Page 77 of The Ex Project
We stopped in at my apartment this morning before hitting the road. I wanted to pick up some more of my belongings, but I could tell he was uncomfortable there. Like he was realizing how different our lives had become.
I turn to look at him, watching the passing fields out the passenger window.
“Are you okay, babe? We’ve been driving for two hours and you haven’t pointed out the window and said ‘cows,’” I joke, trying to ease the tension between us. Hudson doesn’t react the way I’m hoping he will. He rests his head back on the headrest and closes his eyes.
“I’m just tired,” he says. “And I’m feeling run down today. I don’t know. I don’t think the sushi agreed with me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much in one sitting.”
Come to think of it, there’s something a little off about his colour. He looks almost … green. I’m starting to regret challenging him to a sushi eating contest. I thought instigating a friendly competition at dinner last night might ease the tension between us, but now I’m not so sure it helped the situation.
“Well, only eight hours to go before we’re home.” This is going to be a long drive.
Another hour later, I catch Hudson clutching his stomach.
Another hour after that, he asks me to pull over, and he vomits all over the side of the road.
With every passing hour, he becomes more and more ill. But each town we pass with a hospital, Hudson refuses to go in. He’s hated hospitals ever since he was a kid, having spent so much time with his mother there. Losing her to cancer was traumatic for him, and I don’t know if he’s set foot in a hospital since.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” I say, anxiously chewing my lip, one hand on the steering wheel, and my foot fixed on the gas. I’ve spent the last hour doing almost twenty over the speed limit.
Nearly all the colour has drained from Hudson’s face when I look over at him. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead and the circles under his eyes are sunken and dark.
I’m not a medical professional by any means, but even I can tell this isn’t good. I reach over and lay my hand on his forehead. He’s burning up.
“No. No hospital. I just want to get home.” Hudson’s voice comes out slurred, like he has a mouth full of marbles. He covers his mouth with his hand. He’s gagging. Oh God. I glance up at the rearview mirror. We’re alone on the highway right now.
“Do you need to pull over again?” I ask, and as a response, Hudson retches into his hand. A close call. Vomitis the last thing I need all over the truck in the heat of summer, with nothing to clean it out.
Flicking on my turn signal, I no sooner stop the car on the shoulder and Hudson flings the door open, leaning out the passenger side, vomiting into the bushes.
I reach over and rub his back, anything to feel useful right now, wanting to comfort him. I think back to the day I was so hungover, how I didn’t want Hudson to see me sick or weak. And now, I don’t care if he’s puking and sweaty, all I care about is him.
My mind races through potential things that could be making him so unwell. I’ve heard my sister talk about appendicitis? She sees a lot of it in the emergency department. It usually comes with belly pain and a fever. Food poisoning? I felt queasy after dinner last night, but I think that had to do with our conversation, and the difficult ones that are waiting for us when we get home. Whatever it is, Hudson finally gets some reprieve, for now, and he closes his door, slumping with his face pressed against the cool glass of the window.
“Are you okay if I keep driving?”
A nod. His eyes are closed, and his usual olive complexion is so, so pale.
I shift into drive and get back on the highway.
We have to stop another three times in the next forty-five minutes, so the drive is painfully slow, but we pass a mileage sign telling me Heartwood is 135 kilometres away. That puts us there in about another hour and a half, closer to an hour if I speed. I glance over at him and find him still slumped against the window. Anxiety knots my stomach as I quickly check he’s still breathing. He is, but his skin is a deathly shadeof white and sweat is starting to soak through his light blue T-shirt.
Hudson said no hospitals, but he needs help. I can’t sit here and watch him like this any longer. As much as I hate what I’m about to do, I hit a couple buttons on the car display and reroute us.
CHAPTER 40
HUDSON
One second,my body is on fire, and the next, I’m shivering. I’m damp with sweat, weak, and tired. So fucking tired.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since the last time I hurled, but the way Wren has sped up, taking turns at breakneck speeds, it might not be long before I hurl again.
She keeps glancing over at me, a permanent crease between her eyebrows. I must look terrible. If I look half as terrible as I feel, Wren must think I’m practically on death’s door.
I’m dehydrated, but the last time I tried to take even a sip from the water bottle in the cup holder, it came back up almost seconds later. Wren barely had time to pull the car over.
Now, the truck lurches as we slow in the exit. I open my eyes and the whooshing of the passing trees makes my stomach flip flop. I get my bearings enough to know Wren didn’t take the exit for Heartwood.
We’re going to Banff.
