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“Just hold your horses!” It was Joyce, our waitress, and I couldn’t hold anything. Groaning and holding my stomach, I stepped toward the back exit that led to the rear parking lot and the dumpsters out back. Perfect.
I busted through those doors and looked around for a safe spot to hurl with whatever was left of my dignity intact if that was humanly possible at this point. Staggering, I bumped up against the passenger side of a trunk parked by the fences and the dumpster. It stunk, but it provided the cover I needed t
o do what had to be done.
“Oh God, help me.” Whining into the night, I leaned over and my stomach emptied itself out, splashing against the ground.
“Not God, sweetheart, just me, Taylor Jane.” Strong arms wrapped around my middle.
I smelled the vomit first, but it was slowly buffered by Hunter’s woodsy scent as if he’d been in woodshop cutting and sanding wood all day and then showered in some musky guy scent his aunt thought appropriate for boys his age.
“I am so sorry.” I cried between hurls.
“What did you eat? Cause I don’t want to order that.” Hunter pulled my hair back, saving it from the mess. “Your face is bright red and puffy. Taylor Jane, honey, what did you eat?” he asked again, giving me a none too gentle shake.
“Gumbo.” My body did a full reaction cramp after I said it. I would never eat it again and I definitely wouldn’t eat it if it killed me.
“Taylor Jane, the gumbo has seafood in it.”
“I know.” I cried shame faced. I just knew Hunter knew I ordered it on purpose. Nothing got by him, least of all my stupidity.
“Fuck.” Hunter didn’t curse much around me, but the word sliced between us raw and I didn’t know if he was mad at me, at the gumbo or a combination of both. Hunter pawed my body like he was looking for something and cursing when he didn’t find it. “Where’s your purse?”
“What are you looking for?”
“Your EpiPen. Don’t you carry one?”
Shit. No, I didn’t because I was old enough and smart enough to not eat seafood. I hadn’t had a bad a reaction since I was three. Nearly sixteen and I should have known better. While my reactions had lessoned with time, impressing a boy was the dumbest reason to try it out.
“N-no.” Stuttering between chills and dry heaving was all I could do as my body started to shut down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Hunter pulled me up into his arms and put me inside his truck, buckling me in.
“H-hunter?”
“Do you have a pen at home?”
I shook my head no because I honestly couldn’t remember if I had one or at least one that hadn’t expired.
“I’m taking you to the hospital. I don’t know what else to do.” Hunter shut the door, and I felt lightheaded, my breathing wheezy. I had probably thrown up everything in my stomach from the last week, but he obviously wasn’t taking chances.
Hunter sped through traffic lights and pulled right up to the ER in record time, throwing his old truck into park. He got out and carried me inside, shouting for nurses and doctors, telling everyone in his path I was having an allergic reaction. It was a quiet night, so they brought me in quickly. Hunter never left my side, holding my hand and somehow managed to be the one despite my weak shouts to pull my jeans down so the nurse could administer a shot in my butt. It was humiliating to say the least.
Hello, mortification, meet me, Taylor Jane Bryant, your latest victim. By the time the nurse realized how far things had gone, she’d finally shooed Hunter out of the room and pulled the curtain around my bed. Fluster colored my cheeks instead of the classic allergic swelling once the epinephrine started working. It was safe to say I learned my lesson.
“Taylor, honey!” My dad rushed in still in his dress shirt and tie from work. He looked me over, brushing my hair back, looking on the verge of tears himself, and I didn’t think for a minute how my stupidity might affect my dad. We’d lost my mom and this wasn’t something we were prepared to go through again. Loss was an open wound for us both and too fresh for just a Band-Aid.
I cried and Dad held me, threatening to ground me if I was ever without my EpiPen again. He was on the phone calling my allergy doctor and the pharmacy, practically buying a case of supplies. Hunter stood in the doorway, listening with a grim look on his face. I didn’t know if he was disappointed in me, angry or blaming himself for some ridiculous reason because that was just what Hunter did.
We were there about an hour when the whole crew arrived. Kristen could be heard from down the hall and Damien was hot on her tail. They were fighting again as usual, that wasn’t new, but the socked eyeball Damien sported definitely looked new. Jeremy, Becky, and the rest of my friends were looking in with curiosity, making sure I was okay. This was not how I wanted to spend the night and I didn’t want to be the center of attention either. The swelling on my face subsided to two cheeky lumps and red skin. The more I rubbed at them to make them go away the more Hunter held my hands down, telling me to stop when everyone was in the room.
In the chaos, I missed Hunter leaving and the nurse finally kicking everyone out saying I would be discharged tomorrow morning once the doctor came in to examine me and sign off on my paperwork. He saved me and I hadn’t been able to say thank you. I wasn’t in the habit of creating chaos to get his attention and I felt shamed because I did this at all. Risking my health was stupid.
I owed Hunter a great many things, starting with saving my life. I knew he wouldn’t want to talk about this ever, so I figured the only thing to do was to thank him with cookies. He was a cookie lover and we could both deal with that. I knew he liked chocolate, so I’d ask his aunt what he liked best when I got out of here and once my dad let me leave the house again without constant supervision. The look on my dad’s face unquestionably said I was grounded for an indefinite length of time.
19
Hunter
