Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Raya
Ihear Finn hang up the call, and he moves back to study me but doesn’t let go. “You still feel sick?” He presses a hand against my forehead like a dutiful nurse.
I open my eyes and see that he tied up the garbage bag and set it by the door to my office. I feel instantly ashamed and embarrassed. “I’m sorry about—”
“I’ve birthed cows, Hart. I can handle a little puke.”
That makes me smile, but smiling hurts. I reach up and touch my face to find that my smile only half works.
I push on my cheek. I press on my lip.
Nothing. I feel nothing. It’s like leaving the dentist’s office after getting a tooth pulled.
I’m terrified.
“I feel better,” I say. But my head. My vision. The numbness. I look at him.
“Finn.”
He looks down, still holding me.
“Am I having a stroke?” The crack in my voice betrays me. I’m stronger than this. I don’t need Finn or anyone else to see me looking weak.
I’m not weak.
“I don’t know. Doc is on the way up. He called 911.” Finn brushes my hair off of my face, a line of worry knit into his forehead—nothing romantic in his touch, just genuine, honest care.
I feel tears pooling at the corners of my eyes, so I close them. A few spill out, tracing a line to my ears.
“Hey,” he says, voice low. “I got you.”
I let out a small whimper. At this point, I don’t care that it’s Finn, I’m just glad he’s here.
Doctor Marshall, the team doctor, rushes into the room. “Miss Hart?”
I blow out a breath and try to sit up, but only half succeed. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of this. I’m sure I’m fine.”
Finn puts a hand under my arm and helps me to a more stable position. “Just try to be still.” His tone is firm.
I frown. “Don’t boss me around.” I sound like a cranky toddler.
“Then don’t be so stubborn.”
I scoot back against the wall and stop trying to move, but not because Finn told me to. My head hurts again.
“Tell me what happened,” Dr. Marshall says, moving toward me. Finn lets me go, and I instantly feel cold. He backs out of the way, giving the doctor space to check my vitals.
I’m starting to feel sick again. I clench, then unclench my hand. Still numb.
“Is my face drooping?” I look at Dr. Marshall.
He gives nothing away as he shines a light in my eyes, moving it out, then back in, and it makes my head swim. He glances at Finn. “Go downstairs and make sure the paramedics know where to find us.”
I press my palm against my forehead. “I don’t feel well.” I close my eyes again and a tear slips out.
Stupid tear.
Finn picks up the garbage can and moves it closer. “She threw up once.”
The doctor nods, and Finn leaves—but not before pausing at the doorway to look back at me.
His face is concerned, and I raise the arm that works and wave him off.
“Can you tell me your symptoms? What happened, Miss Hart?” Dr. Marshall asks once Finn’s gone.
I explain what happened—the weird vision, the headache, the numbness—and I start to hear commotion in the hallway. “Am I having a stroke?”
“We’ll get you to the ER, where they can do some tests to evaluate, but the important thing is whatever is happening, we’re getting you help right away.”
The paramedics rush in, followed by Finn, and I start to understand the gravity of this situation. I see Landyn and a few of the other interns through the wall of windows in my office. A crowd is starting to gather, and I’m the center of attention.
The last thing in the world I want to be.
And then, as if he’s read my mind, Finn snaps all the blinds closed, and the room gets a little darker.
The darkness is nice.
I tilt my head at him and mouth a thank you.
He winks and gives a slight nod, then mouths, I got you.
He steps out of my line of sight, presumably to get out of the way, and I realize focusing on him had been keeping me calm.
I zone out as Dr. Marshall tells the EMT what he knows in clipped, short sentences.
I draw in a slow, deep breath.
“Raya, we’re going to move you onto the stretcher,” Doctor Marshall says.
I nod. “Where’s Finn?”
“I’m still here,” he says from somewhere in the room.
“My family . . .” I say this as they help me onto the stretcher, and once I’m settled, they move me out into the hallway like a wedding cake being wheeled into a dance hall. I feel ridiculous.
I’m sure this is an overreaction. I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long couple of months and a lot of long hours. I just need—
Finn is beside me again. He takes my hand and walks with the stretcher as they push me out the door and down the hall. “I called your sister.”
“Which one?” I say, my voice a whisper.
He smirks. “Poppy.”
I nod. He’s been around enough to know that Eloise is the dramatic one. Poppy is much more level-headed. Situations like this call for a level head.
We’re in the elevator.
I press on my lip. I felt that—kind of like feeling something through four sets of gloves. “It feels a little better now.”
The EMT nods. “That’s good. How’s the vision?”
I look at him, then at the other EMT. “Darkness is still there, but more of a dull gray now. It’s weird.” I look at Finn, whose gaze is still fixed on me.
The EMT nods. His nametag says “Barnes,” and I absently wonder what his first name is.
“You’re going to be okay,” Finn says, but I can see that he’s putting on a brave face. I see the concern in his eyes.
I close mine, and it feels good to not have to use them for a minute.
I think about the little white box of chocolate. His teasing is harmless. I can handle that and brush it off.
His kindness, though, is much more difficult to ignore.
We reach the ground floor, and they wheel me out to the ambulance. I hate it. I hate that I’m being carted around on a bed with wheels. I drag my gaze over to Finn, who’s walking beside the stretcher, looking a little unsure.
“You don’t have to ride to the hospital with me,” I say, assuming he’s looking for an out. After all, it wasn’t his fault he happened to be there for my “episode” or whatever this is.
I look at Finn. “I’m already feeling better.” I want to erase that line of worry etched across his forehead.
