AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thanks. I think I will.” When I get into my office, I collapse into my chair and close my eyes, still rubbing at the sore spot on my chest. I should review the other contracts we’re negotiating. We’ve been so focused on landing Gilbert that I’ve neglected everyone else. But the thought of combing over dry documents is daunting. I take another deep breath. Or I try to. My lungs don’t want to fill all the way, and the pain in my chest gets worse.
There’s a knock on my door, quickly followed by the voice of my right-hand person at the company. “Hey Blake… shit. Are you alright?”
I force my eyes open and Astrid’s face swims in my vision. Damn. That’s not good. I open my mouth to tell her I’m fine, but I still can’t catch my breath. It feels like someone’s sitting on my chest and stabbing a pen through my sternum. Fuck. I shake my head. “Chest hurts.”
Astrid’s eyes go wide, and she whips out her phone. “I’m calling 911.” She doesn’t say it, but we’re both aware my mom died of a heart attack at fifty.
I push myself to my feet and shake my head, forcing words out of my mouth. “Drive me. Swedish Medical Center.” She hesitates, as if she’s going to argue, so I pull my keys out of my pocket and start for the door.
“You are not driving yourself, Blake McCarthy.” She grabs the keys from my hand, and I let her.Idon’t think it’s a good idea to drive myself, but I won’t wait around for an ambulance to get here. I saw what that did for my mom. And being wheeled out on a gurney is drama I don’t need.
Astrid takes my arm and fires instructions at Mike as she jams her finger against the elevator call button. “Call Swedish Medical First Hill emergency room. Tell them we’re on our way. Possible heart issue. Then call Blake’s stepmother. Tell her what’s happened and where we’re headed. Give her my phone number. She can call Blake’s brother.”
The elevator arrives, and Astrid hauls me inside. I stumble a bit before I get my feet under me. “Jesus, you’re strong.”
She glares at me, and I immediately shut my mouth. “It’s so I can wrangle idiots like you into the elevator when you won’t let me call an ambulance. For the record, this is a horrible idea, and if you die on me, I will never forgive you.”
I attempt a smile, but based on her worried face, I’m guessing I fail. “I won’t die.” At least I hope not. Mom was only six years older than I am when she… Nope. Not thinking about that. I’ll be fine. “Really.” I press on my chest, trying to rub away the pain. It doesn’t help.
When we reach the garage, and the elevator doors open, we’re hit with a gust of fresh air. It makes me shiver, and I realize I’ve sweated through my suit coat. Astrid hustles me out of the elevator and across the concrete, shoving me into the passenger seat of my SUV like she’s channeling one of her Nordic ancestors. If I hadn’t batted her hands away, she probably would have tried to buckle my seatbelt for me.
The drive to the emergency room is equal parts blur and excruciatingly slow. I manage to loosen my tie and open the top two buttons of my shirt, but my breathing isn’t any easier, and I’m seriously worrying. This doesn’t feel like anything I’ve experienced before, and the pain is frightening. Shit. Maybe I should have let Astrid call an ambulance.
Before I tumble downthatrabbit hole, we’re at the hospital. Astrid parks next to the ER doors, hurrying me out of the vehicle. A man in hospital scrubs is waiting on the sidewalk with a wheelchair. “Blake McCarthy?”
Astrid nods and he pushes the wheelchair closer. I drop into it as the pain spikes, not even arguing the need for assistance. We rush through the sliding doors and approach reception. A dark-haired, brown-skinned woman wearing lavender scrubs takes one look at me and rushes around the desk. “Blake McCarthy, right?”
I attempt a smile, and she pats my hand like I’ve given it a good try. “Yeah.”
“Well, Blake, I’m Monique. Can you tell me what’s happening?”
“Chest pains. Can’t really breathe.”
She nods once and steps behind the wheelchair. “I’m taking Blake to resus two.” Wait, resus? As in resuscitation? Fuck. “Are you his wife?” I assume she’s speaking to Astrid and I manage a strangled snort. “I’m going with no, based on that reaction.”
“No, we work together. He’s my boss.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. “He’s forty-four, exercises regularly, and eats fairly well. He has a family history of coronary disease, and his doctors are located here in the medical building.” While they’re talking, I fish my wallet out of my breast pocket and hand it to Astrid. My phone goes off again, but as I reach for it, Astrid grabs my arm. “Give me your phone.”
“What?”
She holds out her hand. “Phone. I’ll give it to Mia when she gets here.” My phone vibrates again, and I hesitate. “Blake McCarthy, you’re in the damned emergency room for chest pains. If you think you’re going to do anything but relax and listen to the medical staff, you’ve got another think coming.Give me your phone. You’ll get it back later.”
Monique chuckles. “Oh, I like you.”
Reluctantly, I hand over my phone.
Monique unlocks the brakes on the wheelchair. “Alright, Blake, we’re going for a ride. He’s in good hands.” Again, that’s probably directed to Astrid, but I’m too busy concentrating on breathing to look. “If you can confirm his information with Lisa, that would be a huge help.”
Then we’re moving quickly toward a set of heavy swinging doors and speeding down a row of emergency bays, some with the privacy curtains drawn, some empty with the lights off. We stop at an empty room near the nurses’ station. Monique backs the wheelchair into the bay and helps me up onto the bed. Another nurse comes in right behind her. “Blake, this is Beth and she’s going to be doing some tests so the doctors can see what’s going on. Just relax. You’re in good hands.” With that, Monique ducks out of the room and I’m left with a new nurse.
“Blake, we’re going to get you out of your coat and shirt and hook you up to the monitors so we can see what’s going on. Alright?” Beth is a thirty-something brunette with soft hazel eyes and a thick accent that sounds Eastern European. She helps me out of my suit jacket, tie, shirt, and undershirt before helping me lie down. I shiver as the cold air hits my damp skin.
She slides a nasal cannula into my nose and a wristband on my left arm, then grabs a razor from a cart. “Alright, I’m going to have to shave some of your chest hair so we can get the monitor pads to stick, but I promise I won’t take a lot.” My chest hurts, and there’s so much going on I just nod and concentrate on pulling air into my lungs. The oxygen from the cannula helps. A few minutes later, I’m hooked up to a monitor, a thermometer is in my mouth, there’s a little clip thing on my finger reading my oxygen levels, and a blood pressure cuff is squeezing my arm. Beth takes my pulse and when the thermometer beeps, she looks at the readout.
She turns to a computer on a wheeled cart and taps at the keys, probably entering the data from all the tests she’s doing. The curtain swishes aside, and a man in dark dress pants, with a white dress shirt, red tie, and white lab coat walks in. “Blake? Hi. I’m Doctor Peterson.”
So, I’m Blake, and he gets to be Doctor Peterson? That’s awfully condescending, and I recognize it, even in my current state. I force as much air into my lungs as I can. “What’s your first name, Doc?” Okay, yeah. I’m being a shit. I don’t care. Maybe that means I’m not dying.
Beth snorts as she ducks out of the bay. The doctor blinks at me, eyebrows raised. “David.”
