because operating heavy machinery is a good idea in my condition? The noise alone would drive me bananas.”

““It was just a thought…” She sounded offended.

“My life is here, Mom.”

“Living with strangers.”

“They’re not strangers to me, Mom. I served with them for a decade.”

She clicked her tongue. “I find it hard to understand that in your current predicament, you’d prefer their company over that of your family.”

I had to end this before I’d say things I’d regret, like telling her that, as far as I was concerned, I was with my family. She was more of a stranger to me than Nash, Creek, and Tameron. They were my true brothers, not the ones I happened to share DNA with. “Anyway, I have to go, or I’ll be late for work. Happy birthday, Mom. Say hi to everyone from me.”

I ended the call before she could reply. I was bound to hear something about that next time, but I wouldn’t remember anyway, so whatever.

The drive to work was long, with heavier traffic than usual due to a persistent fog. My head hurt even more by the time I arrived, but my heavier meds made me too sleepy, so Ibuprofen would have to do.

“Morning,” Jordan said as I walked in. He was already peeling potatoes, doing a double-take when he saw me. Did I look that bad?

“Morning.”

“Rough night?”

Apparently, I did. “Didn’t sleep well.”

“Been there, done that. Take it easy today, kid, okay? Respect your limits.”

Easier said than done, but I still nodded. The first hour was fine since we were just doing all the prep work, like washing and cutting onions, garlic, and vegetables, plus making our soup of the day—French onion soup—and boiling potatoes. Jordan’s favorite rock music radio station played in the background, but it didn’t bother me too much.

A wave of dizziness rolled over me, and the knife dropped from my hand as I held on to the counter.

Where was I?

Darnit, my head hurt.

I ground my teeth as my brain rebooted until I could finally open my eyes again.

“Bean… Bean… Bean!”

I blinked, staring straight into Jordan’s concerned face. He stood inches away from me. What had happened? “What?”

It came out snappier than I had intended, and he stepped back, holding up both hands. “Just checking in on you, man. You were spacing out.”

“I was?”

“You stood there for a good twenty seconds, and I was worried.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m tired.”

“Take a fifteen-minute break, wouldya?”

“I don’t need a?—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

His tone was deceptively mild, but I recognized the threat behind it. Dude had pulled a Nash on me. “Yes, sir.”

He flashed me a grin. “Don’t call me sir. I work for a living.”

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

Once I sat down, it hit me how tired I was. Frowning, I flipped through my notebook. Trouble sleeping , I’d written down earlier that week. No headache, but I couldn’t sleep . The next day: Took two hours to fall asleep .

So I was right. It had been an issue the whole week. That meant I needed to take sleep meds—which I hated because they made me drowsy all day—and make sure to get caught up. So maybe I shouldn’t spend the night at Jarek’s and go home instead? Or wait another day with taking them. Surely, one more day wouldn’t be a problem.

After using the restroom, I checked myself in the mirror. No wonder Jordan had asked if I’d had a rough night. Dark circles underlined my eyes, and I was pale as a ghost. Felt like one too.

Anger surged inside me, and I clenched my fists. I wanted to… I wanted to slap myself, knock some sense into my head. My body itched with the urge to ram my head against the wall.

No.

I was stronger than that.

I closed my eyes. A field with flowers. Sunshine on my face. A clear blue sky and the chirping of birds. It smelled like… It smelled like lavender.

Slowly but surely, my heart rate came down as I went through the steps my therapist had taught me whenever I wanted to harm myself. It didn’t happen often anymore, but on days like this, when I was tired and had a headache, I was vulnerable.

I didn’t leave the restroom until I was certain I would be able to control myself.

About half an hour later, Nash called. “What’s up?” I asked.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You left the front door open. Not just unlocked, but ajar.”

Oh crepes. “I can’t remember what happened.”

“I figured, which is why I checked the ring footage. You walked back inside to get something, I think, and came back ten seconds later…and didn’t close the door behind you.”

Guilt filled me. Something so simple, something I’d done countless times before, yet somehow, I’d forgotten. “Was anything taken?”

“No, a neighbor spotted it when walking her dog and she pulled it shut. We got lucky. She texted me to let me know.”

“I’m sorry, Nash. I was… I’m tired.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well.”

Apparently, I’d told him. “No. I need to take my sleeping pills tonight so I can catch up on sleep.”

“You’re not staying at Jarek’s?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay. Want me to text you a reminder tonight?”

I fought the urge to snap at him. He wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t done a thousand times before, but for some reason, it annoyed me today. “Sure.”

He was quiet for a while. “Are you sure you should be working?”

Was he serious? He was the second person today to question my ability to work. As much as I would’ve loved to delete the conversation with my mother from my brain, it had decided to remember that unpleasant exchange. Of course it had. “What else do you want me to do, sit on my ass all day and twiddle my thumbs?”

“I meant today, Bean. Should you be working right now? Clearly, something’s off.”

“I’m fine, okay? As fine as I ever will be, what with my crappy brain. Now, please stop coddling me, would you? My own mother is bad enough.”

I ended the call before he could respond. Nash meant well, but like Jordan had said, I needed to respect my limits. If I didn’t communicate my boundaries properly, he’d walk all over me. I appreciated his concern and him looking out for me, but I was sick and tired of people trying to micromanage me and tell me what I could and couldn’t do.

Two hours into the lunch orders, I was lost. For some reason, my brain was not braining, and I kept messing up orders. Jordan didn’t say anything, but he had to be frustrated with me. He was nice enough not to point it out, which only made it worse. I wanted to get it right, but nothing was cooperating. Finally, Jordan tapped the laminated instructions he’d made for me that first week. “Follow the checklist, Bean. Don’t rely on your memory or your brain right now. Follow the list.”

He was right. I hated it with all my might, but he was right. Grumbling, I put the instructions next to me on the counter and started at the top.

I lost all sense of time as I worked down the list again and again. My head hurt, but the rest of me was strangely numb, as if I’d somehow managed to step outside my body and operate like a robot. It was oddly comforting because I wasn’t fully aware.

By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted. When I checked my phone, Nash had texted me.

Worried about you, kid. Please take good care of yourself. Make smart decisions.

Make smart decisions. I smiled despite everything. Wasn’t that a classic Nash approach? He didn’t tell me what to do—probably didn’t want to risk me blowing up again—so he’d found another way of subtly reminding me to prioritize my health.

But smart decisions about what? Did I have anything going on?

Oh right. Jarek. I was meeting Jarek. We were going to…

I had to check, my brain coming up empty.

Cooking lesson. We were doing another cooking lesson.

The headache that had been brewing all day intensified, and I popped two more Ibuprofen, swallowing them down with a bit of milk. Even with all the meds I was taking, I still struggled sometimes when taking them with water.

Okay, a cooking lesson. With Jarek. Rhymes with Derek.

So Nash had been subtly pushing for me to cancel that or reschedule. That was not happening. It was a miracle that someone like…like Jarek would want to be with me, what with all my issues, so I was going to enjoy every minute of it for as long as it lasted. Even if I was so tired I couldn’t remember what we were supposed to do a minute later.

“Once upon a time,” I whispered through clenched teeth as I willed the headache away. “Once upon a time…there was a cute young man who worked as a cook in a bar. His name was Bean.”