Never mind the tingling in the tips of my fingers. Or the tipsy vision. Or the dull, persistent, thick ache behind my eyes. Or the fact that I currently feel like someone is scraping out my eye sockets with a fork.
“I know,” he says. “But I’m going to anyway.”
This is becoming a trend.
“Finn, seriously, I’m—”
“Do you have a sedative?” he asks the EMT. “Anything to shut her up?”
Barnes chuckles to himself as he and the other EMT move the stretcher into position to lift me up into the ambulance. Before they do, I level my gaze at Finn. “You really don’t have to come. It’ll be such a waste of your time.”
Why am I pushing this? I don’t know how long it’ll take my family to get there.
Barnes opens the back door to the ambulance, and Finn meets my eyes. “I’m not letting you go alone.”
The words settle something inside me.
Something that’s been unsettled for a long time.
A piece of me argues against the calm. Doesn’t he know I go everywhere alone? I like to be alone. I’m better off alone.
He slides into the ambulance and sits on the bench beside me.
“The emails. The contracts Landyn needs—” I say absently.
“It can wait,” Finn says.
“But—”
“Raya,” he says gently. “It can wait.”
Fine, bossy.
We drive in silence for a few minutes. The hospital isn’t far, thankfully, but traffic’s heavy, and it’s bumpy back here. I wince, my head still pounding as the nausea returns.
Finn takes my hand.
I look at him for a second and decide I’m not in a place to analyze why I don’t pull away. Instead, I close my eyes, squeeze his hand, and try to slow my breaths.
“How are you feeling right now, Miss Hart?” Barnes asks, after a few more minutes. “Any better?”
“Still nauseous,” I say. “But my vision is way better.”
“That’s good.” Finn looks at Barnes. “That’s good, right?”
“Seems promising,” Barnes says. “But they’ll do some tests to find out what’s going on.”
I go still. “Promising” isn’t the same as “fine” or “all clear.”
My stomach clenches. What if something is really wrong? What if this is like, a warning shot?
What if I have a brain tumor?
Oh, stop it, I think to myself. It’s not a brain tumor.
Something more realistic drops into my head, though.
What if I can’t get back to work today?
My entire body tenses, and the nausea comes back on a wave. Finn must sense it, because he squeezes my hand, then rests his other one over it.
My heart races. There are people counting on me. I have new employee packets for two players who just got called up—we had a meeting this afternoon to go over them. There’s also a game tomorrow, and I need to be on hand to help entertain one of our major sponsors. I have to be there.
Not to mention the fundraiser. I don’t want to think about what will happen to that if I fall further behind.
The EMT looks at me. “Miss Hart? You doing okay?”
I close my eyes and channel every ounce of willpower into calming down—which, predictably, doesn’t help.
I open my eyes and look at Finn, who smiles at me and says, “Blue is still your color, even if there’s puke on it.”
I give a small smile. I wonder how, even in this situation, he can still remain Finn.
“Maybe I’m just dehydrated,” I say, hearing the hope in my voice because I need to believe there’s a simple explanation for this. “This is all starting to feel like a lot.”
“The tests will say for sure,” Barnes says as the ambulance bounces over a dip in the road, then comes to a stop.
“We’re here,” the female paramedic calls from the driver’s seat.
Barnes starts to shift. This is real. They’re going to take me inside and draw my blood and do tests and scan my insides and God-knows-what else, and what if something is really wrong?
The inevitability of it scares me. This is all out of my control, and I hate it.
“I don’t think the tests are necessary,” I say, starting to get a bit of my energy back. “My headache is practically gone.”
It’s not, but do they really need to know that?
“Raya,” Finn says. “You’re not getting out of this.”
“I can refuse treatment.”
“No,” he says. “You can’t. I know you’re used to being in charge, but please, for once in your life, you’re going to have to listen to someone else.”
I snap my jaw shut.
It’s not like Finn to be decisive and bossy, but it’s not a side of him I’ve never seen. It reminds me of the day after we met, when he showed up at my apartment with the credit card I’d left behind.
He took care of me that day too.
I didn’t remember everything that had happened at the bar, but I remembered enough.
My big screw-up at work. Getting fired for the first, and only, time in my life.
And then the nail in the proverbial coffin—finding out my longtime ex had gotten engaged.
To my sister’s high school bully. It was a perfect storm of awful, and I didn’t respond well.
And Finn had a front-row seat to it all.
All at once, a wave of fear rolls through me.
I look at him, panicked. “What if something is really wrong?” The shaky question leaves me feeling more vulnerable than I’m ever comfortable being.
He squeezes my hand in both of his. “What if it’s all okay?”
I don’t respond, but the mental shift calms my worry.
The back door opens, and the EMTs pull me out and wheel me into the emergency room. Finn follows, but we’re intercepted by my parents, who rush out of the waiting area the second they see me.
“How did you get here so fast?” I ask, signing the words, as the nausea worsens.
“We were in the city,” Mom says, signing the words to draw my father into the conversation. “Early Christmas shopping.”
“I’m sorry, folks, we’ve got to get her back to do some tests. We’ll let you know as soon as you can come back.”
My mom grabs my hand. There’s panic in her eyes.
I squeeze her hand. “I’m okay, Mom. Don’t worry.”
Her expression holds, and I hate it. I’m the one who doesn’t cause trouble. I never want that to change. She doesn’t need to be worrying about me.
As they wheel me away, my last image is of my parents standing with Finn, all looking worried. As the doors behind me begin to swing shut, I see Finn reach up and place a hand on my mom’s shoulder.
Nobody needs to worry about me.
I can take care of myself.
I always take care of myself.