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“He’s fine,” Fender muttered next to me.
I turned to him, studying his face as he took another bite of the coleslaw. His jaw muscles flexed as he chewed, and for a moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“Did he say what’s wrong?” I asked, looking at Jagger again. He’d tell me. He wouldn’t let me worry more.
“Said he had chest pain. Not sure why he didn’t call a damn ambulance. We told him to get it checked but he’s stubborn. Won’t let a doctor near him.”
And I knew why.
Most doctors had betrayed this club, so why would Woodrow let them help him? Though, if he was in serious pain and his condition got worse, he’d have to let a doctor examine him.
I dropped the wing onto my plate, not feeling so hungry anymore. Fender nudged my leg with his knee, and I looked up at him with a questioning look.
“Eat. Two chicken wings won’t cut it.”
I frowned. “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat.” He repeated, his eyes dark.
Fine.
I put some more food onto my plate until he was satisfied, and when he finally stopped staring at me, I started eating.
I helped the women clean up after dinner. It took us a while because some men just couldn’t stop eating. Once they were all full and everything was clean, I walked out of the kitchen to find Woodrow.
I wanted to know if he was okay. Even with Jagger and Fender reassuring me, I needed to hear it from my uncle.
As I walked into the bar, I immediately found Woodrow standing by the pool table in the middle of the room, and when I approached him, I noticed him swaying back and forth.
“Woodrow?” I called his name once, then louder a second time, and when he finally turned around, I saw drops of sweat on his forehead.
He was holding one hand to his chest, and his words were breathy as he tried to speak.
“Ohmygod, are you okay? Woodrow!”
His knees gave out and he collapsed on top of me. He was too heavy to hold up, and so I dropped to my knees and tried my best not to make him fall to the floor or hit his head.
“HELP!” I called out, my voice cracking as panic washed over me. “CALL AN AMBULANCE!”
Buffalo and Iron came running, helping me lift Woodrow off me. “What happened?” Iron asked, pulling Woodrow against his chest.
“I-I don’t know. He was holding his chest and—I think he’s having a heart attack.”
Buffalo was calling 911, and as we waited for it to arrive, more people gathered around us. They were telling Woodrow to stay awake, and I knew they were all hoping not to have to perform CPR on him.
I was pulled away from the crowd, and as I turned around, I was faced with Fender’s gray eyes watching me closely. He cupped my face with his hands, searching for something. “You okay?”
I shook my head because why would I lie? Woodrow was having a heart attack, and there was little anyone could do.
“He’ll be fine. Go upstairs. We’ll take care of him.”
I heard the ambulance arrive, and I shook my head to protest his request. “Let me go,” I cried, pushing away his hands.
Paramedics walked inside, and the crowd split in two, letting them get to Woodrow.
When I saw his face, I noticed his eyes were closed.No. No, he has to stay awake!
“Remedy, go upstairs,” he said, his voice demanding.
