‘Mitch. Stop it. Get off me. Let me up.’ She tried to bat his hair away but he laughed.
‘Haven’t you heard? Grunge is in.’
There it was again. The slightly glazed expression. His brow wrinkled and she arched her shoulders towards him to try and push him away a little. Only it didn’t work. All it served to do was push her breasts up against the hard planes of his chest and bring the little twinkle that had vanished from his eyes for a few seconds rushing back like a freight train.
His mouth closed in on the pale, sensitive skin at the bottom of her neck. The one spot on her body that was guaranteed to turn her legs into a pool of mush. Just as well she was lying down.
At least this way she could move her hand a little. Dangerous waves of sensation were sweeping along her spine, nerves dancing with glee at a long-awaited touch.
How long had it been? Nearly two years? She’d been so busy with her mum these last few years that men had been the last thing on her mind. Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why her brain was on a murky spin cycle right now. Her body was finally revelling in the sensation of being touched again. And while selfish parts of her would like this to continue, professional parts of her were on complete alert.
She squeezed her hand between their chests and pushed him back. ‘Stop, Mitch. Stop now.’
Her push had a little more force than she’d anticipated and he landed straight backwards onto the floor.
‘Ouch!’ The fall to the floor seemed to bring a little focus back into his eyes. The Christmas tree was directly behind him, the blinking lights sending his silhouette dancing across the wall. It was almost like being at one of his concerts.
She jumped from the sofa and knelt down next to him. ‘Sorry. Are you okay?’
His gaze narrowed and he scowled at her. She stood up and held out her hand. ‘It’s time to check your blood-glucose level. How are you feeling?’
He ignored her hand and stood up with a little stagger. ‘Fine,’ he grunted.
She put her hands on both his shoulders. ‘No. I want you to really think about it. Do you feel shaky? Sick? Hot? Any of the above?’
He shook his head. ‘Just a bit, well...strange.’
‘Good.’ She led him over to the table and sat down in a chair next to him, pushing the meter towards him. She flicked the overhead light, sending bright white spilling across the room. He flinched. There. Much more appropriate. It would stop the Christmas movie tunes from circulating around her head.
He didn’t speak. Just opened the meter, pulled a stick from the tub and loaded it. She breathed a sigh of relief. He still had enough of his faculties to know what he should be doing. His hands were trembling slightly as he used the finger-pricking device to draw a little blood. The tiny spot of blood seemed to be magically pulled from his finger into the stick as he touched it. It was amazing how little blood was actually needed. They both watched the ten-second countdown.
Four point zero. She stood up. ‘It’s official, Mitch. You’re having a hypo.’
He glared. Again. ‘Between four and seven is normal,’ he grumbled. He was getting snappier, more argumentative. Good to know. It seemed he started at the amorous stage and moved from there.
‘Between four and seven is normal for people who have been controlling their diabetes for a few months. I’ve told you this before. Your levels have been running higher these past few weeks, and it will take a little time for them to settle down. For you, right now, you hypo around four.’
His hands were definitely starting to shake a little more and sweat was forming on his brow. It was important that he recognise these signs. She sat down next to him and pulled over the supplies she already had ready. ‘Look at your hands, Mitch. They’re shaking.’ She lifted his hand to his brow. ‘And you’re sweating. Do you feel it?’
‘Of course I feel it. It’s running down my back,’ he snapped.
She ignored the snappiness. ‘Good. These are things you need to take notice of for the future. Here...’ She reached into the supply kit. ‘There are some glucose tablets or a sugar drink in here. You need to take something to bring your level up quickly. What will it be?’
‘I hate that stuff.’ He pointed at the bright orange liquid in the bottle. ‘I’ll never drink it.’
‘Try one of these, then.’ She pushed the glucose tablets at him and he ripped open the packet and put one in his mouth.
It lasted around two seconds.
‘Yuck.’ He spat it into his hands. ‘That’s disgusting, powdery. I’m not eating that.’
He walked over to the kitchen and flung it in the trash can. She followed close behind. Under normal circumstances Mitch would never do something like that. But he was the same as most diabetics, all walls of reserve came tumbling down once the hypo started.
