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“Shhh, you’re okay. I got you. Don’t cry. You’re going to be fine.”
At the words spoken to me, I feel the cold dampness on my cheeks. With every cooed hush he murmurs, I sob even more, not even knowing that I had started to cry again. Graham’s arms swing around me, holding me to his chest, standing on the side of the highway. His strength keeps me from flopping over and down into the ditch. My eyes burn from liquefied makeup draining into them. I rub my face against my arm. The sight of dead bushes and dry grass fill my vision in the illumination of the four-way flashers that Collins puts on the parked vehicle.
“Hush, now. I got you.”
He turns his body to sit against the rail, pulling me into his knees to rest my butt. Strong fingers rub against my back as I lean forward, my face parallel with the ground. The worst is over.
Or so I thought.
Another wave of nausea overtakes me, and I flop over and expel the rest of my stomach’s contents. My body dry heaves, and I fall limp into Graham’s arms. He smooths my clothes and fixes my hair.
“Here, sir,” Collin says, passing a bottle to Graham. The voice cracks over me. I am instantly mortified that not one, but two men have witnessed my demise.
Graham’s legs tighten around me, keeping me upright as he removes his hands from my shoulders, ending the light massage.
I hear the crunch of plastic and feel the coolness of water fill my mouth as Graham tips the bottle to my lips. “Rinse and spit to clean the taste out.” I obey silently—too weak to talk or argue. I wash the acidic taste of vinegar out of my mouth. The water is so cold and tastes so fresh. I have no idea why Collins is so prepared, but I’m glad that he is. Exhaustion takes over my body. I want to lie down on the gravel and be done with it. “Now drink the rest. You are going to be dehydrated if we don’t get fluids back in you.”
I grab the bottle and sip the refreshing water, feeling my stomach settle to what it was before I entered the bar. I mutter a barely audible thank you at the tenderness of being taken care of by a man who drives me crazy. “I think I overindulged,” I whimper softly.
“You think?” Graham eyes me incredulously.
“Justalitttt—”
“Angie? Angie, what’s wrong?”
I feel as if I am stuck in a blender. My head is too heavy for my neck. My body feels boneless. All sounds are muffled. Distant. I just want to fall asleep.
I want to fall…down.
14
I feel like I am floating. My body is weightless but my head feels like it is encased in a ton of bricks. My mind drifts back and forth like a pendulum. I float. Back. And forth. The air is cold. I shiver and tremble. I am in pain. It feels as if my brain is bleeding. Even my arm hurts. Ouch.
“Stop!” I scream, bolting upright. My eyes snap open in a panic, and I search for stability. Something that will anchor me to present. I am in a bed. In a sterile, cold room.
“Angie, thank God!” Graham gasps, rushing to my side.
“What’s goin’ on?” I slur, my mouth feeling parched. I lift my arms to push hair out of my face and cringe with a searing pain. “Ouch.” Monitors go off behind me, making my head throb.
“I see you're up,” a middle-aged woman says while entering the room.
I guess privacy does not matter here.
“You pulled your IV out,” she scolds. She turns and flicks a few of the buttons on the machines to make the beeping sound stop. The Winnie the Pooh scrubs only give the illusion of softness. “Lucky you, your bag has been done for the past ten minutes.”
I look up in confusion at Graham, who has dark circles under his eyes. He gives me a half smile and gently squeezes my hand.
“What am I doing here at the hospital?” I whisper. “Am I dehydrated?”
“Humph,” the nurse huffs. “That’s on the list of many other things.”
“Excuse me,” Graham bellows, “if you want to continue with your condescending tone, I suggest polishing up your resume and getting ready to search for a new job. You do realize that the Hoffman family donates annually to this hospital? I’m sure the Board of Directors would not approve of someone this low on the food chain making waves with someone as influential as myself.”
I sit in silence as they have a standoff over my prone body. This is what it feels like to literally be in the middle. I sink back into the bed and rest my head against the pillow until the custody battle ends. I can feel the stickiness on my left arm and can see the blood from the taped needle drip onto the bleached white sheets. The sight makes me queasy. I look toward the window, searching for any type of distraction.
“Maybe it is best that I send in the doctor,” the nurse suggests, her tone a bit better.
“You do that,” Graham snorts at her retreating form.
