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She was boiling water for some oatmeal when she heard a groan and an ominous thud from the bathroom. “Dad?”
No answer.
After shoving the measuring cup and cardboard canister on the counter, she turned off the stove and raced to the closed door. “Dad? Are you okay?”
Still nothing.
Dread biting her composure, she gripped the knob. Her fingers shook as she cracked the door open. The creaking hinges shredded her nerves, but she didn’t want to violate his privacy or dignity any more than she had to.
When she poked her head in, she found him sprawled out across the floor. “Dad!”
Shaking him frantically elicited a low groan. “Boo.”
He was barely conscious.
“What happened?”
“Dizzy.” His body twitched, and he gave a pained moan. “Fell.”
His blood pressure must be way off. His pain was becoming unmanageable. Her father hated to admit these things, but she knew the signs.
“We need to go to the hospital.”
“No.” He shook his head weakly. “Help me to bed. I’ll be fine.”
How did he expect her to do that? She was young and healthy, but he still outweighed her. And he was practically dead weight right now.
“I’m going to need help, Dad.”
“Sure. I can—” Suddenly, he doubled over, clutched his stomach, and let out a terrible wail.
Heavenly felt utterly useless. “I’ll get help.” She had no idea from where. “I’ll get you to the hospital.”
He couldn’t even answer; he was writhing on the floor, too caught up in agony.
Panicked, she rushed into the main room and rifled through the plastic chest that contained the few clothes she owned. When she flung open one of the drawers, her mom’s old sewing machine, which she’d propped on top, nearly wobbled over. After steadying it, she dragged on a pair of yoga pants, an oversized T-shirt, and some sandals. She shoved her bra in her purse and set it on the sofa beside the door. She’d slip it on as soon as she delivered her dad into safe hands. Then she let herself outside, shivering at the predawn chill, as she scanned her neighbors’ windows. She didn’t know any of these people, but maybe one of them would feel sorry enough for her dad to help them…
The only light on belonged to their landlord, Mr. Sanchez. He was at least ten years her senior and the way he looked at her made her vaguely uncomfortable. But none of that mattered now. He had a car.
Dashing through the dark morning, she crossed the courtyard and began to pound on his door. “Help! Please…”
A long minute later, he wrenched it open with a disgruntled scowl…that he quickly righted when he caught sight of her.
They weren’t particularly friendly. She’d only seen him a few times since they moved in, but if he was willing to help right now, she didn’t care.
“Hi, Mr. Sanchez. I’m sorry to—”
“What is it?”
“I need to borrow your car or ask if you could drive my father and me to the hospital.”
“I just made coffee.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s early. But it’s an emergency and—”
“All right.” He sighed. “I’ll take you.”
“Thank you.” She grabbed the man’s arm in a thankful gesture.
He sidled closer. His eyes turned dark. His stare dipped and lingered. “I’m happy to help you. Let me pull the car around.”
“Actually, I need help lifting him off the floor. Can you…”
He set his coffee on a table near the door. “Show me where he is.”
With a bobbing nod of relief, she rushed back across the courtyard, making a vague mental note to grab a coat to protect her from the stiff wind. Suddenly, she realized the cold had hardened her nipples.
Normally, she would have been embarrassed. She had been at the art gallery. Beck had been too polite to stare…but she had a feeling he’d noticed. Seth, on the other hand, would probably have given her a knowing smile, maybe “accidentally” brushed his hand against them. He seemed like the sort of guy who would seek forgiveness way before he asked for permission.
Not that it mattered now. Nothing did except her dad.
As she reached the door to her apartment, she flung it open. “Dad!”
Please be alive. Please be conscious. Please hold on.
“Here,” he managed to choke.
She turned to find Mr. Sanchez behind her, his stare raking her. Was he really staring at her butt at a time like this?
“Follow me.” She directed him to the bathroom.
Her landlord wasn’t a terribly tall guy, but he was bulky, maybe had even been brawny once. He’d still have a much better chance of getting her dad off the floor and into his car.
Mr. Sanchez recoiled. “Ugh. You didn’t tell me he’d be half-naked. Don’t you have any pants, old man?”
“He was worried about relieving himself, not going to a fashion show,” she snapped.
The guy flipped her a surprised glance. “Uh, yeah. Okay. Where am I taking him?”
