"Dani, come on. Let's go over here," Madi says.
I hurl again, gagging and gasping and beyond mortified, too weak to even prop myself up. Arms slide under me, shift me, so that I'm laying cradled over one of Kace's thighs, one arm and hand supporting me beneath my neck and shoulders while the other tangles in my hair and holds it out of the way.
"I've got you, baby. Get it out. You'll feel better."
My watery eyes clear a bit, enough to see tufts of grass and sand and boards. "What happened?"
A siren approaches, and it's too noisy. The shrieking makes my head pound harder, and I fumble to cover my ears. I miss. It's like my arms belong to someone else. I wind up holding onto Kace instead.
The siren cuts off as it rolls to a stop somewhere nearby, and I hear doors open and shut.
"What do we have?"
I hear Kace list my age, pregnancy and that I'd passed out.
"Let's lay her down flat," the EMT says.
"No." I clutch Kace, fingers digging into his skin. I need this. I need him. I don't want to be alone. I'm scared. Can't they see that? What's happening to me?
"Shh. I'm not going anywhere. Just turn over, sweetheart. You can lean against me," Kace says.
His deep voice soothes my battered senses, and despite how awful and confused I feel, I revel in the sound. I feel him shifting me so that my back is propped against his broad chest. I'm tucked between his sprawled legs, his casted leg out to one side.
I think I go in and out as they get a cuff on my arm, take my vitals. Ask me questions I'm not sure I answer correctly. I'm vaguely aware of Kace murmuring reassurances to me and to the girls.
"Her morning sickness has lasted too long. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I should've pushed you harder to go to the doctor. I think it's hyperemesis gravidarum."
I frown at Kace's words. "What's that?"
The EMT nods his agreement.
"Extreme and prolonged morning sickness," Kace murmurs. "After so long, you get dehydrated, dizzy. Faint. We need to get you checked out at the hospital."
"No, I have an appointment. This is too much fuss." I pluck weakly at his fingers and shake my head, which really means rolling it on his hard, comforting chest.
"Sweetheart, you just took twenty years off my life. You're going if I have to tie you up and wheel you there myself."
The EMT laughs. "Sounds like you won't win this one, Ms. Ashby. You and your mister can have it out in the ambulance ride back on the ferry. Let's get you on a gurney."
"No. The girls. You have to— They can't. I can't?—"
"You can. Don't worry about us," Kace says.
After strapping me down, the EMT who spoke and another gently lift me onto a gurney and wheel me toward the ambulance. I hate how helpless and weak I feel. I want to argue. To get up and prove I'm perfectly fine, but just the thought of moving seems overwhelming.
Tears blind me, and I put my hands over my face. "I'm fine. I can go back on my own. I don't want this."
The gurney stops, and someone tugs my hands from my face, holding them. I open my eyes to see Kace.
"Lindsey, you need to see a doctor."
“And I will. I have an appointment but this—the bill. I can't— I don't…" I don't have a job. Not a real one. How will I pay for this? "I'm fine. Please. Just put me in the golf cart a-and get me to the ferry. Take me home. Please, Kace? I want to go home. I'll go to the doctor tomorrow first thing. I promise."
Kace hesitates at my desperation, and I silently plead with him to agree.
"We have a basic triage room at the firehouse. We can take her there for a little while and monitor her. Get some fluids in her and see if she improves. But," the EMT says to me, "if you vomit, faint, or can't keep fluids down—we transport immediately. No argument."
"Okay. Let's do that," I say. "I just need to cool off a-and have some water or something."
