Page 21 of Protecting his Secrets

Malachi nodded but said nothing, and Nick sighed. He wasn’t the man’s father, so he couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to do—mostly. If he wanted to drink himself into a coma, Nick had no choice but to let him.

A sound of metal against wood met his ears, and he strained for anything other than what his mind supplied of someone kicking the bin into the cupboard, but then a soft thud reached him, and he slammed through to the bathroom to find Malachi on his knees with an EpiPen in his thigh. His face was dotted with sweat, his lips tinged blue, and his eyes wild. Nick dropped to his knees beside him, cupping Malachi’s jaw.

“What do you need?” Malachi shook his head with a jerk. “Did it all get in?” Malachi nodded and sank into Nick’s hands, Nick barely catching him as he took all his weight. “What are you allergic to?” he asked as he tugged Malachi into his body.

Malachi yanked the needle from his leg, and Nick took it from him. Most EpiPens were not allergy-specific, but a little label had been stuck on this one with “peanuts” on it.

“Peanuts? You’re allergic to peanuts?” Malachi nodded. “Was it in your food?” Malachi didn’t answer, but he gave a slight lift of his shoulders. Nick sighed. “We’re not having much luck with you and royal invitations, are we?” He tried for a joke, but he wasn’t feeling so humorous. “Let me call for backup.”

Malachi shook his head, the colour already seeping back into his face. “Won’t…ruin…it.”

“You have to go to hospital, Malachi.”

“I will… Not yet.”

Nick shook his head and spoke into his radio. “We have an issue. Malachi has had an allergic reaction. He’s okay, but he needs to go to the hospital. Can someone bag up his food? Because I’m assuming he didn’t purposefully choose something that had peanuts in it, so it needs to be investigated. Do the same for the king’s and Prince Consort Kean’s, just in case. We don’t want any surprises.”

“Do you want an ambulance?” Colt radioed back.

“No. I don’t want to bring attention to this.” He met Malachi’s grateful gaze. “I’ll take him out the back in a little while and call for a driver to take us there. Divert people from using this room for now.”

“Understood.”

Nick refocused on Malachi. “We’ll wait here for a few minutes and then get you up and to the hospital, okay?” Malachi nodded, blinking lazily, probably so tired from the incident. “Where’s your other pen in case I need it?” Malachi patted his pocket. “Okay, tell me when you’re feeling up to moving.”

It took a few minutes, but Malachi finally said, “I should be okay to get up now.”

Nick helped him to his unsteady feet, keeping his arms around him to take his weight. “Does this happen often?”

“No, but it has happened. I know what to do. Hospital, as much as I hate it, is essential to make sure nothing else happens. I could do with a bucket in case I’m sick, though.”

Nick grabbed the small waste basket, tipped the contents into the nearest sink and passed it to Malachi. The reporter snorted inelegantly but held onto it. Having been trained in first aid, he knew what had to be done in that situation, but he had never had it happen on his watch before. Going to the hospital had also not been on his agenda. His stomach, however, was cramping at the thought of something happening to Malachi; just like it had doneat the event when he’d seen that guy straddling him. Whatever that was about was something for him to decipher another day.

They exited the bathroom, which was luckily in a hallway off the main restaurant area, and headed towards the back door, supporting Malachi as much as he could. He pushed the door open, hoping it didn’t set off some sort of alarm, and helped Malachi to the black town car that waited for them. Once they sat in the back, the bin on Malachi’s lap, Nick relaxed a bit.

“Thanks, Brandon. To the hospital, please,” he said to their driver.

“Fast and rocky, or slow and steady?” Brandon asked as he manoeuvred from out of the alley behind the restaurant.

Nick glanced at Malachi’s pale face and his grip on the bin. “Slow and steady for now. I’ll let you know if we need to speed up.”

“Understood.”

Malachi closed his eyes and rested his head back, giving Nick time to study the man closely. What a conundrum he was. In repose, he had a pale complexion, made paler by that incident, with freckles speckled across his slightly flared nose. His lips were parted with every deep inhale he made, the thin upper lip trembling gently, and his tongue glancing across the thicker lower lip. His skin looked as smooth as it probably was having been freshly shaven before going out that night. His light brown hair was cut close to his head, similar to his own.

When Malachi’s hand fell, Nick caught the bin before it went rolling away from them. Propping it on the other side of him, he slid his fingers around Malachi’s wrist to check his pulse. It was fast, but he wasn’t sure what Malachi’s usual rate was, so he had nothing to compare it to.

Nick shook Malachi gently, wanting him to wake to check on him. When he didn’t respond, Nick did it a little harder.

“Malachi? Open your eyes for me.” No reply. “Brandon, speed up a little, please.”

“Got it.”

The car increased its speed, and Nick tapped Malachi’s cheek. He was still breathing, which was one thing Nick was consoling himself with. Maybe he just crashed. Whatever had happened, they needed to see a doctor as soon as possible.

Nick’s phone rang, but he didn’t answer it, keeping his eyes on Malachi’s breathing, and his fingers on his pulse. Malachi’s eyelids were also fluttering as if he was dreaming. No way on this earth was something happening to the reporter on his watch. It would just be his luck that Malachi died and he ended up in the media as someone who killed him.

Nick shook his head and swallowed hard. He couldn’t admit that he hated the idea of the man being ill. Well, he couldn’t admit it aloud. Malachi had some sort of hold over him, and he hated it, especially with how awful he was to the Sutcliffes. It was as if Nick couldn’t reconcile Malachi’s reporter side with how else he saw him. The human side of him that seemed so different to the words he wrote.

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