Pretend We're Over (Pretend 2)

I’ve saved people before, but never have I felt such urgency, such responsibility and need to save someone. If I fail, not only will the world lose an incredible woman, but I will never be the same. Losing Millie would be like losing a piece of me.

“You shouldn’t have—“ Millie takes a deep breath while I hang onto her every word.

“…stopped kissing me.”

I laugh. “Are you trying to make a joke?”

She nods against my neck.

“Well, it’s a horrible one.”

“You,” she takes a broken inhale. “Then,” she exhales painfully.

“If you didn’t want to fuck me, you should have just told me no. You didn’t have to fake almost dying.” My joke sucks worse than hers, but I hear the faintest chuckle behind me. It made her smile.

I need to keep talking. I need to distract her from whatever pain she’s feeling.

“I’m going to try and guess why you wanted to stay fake married to me since you won’t tell me and there is no way those Kylie Jenner sized lips are going to tell me now.”

More chuckles, but these ones are softer.

Keep breathing, baby. Don’t die on me.

I keep running as I think of the most ridiculous reasons I can think of.

“You have to be married to inherit an English estate.”

Laugh.

“You are a princess in line to the Monaco throne and are trying to live a normal married life before being forced to marry a prince.”

Laugh.

“You’re secretly in love with me and think you’re going to make me fall head over heels before our six months together is up.”

She laughs, but it’s barely audible. It deflates me. I have no jokes left in me.

You’re running from something and need me to protect you.

The guess has floated through my head before, and right now, it seems like the most plausible.

Millie makes a sound, but it doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard before, and I’ve heard countless people on the edge of death before. Most of those people wanted to die, but the sound Millie makes is a cry to live. If she had use of her voice, it would be a warrior cry instead of the soft moan of a woman whose body is swollen and making it impossible to breathe.

The sound tells me time is up. I have to get her to a hospital as quickly as possible.

I pull out my phone—one bar.

I dial 911 and then hold it to my ear.

“What’s your emergency?” I hear on the other line.

“My fr—wife was stung by a bee, and she’s having an allergic reaction. We are hiking near Waimoku Falls and are headed to the road. We are less than five minutes away and need an ambulance.”

“Okay, sir. I have an ambulance on its way. Is she walking on her own?”

“No, I’m carrying her.”

“Is she breathing?”