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I giggled against his lips. I couldn’t wait for Hudson’s birthday party. Ireallycouldn’t wait until later tonight when I could show Vince how bananas I was about him, too.
Midnight, and I was wide awake.
But I was blissful as could be.
I kept true to my word and showed Vince how crazy I was about him. And I was having fun working on Hudson’s party decorations and favors.
Just as I was gluing the last orange cone together, an odd sound broke my concentration. When muffled groans hit my ears, I was up and rushing to the bedroom. Vince was talking incoherently and groaning in pain. Even in the dimmed lighting from the bedside lamp, I could read the hurt and anguish all over his face.
Vince’s eyes were screwed shut. He was dreaming. But this was unlike any other dream I’d witnessed so far. My heart was jumping out of my chest. I touched his shoulder and gave him a small shake. His arm flung out. I barely missed being coldcocked by my own husband. “Vince! Vince, wake up! Baby, wake up!”
He latched onto my wrist as his eyes flew open. Red-hot rage flamed his eyes.
“Vince! Vince!” I screamed. “It’s me. It’s Hailey!” His hand around my wrist was like a vice. And it hurt like hell. “Baby, please!” I cried.
His eyes focused on me. His entire body was coiled tight like a viper. He blinked a few times, then sucked in a lungful of breath. His chest heaved with each inhale. His grip loosened, and as realization hit him, he sank back into the mattress.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” He said it over and over again. He was drenched in sweat. So were the sheets and his pillow.
“Are you okay?” I asked, holding onto my aching wrist.
“No. I don’t know what’s happening. I think I’m having a heart attack.”
“Oh, my God!” I didn’t wait another second before I ran to the phone and dialed 911. I rushed back to Vince. “Vince? Vince!” His eyes were closed, and the only thought I had was that I just lost him while calling the fucking paramedics. Tears streamed down my face. “Oh, Vince,” I cried.
“Hailey?”
I yelped. “Oh, my God. I thought you died!”
“I think I am. I can’t breathe.” He tried to move.
“Stay still. Tell me what’s wrong. What are you feeling?”
He took a quick breath. “My chest is tight. I don’t know. I think I was dreaming, but I don’t remember.” I took my tank top off and wiped his forehead and chest.
When I caught him staring at my bare chest and ogling me, I knew it wasn’t a heart attack. Or at least I was pretty sure. “How do you feel?”
“I think I’m okay.” He couldn’t stop staring at me.
“Oh, my God, Vincent Daniel Weber. Even on the brink of death, you’re a pervert.” The smile on my face didn’t relay my anger or frustration.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Oh!” I smacked him playfully and rushed to get a fresh tank top. Knowing a team of medics would be here any second, I opted for a sports bra, too. I rushed out to the knock on the door and informed the medic about what just transpired.
After talking to Vince and asking some routine questions, they determined that he probably had a panic attack.
“I want you to take him to the hospital,” I said as they finished up.
“Hailey,” Vince sighed. “I’m fine. I feel a lot better.”
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “You’re going to the hospital,” I said to Vince. “And you’re taking him right now,” I told the medic.
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.
I looked at Vince. “I don’t know what just happened, but that was scary. And I’m not going to get any sleep until I know for sure you didn’t just have a heart attack.”
“Ma’am,” the medic said, “it wasn’t a heart attack.”
