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People moved past him on the sidewalk—someone falling down drunk on the street not a rare sight in this part of the city.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, warily taking a step closer to him. “Have you been drinking? Are you going to vomit on my shoes now?”
He looked up, his face shiny with sweat. “Not drinking. Could vomit. Side. Hurting.” He took a breath. “I know you…hate me right now…but before you go, can you maybe call 911?”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
He hunched into a fetal position. “Hurts. Side, stabbing pain. Something’s wrong. Like really wrong.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered and looked down the street, wondering if she could go back and grab one of his improv friends to help. But the walk was too far, and Jasper really did look like he was in rough shape. “Shit. Can you walk at all?”
He made an agonized sound but nodded. “As long as I don’t have to be fully upright, maybe?”
She glanced up and down the street, secretly hoping some other magical option would present itself, but none appeared. She wasn’t going to pawn him off on a tipsy stranger. “Look, my car is only a few steps away. I can drive you to the hospital and get you there quicker than waiting for an ambulance. UMC isn’t far from here.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to—”
She stepped up next to him and put a hand on his elbow, going into mission mode. “Come on. Stand up as much as you can manage, and I’ll help you to my car.”
He relented and slowly got to his feet but remained hunched over. She got a grip on his bicep and did her best to make sure he didn’t fall. He made soft, distressed sounds as she guided him to the passenger side of her car, like he was trying to hide how bad it actually hurt, and a pang of sympathy moved through her despite her annoyance. She managed to help him into the car and then grabbed an empty grocery bag from the back seat.
She dropped it in his lap. “All I ask is that if you need to throw up, use this.”
He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. “Promise.”
She checked the road and then hurried to the driver’s side and got in the car. The streets weren’t too crazy tonight, but she typedUniversity Medical Centerinto her phone to get the best route. They were in the Bywater neighborhood and only a few miles out from the hospital, but the narrow city streets could get clogged easily. The last thing she needed was to get caught in unexpected traffic somewhere.
Jasper remained hunched in the passenger seat, half-turned to the side, as she pulled onto the road and made her way to I-10. She was sweating now, too, and her fingers were tapping a four count on the steering wheel. She was probably supposed to talk to distract him. That was what people did in these situations, right? She’d seen those kinds of scenes in movies.
“This won’t take long,” she said, not looking his way. “Fifteen minutes tops. Maybe you just have food poisoning or something.”
“Right.”
“Or maybe your organs are going to explode.”
He made a choked sound, but then she realized he was laughing—or at least attempting to in between whatever pain he was dealing with. “Gee, doc, you really know how to delicately lay out my condition.”
“My sympathy meter for you is low right now.”
He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I know. I’m really sorry. Like really, epically sorry.”
“Whatever.”
A few seconds of silence passed and he looked over at her. “Can you keep talking? Even if it’s just to tell me what an ass I am. Anything to distract me from this stabbing pain.”
Keep talking.The plea made her throat want to close up, Jasper’s attention on her too intense. She could feel her tics ramping up. “I don’t know what else to say. Ask me something.”
“Favorite color.”
She wet her lips. “Blue.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Tate. Yours?”
“Deares.”
She turned to look at him.“Dearest?Like your mom is Mommy Dearest?”
