And the only person Wren knows in Banff is Claire. Jett, too, but he’s useless in situations like these.
I turn to look at Wren and see nothing but steely determination on her face as she drives down Banff Ave, barely keeping to the speed limit.
“Are you taking me to Claire’s?” I manage to croak out. Wren doesn’t say anything, she keeps staring at the road ahead, occasionally flicking her eyes down to the display in the dash. “You know you don’t have to do this. I’ll survive until Heartwood.”
“No. You look like hell. Heartwood is too far.” Her rapid, clipped sentences tell me she’s anxious. In fact, with the tone in her voice and the expression on her face, she looks like she’s on the verge of her first panic attack since leaving her job.
“Wren, I’m okay. Please don’t panic.” She whips her head over to me and then back onto the road.
“I’ll stop panicking when I get you to Claire’s,” she snaps. I let my head flop back against the headrest, and I close my eyes again. There’s no arguing with Wren right now. Besides, this isn’t an argument I care to win.
The only thing I can think about is her setting aside whatever scraps of pride she has left, and asking Claire for help.
And she’s doing it for me.
CHAPTER 41
WREN
“Oh my God,why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Claire says when she takes in Hudson and I standing on her front step. Hudson is out of it, leaning on me with his arm around my shoulders. “He looks awful.”
“I know, I know.” I adjust Hudson’s weight on me. “Hudson said specifically no hospitals, and I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do,” I explain.
Coming to Claire’s for help is the last thing I would ever want to do, after poking my eyeballs out with a fork. But as my panic rose in the car on the way here, so did my desperation to do anything to help Hudson. I can swallow my pride for this, for him.
Claire ushers us inside and gives Hudson a quick once-over, feeling his pulse on his wrist, and feeling his forehead for fever.
“Get him upstairs to the guest room. I have a kit I’ll bring up. He probably needs IV fluids and electrolytes,” Claireinstructs me, turning to head the other way as I lug Hudson upstairs. He’s so weak.
“Come on, Landry. You’re gonna have to help me out here, okay?” He groans as a response and picks up his feet. I’m out of breath from trying to get him upstairs, and I peer down the hall of the virtual mansion my sister lives in, trying to figure out which of the nondescript doors is a guest room. I don’t know her house well, having only been here on the occasional holiday, and the place is a maze. I find the first one that opens into a room with no personal belongings, no evidence someone sleeps in it, and I decide it will do.
I get Hudson inside and use one hand to peel back the crisp white duvet.
“Rest for a while, okay?” I say as he lies down and I tuck the duvet around him. “And please, for the love of God, do not puke all over this bedding. It’s probably 600-thread-count Egyptian cotton and costs more than I make in a month. Even puking on the floor would be better.”
“It’s okay, let him vomit on it,” Claire says casually, walking in behind me. She’s got a red duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a large bowl in one hand. “This is Kevin’s room.”
“Oh, I thought this was—” I stammer. I look around the room, once again finding no evidence anyone uses it regularly, especially not Claire’s husband.
“It’s fine, Kevin won’t care. I sure as hell don’t,” she says with an eye roll.
“You two don’t share a room?” I ask. It’s the first and only indication Claire has ever given me that her lifemight not be as perfect as she makes it seem. Then again, she never mentioned Kevin at all during her visit.
“We haven’t slept together in a long time, but we keep this room looking like a guest room. I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone who comes over. Not that we ever have company anymore,” Claire explains, setting her duffel bag down by the side of the bed and zipping open the top. She pulls out a few supplies, a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope, and starts taking Hudson’s vitals. I shift on my feet as she checks him over. I feel so helpless right now.
“His blood pressure is okay, but his heart rate is high, and he has a fever,” Claire says, turning to root through her bag. “Did he eat something out of the ordinary in the last day or so?” she asks, and I go over the last couple of days we spent together in Vancouver.
It’s painful to think about. We were supposed to be enjoying a weekend away together, and instead, we’re at Claire’s of all places, unsure of our future together. I would give anything to turn back time.
“I don’t think so,” I say, still thinking about what it could have been. “We had all-you-can-eat sushi last night, and he had a lot of it. We bet each other who could eat more,” I explain hurriedly. Darkness appears at the edge of my vision, a similar feeling to the panic attack I had after the vote. I purse my lips and breathe like Hudson had shown me. Inhale, exhale. I need to be sharp so I can help him now.
“Seems unlikely that would’ve caused it. Otherwise, you’d be sick, too,” Claire says, in between listening to Hudson’s heart and lungs. She throws the stethoscope around her neck and turns to dig through her bag again.Pulling out a few plastic packages, she opens them on the bed next to Hudson. “He probably has some sort of stomach virus, which isn’t dangerous in and of itself, but it can cause severe dehydration. I’m going to put in an IV. He needs fluids and some medication for the nausea, but if that doesn’t help, he’ll need to go to the hospital to rule out anything more serious.”
“Okay,” I agree, the panic in my chest settling slightly at the confidence in her diagnosis, or at least in her ability to help him with whatever this is. I may fight Claire on a lot of things, but I do know she’s a great doctor, and if she tells Hudson he needs to get to the hospital, I will drag him there kicking and screaming. Whether he likes it or not, he’ll go. Because all I can think about right now is if something were to go wrong, and anything happened to him … My palms sweat again, and my chest feels tight, like an elephant is sitting on it, a crushing weight.
Claire pulls out a huge needle and inserts it into Hudson’s arm, and I think I might be sick. Darkness closes in on my peripheral vision again.
“Go downstairs and wait in the kitchen if you’re going to get all queasy on me,” Claire says, though her tone isn’t sharp. “I don’t need two patients in my house today.”
