Page 53 of My Merry Mistake
Something that’s been unsettled for a long time.
A piece of me argues against the calm.Doesn’t he know I go everywhere alone? I like to be alone. I’mbetter offalone.
He slides into the ambulance and sits on the bench beside me.
“The emails. The contracts Landyn needs—” I say absently.
“It can wait,” Finn says.
“But—”
“Raya,” he says gently. “It can wait.”
Fine, bossy.
We drive in silence for a few minutes. The hospital isn’t far, thankfully, but traffic’s heavy, and it’s bumpy back here. I wince, my head still pounding as the nausea returns.
Finn takes my hand.
I look at him for a second and decide I’m not in a place to analyze why I don’t pull away. Instead, I close my eyes, squeeze his hand, and try to slow my breaths.
“How are you feeling right now, Miss Hart?” Barnes asks, after a few more minutes. “Any better?”
“Still nauseous,” I say. “But my vision is way better.”
“That’s good.” Finn looks at Barnes. “That’s good, right?”
“Seems promising,” Barnes says. “But they’ll do some tests to find out what’s going on.”
I go still. “Promising” isn’t the same as “fine” or “all clear.”
My stomach clenches. What if something is really wrong? What if this is like, a warning shot?
What if I have a brain tumor?
Oh, stop it, I think to myself.It’s not a brain tumor.
Something more realistic drops into my head, though.
What if I can’t get back to work today?
My entire body tenses, and the nausea comes back on a wave. Finn must sense it, because he squeezes my hand, then rests his other one over it.
My heart races. There are people counting on me. I have new employee packets for two players who just got called up—we had a meeting this afternoon to go over them. There’s also a game tomorrow, and I need to be on hand to help entertain one of our major sponsors. I have to be there.
Not to mention the fundraiser. I don’t want to think about what will happen to that if I fall further behind.
The EMT looks at me. “Miss Hart? You doing okay?”
I close my eyes and channel every ounce of willpower into calming down—which, predictably, doesn’t help.
I open my eyes and look at Finn, who smiles at me and says, “Blue is still your color, even if there’s puke on it.”
I give a small smile. I wonder how, even in this situation, he can still remain Finn.
“Maybe I’m just dehydrated,” I say, hearing the hope in my voice because I need to believe there’s a simple explanation for this. “This is all starting to feel like a lot.”
“The tests will say for sure,” Barnes says as the ambulance bounces over a dip in the road, then comes to a stop.
