“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Pooh Bear’s disembodied voice floated around me.
The words got my system online and I summoned the best refute I could, which was very little.
“You’re not dying on my couch,” he said, his tone suggesting he was truly worried. “You sound terrible and need more help than tea and chicken soup.”
I shook my head, searching for a way to explain why that was not a good idea. For one, it would make it easy for my parents to track me down and two, they’d find a way to use a hospital stay against me.See? He can’t even take care of himself. How can we trust him to be responsible with that amount of money?
I was suddenly floating again, faint images of a run-down little apartment flickering in front of my eyes, before I was carried down creaky stairs and put into the backseat of an idling car. I tried to focus on the music inside of me, but it was as if it were underwater, being pulled down to the depths and strangled by a monstrous kraken.
For the first time in a very long while, I was terrified because I didn’t know how I could survive without my music. Dying seemed preferable to losing my gift.
It occurred to me suddenly that I might actually be expiring.
CHAPTER FOUR
SEAN
The sound of my brat struggling to breathe in the backseat sent a shockwave of terror through me. I should have taken him to the hospital when I’d found him in the alley. As the night wound on and he got progressively worse, I knew it was time to stop playing nurse and get him the help he needed.
It was five in the morning when I pulled into Illinois Masonic’s emergency entrance. I threw my flashers on and lifted him into my arms then carried him like a baby into the ER. Everyone decided to get sick today because it was packed, sneezing and coughing cutting through the chatter of nurses and paramedics. I found a wheelchair and set him in it, then retrieved a mask.
Checking in took a lot less longer than I imagined, likely because they were worried about his difficulty breathing. While they rushed him past the doors of the ER, I sat down to fill out a form.
Name?Well, I couldn’t call him brat.
Age?No idea, under twenty-one, but probably over sixteen.
Your fascination with this jail-bait?I wish I knew.
I tapped on the protective plastic shield at the reception desk. “Excuse me, ma’am? Ah, I don’t know any of this stuff. I found him in the alley.”
“You can enter your information for now and we will figure it out later,” she said, never taking her attention off her computer.
I sat down with the clipboard again and thought about leaving everything blank. It’s not like they could refuse to treat him, and I wasn’t going to leave until I was sure he was okay. Iended up scribbling my information on the form and handed it in. I zoned out as the woman went over some general info, then instructed me to return to waiting. I thanked her and took my time parking my car in the tower-garage. As I walked back to the hospital, the eastern sky was starting to lighten and my eyes were pinching, but I wasn’t leaving until I knew my brat was okay.
The next few hours passed in a blur of cat-napping and shuffling through an old magazine as I waited. I longed for the comfortable warmth of my bed and the marshmallow-soft pillows. When the clock on my phone hit nine, I got up to inquire about my brat, only to be sent back to my seat to wait for a doctor to come speak with me. I’d just started to fall asleep again, the buzz of activity acting as white-noise, when I heard someone call my name. Half-awake, I jumped to my feet and raised my hand in the air like an enthusiastic nerd that knew the answer to the question.
A guy in green scrubs pulled me to the side, next to the ER doors. “For Matt?”
“Sorry?”
“He told us his name is Matt. The good news is the covid-19 test was negative. However, he has tested positive for strep throat, and he’s developed pneumonia. We’re a bit concerned about the amount of fluid in his lungs so we’re admitting him for a few days until we can get it cleared up. We’re just waiting for a bed to open.”
I only had two seconds to absorb everything he’d said, before he started to walk away. I blurted, “Can I see him?”
“Sure. I’ll have someone get you shortly,” he said then disappeared behind the double doors.
I stood in the middle of the aisle for a moment, stroking my beard peeking out from behind the mask, and thought about what I’d been told. No covid was a blessing. Strep was onebig ouch but manageable. The doctor’s tone had been cold and clinical, and the ER rarely admitted people unless it was serious.
An idea sparked and I walked briskly to the parking garage where I dug out my work phone from the center console along with a convertible charger. I was back in the ER in fifteen minutes.
I tried sleeping as I waited for someone to bring me to see my brat, but my mind was racing. I could still hear his strangled, wheezing breaths as he gasped for air in my backseat. I’d thought a lot about how our next interaction would go. I’d imagined catching him where he shouldn’t be. His kissable lips would utter a sly insult, and we’d go back and forth trying to get one over on each other, the bizarre dance of ours like foreplay.
I never expected to find him dying in some alley.
A nurse finally came to get me and led me past rushing personnel and hospital beds pushed up against the wall with miserable looking patients. She guided me into a small room where my brat was sleeping. His lashes were tight to his pale cheeks, and he had an oxygen mask around his face. She advised me not to get too close as strep was contagious.
I touched him gently and his eyes fluttered open. “Brat.”
