Saint (Hot Shots 4)

The house thankfully was finally fully furnished before Saint’s parents came this past week. They are two of the nicest people I’ve met. We even had a barbecue with them and my family while they were here, and let’s just say Josey and Mack now have basically another set of grandparents with the way they spoiled them with attention and the occasional shopping we all did together. Josey even suckered Saint’s mom into going to the mall. Wanting to sit that one out, I called my mom, and those three went. They didn’t come back until the mall closed that night. I definitely dodged that bullet. My wallet probably thanks me for it the most.

“Jesus, that’s weird.” My hand is on the railing of the staircase, and I swear to all that is holy I refuse to go through this again and the house arrest that comes with it. Not only will I lose my mind, so will Saint. Instead, I sit down, not liking the dizziness that’s overtaking my body. My head meets my knees, and I let my hands lie at my sides, attempting to breathe through this wave of craziness.

“What’s wrong?” Saint walks around the corner.

“Nothing, I’m just taking a break.” I try to fib through this, but I already know if it’s like this tomorrow, I’ll make an appointment with my doctor.

“Nice try. Want to come up with a better excuse?” I lift my head up, and another wave comes through.

“Shit, I’m not feeling good, Saint,” I tell him honestly. The feeling of faintness definitely isn’t helping.

“Okay, let’s get you up. We’re going to the hospital. You heard the doctor at your last appointment. It could be a relapse, or it could be a side effect from your concussion.” I start to open my mouth, but he shuts me up. “Not happening. You’re going. We’re not fucking around, and I am not losing you.”

“Fine.” I go to stand up, but my legs give out on me.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” How his voice is remaining rock steady, I have no idea because this is concerning even me. Saint has me in his arms, carrying me through the house, heading towards the garage.

“Honey, I know you only mean the best, but I’m not wearing any shoes, and you don’t have the Jeep or truck keys.” My arms are wrapped around his neck, eyes closed because this sensation is crazy. I’m still coherent enough to realize we need more than him carrying me to the car.

“I know. I’ll get you settled in the truck before I go grab your shoes, purse, and my keys. Then we’ll head straight to the hospital.” He opens the door to the garage, then moves to the truck door, and I’m settling in the front seat. It’s not long before he’s back and we’re driving. Saint’s hand doesn’t leave mine the entire time. The silence and the steady drum of the tires on the pavement seem to help some, at least.

“I don’t get it. It’s been fine for weeks now. What could cause this?” I ask him.

“There’s no telling, but we’ll figure it out.” The firmness in his tone tells me he won't stop at anything until we do.

“I know that. With you by my side, nothing seems impossible.” And there’s conviction in my voice because it’s true.

Nineteen

Saint

Damn, I hate that we’re back here again for the second time. The worst part is this feeling of pure fucking helplessness, watching your woman crumble, unable to stand, worried that if she does, she’ll fall and injure herself once again, which might be the last.

“I love you, Saint,” she tells me, like Emerson is the one who’s trying to calm my anxiety down.

“Love you, sweetheart. Sit tight. I’m going to go grab a wheelchair and a nurse. As much as I hate leaving you, I gotta park the truck, then I’ll be right in.” My tires skid to a stop at the emergency room doors.

“I know, Saint. I’ll be okay, promise. Don’t do anything crazy though, okay?”

“What do you think I’ll do that’s crazy?” Emerson knows me to my core, so it’ll be interesting to see what she says.

“I don’t think I have to tell you. You already know. No calling the whole family yet, no getting pissed because you can’t find a parking spot. As much as I hate hospitals, they’ll get me fixed up in no time, and we’ll be back at home.” Her head is tilted towards me, eyes barely open, a tiredness seeping through them.

“I’m not promising anything.” I squeeze her hand, kiss her forehead, and throw the truck in Park with my other hand, not really wanting to let her go. But knowing I need to get her inside spurs me into action.

“If you do something irrational when I’m better, I’ll make you pay,” she sasses me. Even not feeling her best, Emerson knows how to take the edge off.