Desperate Times (Boys of Silver Ridge 2)

I’m pretty sure Dad has some stronger pain pills in the medicine cabinet but I’m lacking the energy to try and convince Sam he should bring me one and forgo the ER all together.

The ER is for emergencies. I’m sick but I’m not having an emergency, though I will admit Sam is right. I don’t have a run-of-the-mill cold like I hoped. Colds don’t make you feel this crappy in such a short amount of time, and this is the one year I didn’t get my flu shot early. Figures, right?

“Lie down with me?” I ask. “My stomach doesn’t feel settled enough to take medicine.”

“Of course.” Sam carefully drapes his arm around me, and I want to roll over and rub his back, but I can’t stop shaking.

“I’m so cold,” I say through chattering teeth.

“I know.” He moves closer, spooning his large body around mine. “Sometimes body heat can help regulate your temperature.”

I feel like crap, and would feel even worse without Sam doting on me. Having him next to me is comforting, and I fall asleep within minutes. Ever since I was a kid, I have the same dream every single time I’m sick. It’s how I know I’m actually sick. Sometimes I’ll have the dream before symptoms set in, and it’s just as bad as getting the grim in a tea leaf reading.

Tonight is no exception, and Sam gently shakes me away just as the giant robot monster starts eating all the flowers in the yard of my childhood home in Silver Ridge.

“Chloe, you okay?” His hand is warm on my skin. “It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

“I was.” I slowly sit up, head hurting even worse the second I open my eyes. The blinds aren’t drawn, Sam probably having forgotten, and the light coming in from the neighboring buildings is too harsh and way too bright. “Thanks for waking me up.”

“How are you feeling?” He sits up, sheet slipping down his body, revealing his muscular chest. His hair is messy, and knowing how well he’s been taking care of me, how much he worries and loves me, makes me a little emotional. “Any better?”

“Like I’m going to throw up again. I’m dizzy.”

He picks up the thermometer from the nightstand and checks my temp. I can tell by the look on his face my fever hasn’t gone down. “It’s time you go into the ER.”

“Okay,” I say, too worn to try and convince him I don’t need to go. And because I feel like death. I groan and bring my hand to my mouth. Sam picks up the trashcan from the floor and hands it to me. He put a clean trash bag in it, and it’s one of the scented kinds. The smell makes me feel even more nauseous and I get sick again.

Sam helps me get up and dressed and then to his car, muttering to himself the whole time that he should have taken me in sooner, though there’s no way I would have agreed to go before. Like many people, hospitals freak me out. I probably should have kept up with therapy after Mom died, because I get a flash of her in her final stages of cancer, bone-thin, hardly any hair, looking like a fraction of her former self. I remember being angry—so angry—at the doctors and nurses for not doing enough for her. It wasn’t until years later that Dad told me it was Mom’s decision to go on hospice. She didn’t want to live in pain, and she didn’t want us to have to live with her suffering.

I didn’t get it then. I wanted my mom in any way. Sick. Healthy. Happy. Sad. I just wanted her here. But I understand now, how she saw her death as a way to set us free. There was no way around the cancer taking her from us. And I wouldn’t want to suffer any longer than I had to either.

I haven’t been in this hospital since Mom died, and it’s been bought out by a big company and remodeled since then. The general layout is the same, just updated. Sam helps me sit and then signs me in, filling out paperwork for me since I can’t stop shaking. There are only two other people in here, and only a few minutes later, I’m called back. I must look as bad as I feel. I can tell Sam is having a hard time sitting back as my boyfriend and not taking charge as the doctor as the nurse assesses me.

Things move slower from there, but eventually I’m hooked to an IV, laid back on the bed with ice packs next to my head, and pain medication is on the way for my migraine. Sam stays by my side the whole time, running his fingers up and down my arm. I’m still shivering and get even colder when the IV fluids start pumping through my veins.