I blow out a long breath, knowing I’ve put it off for longer than I should have. “You’re right. I’ll tell them this weekend.”
“Good man. I love you, Jackson,” he says as I cling to his warm hand. “Everything’s going to work out.”
I’m not so sure, but I still say, “I’m sure it will. I love you, too.”
“Everything okay?” Maverick asks, his footsteps getting louder as he approaches from behind.
I’m in the break room, head dipped, clinging to the counter to steady myself. After getting back from lunch with Clancy, I’d been preparing some of the horses for their afternoon exercises with one of the barn workers when I started sweating and feeling nauseous. I excused myself and came into the break room to get a glass of water, but I’m not feeling any better. I’m light-headed, my stomach is making noises no stomach should ever make, and my breathing is short and raggedy.
“I don’t feel so great,” I say.
He appears beside me. “Holy shit. You don’t look so great either.”
A wave of nausea bubbles up inside of me. “I’m not…I’m not a great sick person.”
“To be fair, you’re not that great when you’re not sick.”
“Not the time, Benson.” Oh, god, I’m going to throw up. “Where’s the nearest toilet?”
The break room is being refurbished, so the toilet is off-limits, and my mind isn’t capable of remembering where the next closest one is.
“My office,” he says firmly. “Come on.”
He grabs my clammy hand and guides me away, not giving me a chance to argue. Not that I would right now anyway. My entire focus boils down to one thing and one thing only—making it to a toilet in time.
My internal alarm bells are going off as we step outside and march toward the barn. I try to swallow, but all I feel is bile rising up the back of my throat. We’re still a good fifty feet away. I don’t think I’m going to make it.
“It’s okay. Hang in there,” Maverick offers with a quiet reassurance, as if sensing my panic, giving my hand a firm squeeze. His smooth palm clasping my calloused one feels nice.
Soothing.
Unfortunately, what happens next is neither nice nor soothing. My stomach churns, and I’m forced to tear my hand out of Maverick’s grip. I fall to my knees and proceed to lose my lunch all over a patch of grass.
There’s sooo much of it, and it just keeps coming and coming. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t handle being sick well. I vomit so much I get dizzy and start to sway. A warm hand lands in the middle of my back, another on my right shoulder.
“You’re okay, Jackson. I’m here with you. Keep getting all that sushi out.”
I spit out a chunk of something rubbery that’s stuck to the tip of my tongue with a noisythp. “How did you know I had sushi?”
“It’s, uh, kind of hard to miss.”
Pieces of regurgitated raw fish stare back at me from the ground, and it sets me off on another puke fest. Maverick keeps his hands on me the whole time, rubbing circles into my back.
I pray he’s looking the other way because this is scarred-for-life material right here. If I wasn’t so grateful for him being with me, I’d be dying of embarrassment. But I’m glad he’s here, glad I don’t have to go through this alone.
“I think I’m done,” I say, lifting my head up, then burping. “Nope. Spoke too soon.”
When my stomach isfinallyempty, I take a few deep breaths, glance over my shoulder, and say, “Thank you, Maverick.”
“Anytime.” He eyes me pityingly. “Just know that’s something people say. Please don’t ever take me up on it.”
I manage a weak smile. “Hilarious.”
“I try. Now, come on.” He extends his hands, and I hold on to them as he helps me to my feet. “How are you feeling?”
“Gross and humiliated.”
His blue eyes dart across my face. “Hm. You must still be weak since you just missed an easy opening about how gross and humiliated is just another Saturday night for me.”