‘What do you want, then?’ She started looking through the cupboards. Her first idea had bombed. It wasn’t practical to start making a smoothie like the last time—that had been a one-off situation. She needed to find something more accessible than that. Something Mitch could carry around with him that would act quickly.
‘Chocolate.’
She blinked. He hadn’t eaten any chocolate around her in the last few days. But if that’s what he said he would eat, then that’s what he would get.
She found some chocolate bars in a tin in one of the cupboards. She skidded one across the worktop towards him. ‘This will have to do. Eat it now.’
He barely acknowledged her and it was worrying. His blood sugar would be dropping lower. Thankfully, Mitch wasn’t the kind of diabetic to refuse to eat when it was obvious he was hypoing. They could be the absolute worst.
He ripped open the chocolate bar and ate it in two bites. All her instincts wanted to do everything for him. But this was about him learning, not her. She’d already learned everything she needed to about his symptoms. Now it was about teaching him what to do next. The chocolate bar was enough to bring his level up. It was time to be patient and give it a chance to work. Ten minutes should be enough. Then he’d need to make himself something a little more substantial. She’d already figured out that would probably be toast for Mitch. But he wouldn’t always have her—or anyone—around when he hypoed. So he had to do these things for himself.
‘I’m going to sleep,’ he announced, walking over to the sofa he’d just had her pinned to and throwing himself down. Fatigue. Another late-onset symptom. Something else to remember.
She glanced at her watch and followed him over to the sofa. Not ideal, but she was here to watch over him. She’d wait ten minutes then give him a shake. If Mitch were on his own, this could be dangerous. Particularly if he didn’t recognise the signs of hypo and didn’t eat but instead just tried to sleep. She glanced at the timer of her watch again. Nine minutes to go.
But it didn’t take that long. After seven minutes his eyes opened and he sat up and ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair. His forehead wrinkled and recognition crowded his eyes. ‘Oh, no.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, yes. Time to check your level again.’
He sighed and stood up. ‘This is becoming a bit of a drag.’ She followed him over to the dining table and watched while he checked his blood glucose, turning the monitor around to let her see. Seven.
‘What now?’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I feel as if I’ve done ten rounds in a boxing ring. I really could hit the sack.’
She nodded. ‘It’s not uncommon after a hypo to feel tired. What you have to do now is have something more substantial to eat. Something with more complex carbohydrates that will break down more slowly.’
He shook his head as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. ‘Toast.’ He said it simply and moved towards the kitchen. His actions were mechanical. Putting bread in the toaster and finding butter in the refrigerator.
Then he halted, as if something had just lit a
candle in his mind. His words came out slowly, deliberately, as if he was thinking about every one. ‘I don’t think dinner in Innsbruck is a good idea tonight. I’m not really feeling up to it.’
She stepped forward quickly. ‘That’s fine. No problem. Feel free to rest.’ Her stomach had started doing flip-flops. He wasn’t looking at her. He was deliberately looking away. Had he remembered what had happened between them? Remembered the kiss? Oh, no. Mitchell Brody wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever be embarrassed. But he might well be the kind of guy who felt guilty about his actions and regretted them.
Now, that would be humiliating.
She headed towards the door. She could check on him later. Do her nursing duties and forget about the whole thing. But Mitch wasn’t finished. He put down the plate and knife in his hand and turned to face her.
‘I get it. I get why you made me do this.’ His sigh could fill the whole room. ‘But I don’t like it. I don’t like not being completely in control. I don’t like the fact that something like this could happen and I wouldn’t be able to act to stop it.’
She moved closer, her fears forgotten. This was her job. This was why she was here. To educate, to reassure. It was time she learned to keep her mind on the job. ‘But now you can. You got a little shaky, a little sweaty. You start to feel confused—unfocused. Now you know what you’re looking for, it might make things a bit easier if it happens again.’ She held up the meter and picked a chocolate bar out of the tin. ‘You just need to make sure you have these on you at all times.’
‘But what if I don’t? What if I’m halfway up or down a slope and have none of those things?’ His voice was different now, more vulnerable, and she could tell he was struggling with this.
She stayed firm. She pointed at the things again. ‘It’s simple. You don’t ever leave home without them. You have to take charge of this, Mitchell. This is your body. This condition is manageable. You just need to keep on top of it.’