Page 98 of Coming Up Roses
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, stepping up beside Abi. I want to wrap my arm around her and pull her to me again. “You said something about her throwing up?”
“Yeah, for hours. So, so much. She’s hot and all limp. She hasn’t woken up for ages, even when she’s throwing up, she’s not really waking up anymore.” She turns to me with wide, watery eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
I’m so out of my depth here. I know nothing about kids and tummy bugs, or things worse than tummy bugs. But I take a deep breath and make my suggestion. “Why don’t we take her into the hospital to get checked out? The worst that can happen is they’ll say it needs to pass on its own, but if there’s something more serious going on then they can deal with it.”
Abi wrings her hands in front of her, but nods.
“You get what you need, I’ll bring Sadie out to your car and get her buckled in.”
She nods again, then picks up her phone and a bag and starts tossing things in. A phone charger, her wallet, a sparetowel, a bottle of water and a protein bar. I’m a little dumbstruck at her quick efficiency as she slips in and out of Sadie’s room, a change of clothes for her going into the bag.
I shake my head, a tiny smile touching my lips. She’s got this way more under control than she gives herself credit for.
I lift Sadie off the bed and Abi grabs a couple of the towels that we tuck around her once we have her buckled into the seat.
I take the keys from Abi’s hand as she heads for the driver’s side and though she looks like she’s going to argue, she doesn’t.
She slips into the passenger seat and flips down the visor, opening the flap to check herself in the mirror. She swipes at the mascara under her eyes and smooths her hair, then lets out a disgruntled noise and flips it closed again.
I want to tell her she’s as beautiful as ever, but now isn’t the time. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the privilege of saying those kinds of things to her again.
But before I can worry about anything between me and Abi, I have my favourite little person to worry about, so I shove my relationship woes out of my head and get Sadie to the hospital.
48
ABI
Sadie is goingto be fine. She’s mostly fine now, but the doctor wanted to keep her nearby for observation since she was getting too close to dehydration for comfort.
Her nausea and bouts of vomiting have subsided since we made it to the hospital and her rest is actually peaceful now.
We have to wake her regularly to make her drink an awful electrolyte drink and while she grumbles about it each time, she’s also gaining more strength from it.
I’m lying beside her on the hospital bed, with Flynn sitting in a chair across the bed from me, holding onto Sadie’s hand.
I thought he’d drop us off and leave us to it, but he hasn’t. He’s barely left the room.
I still can’t believe I called him in the middle of my panic attack. I was supposed to call Violet if I needed help. She was who I planned to call when I picked up my phone, and I didn’t realise I hadn’t until I heard Flynn’s voice through my speaker.
I still don’t know how he was there as fast as he was, unlessmy attack lasted longer than I realised, though the timing of that doesn’t stack up.
I stare down at the bed, where Sadie’s hand rests in Flynn’s. He leans forward and rests his cheek on the bed beside their hands, his gaze flicking to mine for a moment before he looks away again and the longing that shoots through me would take me to my knees if I weren’t already lying down.
I want to reach out and stroke my hand through his hair, tangling my fingers in those dark red curls. But I hold back.
“Flynn.” A voice comes from the door and I glance up to see a nurse standing there, a soft smile on her lips.
Flynn slowly raises his head, blinking a few times before focussing on the woman. “Clarissa,” he croaks and I wonder if he fell asleep for a moment there.
The woman—Clarissa—steps closer, picking up Sadie’s chart from the end of the bed, then rests a hand on Flynn’s shoulder as she reads it over.
“How’s miss Sadie doing?” she asks me.
“Good, I think. She drank some of the electrolytes. She seems to wake up a little more each time.”
Clarissa smiles. “That’s excellent.” She makes a note on the chart, replaces it on the end of the bed, then returns her hand to Flynn’s shoulder. He leans into the touch. “And how are you two doing?”
“We’re good, Riss,” Flynn says, glancing at me. “This is Abi, Sadie’s mum. Abi, this is Clarissa Sheridan. Her and her husband own Constellation Station.”
