Chapter 7
SEVEN
Hudson
When Hazel doesn’t text me after half an hour, I get worried.
When I don’t hear from her by lunch, I’m in a full-blown panic.
I’ve tried to call her a dozen times, but she hasn’t answered any of them. My texts don’t even show that she’s read them. After sending my fifteenth message, I give up on working. I need to get to my girl. I need to make sure she’s all right.
I blow out of work, ignoring the confused looks from my employees as I head for the elevator. Once in my car, I drive toward her place.
I stop at a red light, impatiently waiting for it to turn green.
What did she say was wrong this morning?
I realize I didn’t ask what was wrong. She just said she didn’t feel good. She was holding her stomach.
Is she nauseous? Has she eaten today?
With a curse, I turn into the parking lot of a pharmacy and run inside. I grab cans of soup and crackers, along with one of every type of medicine. I need to be prepared.
I check out, throw the bags in the passenger seat, and speed out of the parking lot. It’s quiet outside her apartment, and I take the stairs two at a time up to her door.
“Hazel?” I call, knocking on her door.
I shift on my feet, squeezing the handle of the plastic bags tighter as I wait for her to answer.
What if she’s not here? Did she go to the doctor? To the hospital? Fuck, I should have insisted on driving her home. I should be taking care of her.
I knock again, my heartbeat racing in my ears so loudly that I can’t hear any movement coming from inside.
Has she passed out? Goddamn, I’m never letting her out of my sight again.
Finally, the door swings open, and my knees almost give out when I see her.
Then I get a good look at her, and panic claws at me again.
Her eyes are red, and she looks pale and tired. I drop the bags, grab her, and wrap her in my arms.
"I’m taking you to the doctor. Right now,” I snap when she starts to argue with me.
“I’m fine,” she insists, but I shake my head, scooping her up in my arms.
I kick the bags of medicine and food inside, swipe her keys off the table by the door, and turn, locking up behind me before I head down to my car.
I give Hazel a hard look as she wriggles against me. “You’re sick. You didn’t answer any of my texts or calls. You’re going to the doctor.”
“I’m fine!” she snaps.
I shake my head at her, buckling her into the passenger seat. “I’ll believe it when a doctor confirms it.”
I close the door before she can say anything else and jog around to the driver’s side. Hazel is a grumpy angel in my passenger seat as I merge with the light traffic and head toward the emergency room.
“This is unnecessary,” she says weakly.
“It’s very necessary. Your health is of the utmost importance.”
“Oh my god,” she grumbles.
I relax a little. At least she’s here beside me, fighting with me.
We pull up to the hospital a few minutes later, and I park up front, hopping out to get her door for her.
Screw that, I think when she starts to get out.
I lift her into my arms, kick the door shut, and stride toward the front doors. Hazel squirms in my arms, and I look down to see her nervous expression.
“You don’t like seeing the doctor?” I ask as we head inside.
“When I’m totally fine? No. I hate wasting people’s time.”
“You’re not fine!” I snap. “You’re pale, and you said you weren’t feeling well this morning.”
I set her in a seat and go to reception to check her in. Thankfully, the emergency room is pretty quiet, and I’m handed some forms to fill out a few minutes later.
When I sit down next to Hazel, she’s still looking worried. I reach over, squeezing her hand to comfort her, frowning when she tenses. She tries to take the clipboard and forms from me, but I tug them away.
“I’ve got it.”
I make quick work of answering the questions. Then I can’t stand it anymore. I grab Hazel, and settle her in my lap.
She tenses again, and I wonder at her reaction.
She must really hate hospitals.
“It will be okay,” I promise her. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.
” I soothe her by rubbing circles on her back.
“I’ve got you, Hazel. I should have taken you earlier.
I wish you would have said something this morning.
We could have skipped work today. We could have already been home and resting now. ”
“I could be doing that right now,” she says, but there’s no heat behind her words.
“Soon. We’ll be home soon.”
I kiss her forehead, nuzzle her neck, do whatever I can to distract her.
She clears her throat. “I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll find a vending machine. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
She nods, and I set her down, making sure she’s okay before I turn to find my girl some water.
If I weren’t so worried about Hazel, I would have noticed it. I would have caught that guilty look in her eyes that she gets whenever she lies.
If I’d seen it, I never would have left her alone.