Part 24 (1/2)

Think. Think. ”I'm not feeling dizzy,” she admitted, but h.e.l.l if it wasn't her only win. ”My legs are still . . . hurting.”

Hunter didn't even blink. ”Like yesterday?”

”About the same,” Emerson said, although it bordered on being untrue. She'd done all the research, studied everything on paper. But she'd never had a relapse this bad before, and never once had she thought the pain or the fatigue would be so crus.h.i.+ng.

She'd thought she'd be able to handle it. She needed to be able to handle it.

”Scale of one to ten.” Hunter's tone softened, his fingers brus.h.i.+ng her cheek just enough to ground her, and dammit, why did he have to remember everything from his PT?

She whispered, ”Eight.”

”Okay. I'm getting the doc.”

”No!” Fear claimed her gut, clutching tight. The frown hooking at the corners of Hunter's mouth told her in no unequivocal terms that he wasn't letting her off on her own recognizance, but still, there had to be something else.

”I'll go home to rest,” she said, the words wavering past the tight knot of her throat, and Hunter stepped in, his warm fingers wrapping around her traitorous, trembling hand.

”You've been resting. If you're in that much pain”-he paused, his throat working over a swallow, his eyes turning more gray than blue as he continued-”and you haven't been able to keep any food down because of the meds, you're probably dehydrated. I don't have to tell you how dangerous that can get. You're a smart woman. So I can get Doc Sanders or I can take you to the hospital. Those are your choices.”

Emerson dropped her chin to her chest. G.o.d, she hated it, she hated it, but he was right. ”Okay. We can go to the hospital.”

The drive to Lockridge wasn't a cakewalk, but at least no one there would know her. Plus, she could lie down in the truck like she had when Hunter had taken her to her last appointment. Maybe that would give her some relief from this stupid pain.

Hunter squeezed her hand. ”Okay. I'll go tell Doc Sanders you're still not feeling well and then we can go.”

A thought hit her, sending a swirl of dread through her belly. ”You have to promise to let me walk to your truck, though. If the doc sees you carrying me, or G.o.d, if Amber sees, everyone in town will talk.”

”You're in pain,” he argued, but she shook her head. She couldn't cave. Not on this.

”I'll make it.”

A few minutes and some highly creative maneuvering later, they were in Hunter's truck, headed out of Millhaven. Her legs burned and throbbed from the short walk she'd forced them to make. Even though he drove with care, Emerson's stomach pitched and twisted just from the forward motion, and she closed her eyes to ward off both the nausea and the pain.

”Can I do anything for you?” Hunter asked, and she anch.o.r.ed onto his voice, letting the cadence soothe her.

”Mmm mmm,” she managed as a wave of pain slid down her legs. Tears formed behind her closed eyelids, but when she inhaled, the scent of leather and cedar and Hunter himself countered them.

”I've got you, Em. It's going to be okay.”

That voice, the rise and fall, the honesty in it. G.o.d, she wanted to believe him, but her body hurt.

The tears did fall then, tracking over her face past her still-closed eyes. Hunter thumbed them away one by one, murmuring quietly that she was going to be okay, and somehow, unbelievably, despite the fire tearing through her, Emerson actually believed him.

She trusted Hunter to help her. With him, she would be okay.

Breathing in and out, she focused on keeping her stomach in check, losing herself in the darkness of her closed eyes. She drifted along with the sound of his words, the heady, comforting scent of him right next to her, until a change in momentum jerked her back to her senses.

Wait . . . ”Why are we slowing down?”

”We're here,” Hunter said, but that couldn't be right. They hadn't been on the road long enough.

And then the sign in front of her registered, the bright-red block print pumping dread through her veins.

”CAMDEN VALLEY HOSPITAL, EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT.”

”This isn't the right hospital,” Emerson blurted, but he pulled up to the circular entryway to the ED, anyway.

”It was closest, and you're in pain. I'm not arguing with you.” To prove it, he put the truck in park, jumping down to round the pa.s.senger side to open her door.

Every defense Emerson had wailed in warning. ”I can't,” she said, darting a glance at the brick-and-gla.s.s building.

Hunter didn't even stop moving. ”You can.”

Her legs tingled as if to agree, and she gave in with a heavy exhale. She'd been here for the better part of the day on Friday while Mr. Cross had been treated, and hadn't seen so much as a hint of her parents. Being here was far from ideal, but it was what she had.

No matter how much she hated it.

Bracing his hands around her waist, Hunter helped her out of the truck and through the sliding gla.s.s doors. Each step sent aches from her swollen feet to her furious lower back, but she took each one. When they got to the triage desk, Hunter made sure Emerson had the nurse's full attention before he slipped back outside to park his truck.

”Can I help you?” the woman asked, but all it took was one good look for her to spring from her seat and round the business end of the desk with a wheelchair.

Great. She even looked weak to strangers. ”Yes, I'm . . . not feeling well,” Emerson said, unable to force herself to say the real words.

If she said them out loud, they'd be real. Irreversible.

Too true to ignore.

The nurse slid an arm around Emerson's shoulder, guiding her into the wheelchair, and Emerson was too tired, too dizzy, to protest. ”Let's see if I can help you with that. My name is Jackie. I'm going to take you to a curtain area to take your vitals. What's your name?”

”Emerson.” The relief at surrendering her body weight, even to a wheelchair, was enough to make her sigh.

”Okay, Emerson. Did you want me to have someone bring your boyfriend back to sit with you once we're done with your a.s.sessment?”

She didn't think. Just nodded. ”Yes, please.” If Hunter was with her, she could do this. He'd promised she'd be okay.

And she believed him.

Jackie guided her past the automatic doors leading into the emergency department, pulling back a curtain anch.o.r.ed in the ceiling tiles by a s.h.i.+ny silver track. The area was quiet but sterile, white sheet stretched thin over the pancake-flat hospital mattress, blue gown folded into a neat square at the foot of the bed, antiseptic smell of alcohol filling her nose, and Emerson's heart thudded with the knowledge of what came next.

Jackie asked softly, ”So what brings you in to the ED today?”

”I . . .” Again, the words wedged in Emerson's throat, but then her mind tumbled back, Hunter's voice right there in her ears.

I've got you. It's going to be okay.

”I have multiple sclerosis,” Emerson said.