Page 50 of My Merry Mistake
The headache comes in full force now, and the nausea is so strong that I let out a little moan. I drop my head into my hands.
“Raya?”
Finn’s voice is stronger now, panicked.
The fingers on my right hand prickle with numbness, like they fell asleep. I shake my arm, but I can’t get the blood to come back.
“I can’t feel my face.” My voice sounds funny and I touch my cheek. I drag my gaze to Finn’s and find a worried expression on his usually nonchalant face. “My face. My face is numb.”
In the hazy darkness of my vision, I see him drop his bag and immediately come around to me, taking me in his arms as I sag to the floor.
He holds me with one strong hand, pulling me into his chest while using the other to find out his phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask. Am I slurring my words? Am I dying? My vision is black, only a pinprick of light at the center of my eyes. “I can’t see.” I hear the fear in my own voice.
Finn puts the phone to his ear and holds me closer. “It’s okay, Hart. I got you.” He repeats this until he starts talking into the phone.
“I don’t have time to lie down,” I say, my brain feeling like every neuron is firing at once. My vision goes dark as sparks shoot across it, causing a wave of nausea that I can’t contain.
I push against him with the one arm that works and manage to grab the garbage can just in time to empty the contents of my stomach.
My whole body contracts as heat rushes through me, and in the haze I notice Finn doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even flinch.
My head throbs, and somewhere in the inky, sparkling blackness I hear his voice.
“Doc, I need you in the executive offices—” Finn says into the phone.
“I think Raya Hart is having a stroke.”
Chapter Thirteen
Raya
Ihear Finn hang up the call, and he moves back to study me but doesn’t let go. “You still feel sick?” He presses a hand against my forehead like a dutiful nurse.
I open my eyes and see that he tied up the garbage bag and set it by the door to my office. I feel instantly ashamed and embarrassed. “I’m sorry about?—”
“I’ve birthed cows, Hart. I can handle a little puke.”
That makes me smile, but smiling hurts. I reach up and touch my face to find that my smile only half works.
I push on my cheek. I press on my lip.
Nothing. I feel nothing. It’s like leaving the dentist’s office after getting a tooth pulled.
I’m terrified.
“I feel better,” I say. But my head. My vision. The numbness. I look at him.
“Finn.”
He looks down, still holding me.
“Am I having a stroke?” The crack in my voice betrays me. I’m stronger than this. I don’t need Finn or anyone else to see me looking weak.
I’mnotweak.
“I don’t know. Doc is on the way up. He called 911.” Finn brushes my hair off of my face, a line of worry knit into his forehead—nothing romantic in his touch, just genuine, honest care.
