“On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to meeeee—”
“Shut up! Please just stopGGGGHHHHHAAAARRRGGGGGGGG!” He was scratching his face so hard that I was sure his skin would start peeling off.
“Stop scratching,” I yelled at him, as I drove as fast as I could to the nearest hospital, which luckily, was just up the road. Unfortunately, I knew it well. Too well. And I didn’t exactly like the idea of going back to it. I hadn’t been to it in years, not since my mother.
“I can’t,” he yelled back at me.
“Sit on your hands,” I barked at him.
He nodded and shoved them under his bum while grimacing as if not scratching the itch was sheer agony.
Finally, the sign for the hospital came into view and I pulled into the parking lot as quickly as I could, right into a long, static row of cars. I honked the horn, loudly. “Move, you idiots, move!” I shouted. When no one jumped at my command I climbed out of the car and started waving and shouting at them all.
“Medical emergency, move, move, move, move, move!” The cars started moving, like I was Moses parting the Red Sea, or a conductor waving a baton. I climbed back into the car again, my forehead now glistening with a fine layer of sweat, and slammed my foot down on the accelerator. The massive beast lurched forward and with a loud and dramatic tire squeal I skidded up to the entrance of the ER. I jumped out and ran through the doors waving my arms.
“He’s allergic to washing powder,” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Everyone in the room turned and looked at me, and I just burst into tears all over again.
God, this was just too much drama for one day. Even for me!
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
Poppy
“This antihistamine might make him feel a little sleepy, but it will help with the swelling and itching. I’m also going to give him something to calm him,” the doctor said as he stuck a needle into Ryan’s arm.
“You don’t say,” I said as Ryan’s usually tense face melted and drooped into something dopey and, dare I say it, cute-looking. He was lying in the hospital bed without his shirt on—the doctor had cut it off the moment he’d arrived—and I’d been trying not to stare at his big, hard chest and the tattoo that snaked over it onto his arm. Who would have thought . . . Ryan Stark, with a tattoo? He must have gotten that in his previous life, the life where he held beers in his hands and smiled and let his facial hair grow.
“I feel shfine,” he said, his lips barely opening as the words oozed out of them.
I looked over at the doctor and we shared a brief smile.
“He’s totally fine to take home, though. I’ll ask someone to help you get him to the car if you want, Mrs. Stark?” the young doctor said.
“Oh, I’m not—we’re not . . . married,” I corrected. This had been the second time in a matter of days that someone had thought that we were married. The idea was just so ridiculous.
“Oooohh, noooooo,” Ryan started slurring next to me. “Wes snot married, and if we were, I’d have to shdivorce you for shending me toos the hossssspital.”
The doctor chuckled as Ryan’s head lolled from side to side.
“I’ll send a nurse and a wheelchair around now.” The doctor smiled at me and turned to leave.
“Will he be okay?” I heard a hint of desperation in my voice.
The doctor looked at me, sympathetically. “He’s fine. He just needs to sleep off the meds and he’ll wake up feeling and looking like a new man. It wasn’t a bad allergic reaction, despite what it looked like. So you don’t need to worry about anything like anaphylactic shock or carrying an EpiPen. Just make sure you carry a stronger antihistamine around with you, and try and stay away from most commercial washing powders. But other than that, he’s in good health as far as I can see. Just get him home and into bed, he needs some rest.” He gave me one more smile and exited the room, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
“Yous hear that, Dorisssss,” he hissed the “s” so long and loudly that I couldn’t help but hear it.
“What?” I asked. He looked like a puddle of human jelly in the bed now. I’d never seen him looking so relaxed before. In fact, maybe I should slip one of these things into his morning coffee every day. I’m sure all the staff would be a lot happier for it. God,Iwould be a lot happier.
“I’m in gooooood healf,” he slurred again stupidly.
I smiled to myself. Mr. Always In Control Freak would absolutely hate it if he knew what he was doing right now. In fact, I was tempted to film it and show it to him later. The nurse arrived with the wheelchair and it took a lot of maneuvering to get the rather floppy sack of human potatoes into the chair and then deposited onto the back seat of the car.
“Right,” I said to myself as I adjusted all the mirrors.
“Did yous sphone to cancel my meeeeting?” he asked.
