Page 89 of Now or Never

He pressed a button on the steering wheel until his phone dinged.

“Call Antonio’s cell,” he said to his phone, then waited as the phone rang. He was already in this deep. What’s one more person he’d have to explain his overreaction to?

twenty-seven

Chelsea sat in the cracked green vinyl chair with Ben’s head on her lap, fighting back heart palpitations. To the right of her was a teen in a gym uniform who looked like he’d broken several fingers. To the left of Ben was a frail old lady who was coughing so badly Chelsea thought she might crack a rib.

The emergency room was filled with sick and injured people growing more and more desperate to hear their name called.

She pushed Ben’s sweaty hair back from his forehead as he clutched his stomach and moaned.

She wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Wanted to go back to the window for the fifth time since they’d got there twenty minutes ago and ask how much longer. Her leg bounced. She looked around wildly, wondering who in the room they might prioritize over her, and hoping no one worse off showed up at that moment.

She heard the sliding door open behind her, braced herself in case it was an ambulance coming in with a heart attack patient, and turned.

And saw Adam.

He jogged in through the doors past her, looking around frantically. It happened so fast, she barely registered that it was him when he whipped around, and his eyes landed on hers. Then flitted down to Ben in her lap.

He came over, loomed over them with his hands on his hips. “Somethingiswrong.”

Chelsea stared at him in shock. “How did you know we were here?”

Adam looked sheepish for a second, then shook it off. “I . . . people told me.”

“People?” she asked.

What the hell?

“I know people. They tell me things. What’s wrong with Ben?”

She was too tired to discuss why he’d refused to come to Ben’s birthday yet found them at the hospital. Honestly, she was just happy he was there. She’d been on the cusp of a nervous breakdown for the last hour and would gladly take all the support she could get.

She reminded herself to take deep breaths and calm down. But when Ben shifted and whimpered in her lap, she felt the tears prick and her eyes fill.

“I don’t know,” she said, the last word coming out more like a cry. She took a deep, shaky breath.

Adam went pale. “You should have called me,” he said, his voice a mixture of anger, annoyance, and fear, “right away.”

Chelsea shook her head. “Why would I call you? He needs a doctor.”

Just then, the sliding doors opened again, and in came Antonio wearing black gym shorts and a muscle shirt. He looked as if he’d just stepped off a treadmill.

Adam gestured with his hand at Antonio, as if to say “This is why you call me.”

“Ant!” he said with a wave.

Antonio jogged over to them, sinking down on his haunches in front of Ben and taking his little hand in his.

“Hi, Chelsea,” he said.

“Hi,” was all she could get out.

“You must be Ben,” he said, looking at Ben’s scrunched little face.

Ben didn’t respond.

Antonio put a hand on his forehead, down his pale cheek. “What are his symptoms?”

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