“So generous of you,” she eked out on a breath.
“Water. Now,” he urged.
“Fine,” she relented. His arms hooked under hers and lifted her up to the headboard. She brought the bottle to her lips and took a sip over the bowl, demurely.
The water came back up with a vengeance.
“That’s it. I’m taking you to urgent care,” he ordered, removing the bowl from her lap the moment it all seemed “finished.”
She moaned in dissent.
“Yes. You’re dehydrated.”
She sensed him buzzing around the pitch-dark room. “Urgent care costs money,” she whined.
“Good thing you married someone for his insurance.” He was smirking. She could hear it in his voice.
Placing one arm under her knees and cradling her head with the other, he lifted her from the bed. There was no grunting. No griping. Just ease. Safety. Comfort. Someone was holding her. She wasallowingsomeone to hold her. She wasn’t certain which of those two things was more miraculous.
“Come on. We need liquids.”
His chest was warm against her forehead. “Stop discussing my hydration with the royalwe.”
“Can’t. I have to factor inmyhydration, too, because if I think too hard about how much water I’ve watched exit your body, I’ll freak out.”
She had no rebuttal.
The urgent care was packed. She kept her eyes shut to block out the fluorescent lights humming overhead as Elliot wove her through rows of hunched bodies. Scents of antiseptic andsomething she did not wish to identify mixed and mingled into the fibers of the high-traffic-area carpeting. Everyone looked as agitated and miserable as she felt, which was comforting in its own way. Here was a place where everyone was a mess.
In the back corner were two empty chairs. “Lie down across these and face the wall to block out the light,” he suggested. “I’ll get us checked in.”
She did just that. She appreciated not having to think. Thinking hurt.Everythinghurt. She kept an ear open while Elliot spoke to the brown-haired woman snapping her gum at the check-in desk.
“Please let them know that my wife has a chronic migraine condition and is severely dehydrated,” he told the woman managing the check-in desk.
My wife. It was the first time she’d heard him say it. It sounded like it meant something to him. Likeshemeant something to him.
She felt a tap on her shoulder. “She’s trying to bump you up the line,” Elliot told her, lifting her head to take his spot on the chair and then gently placing her onto his lap.
She nuzzled into him. “Good. Children and babies can take a hike.”
“I explicitly saidnotto bump a baby, but I think we have a shot of jumping in front of a guy named Mark with a ‘nasty sliver.’ ”
“Mark?” she asked. The name sent her neck craning around the room, pain be damned. There, next to the double doors, was a familiar, frail-looking man, holding up a finger wrapped in so much gauze it approximated the size of a child’s fist.
She turned back into the protection of Elliot’s stomach. “That’s my lawyer.”
“That guy?” Elliot sounded unimpressed.
“You have to make sure he goes in before we do. If he loses that finger, he will blame meforever.”
“He will leave here with all of his fingers. I promise.” She felt the soft tug of his hands in her hair. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little more concerned foryourwell-being right now.”
“You need to hide my face when we walk past. Just to be safe.”
He laughed breezily. “Deal.”
“I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.”
