Page 103 of Love in Fine Print

I stepped back from Trevor and continued down the hallway until I came to the nurses' station.

“Hi, my wife, Olivia Bradshaw, is being admitted. I know she’s having a blood transfusion, but I don’t have any more information.”

“Your name?” the nurse asked as she typed on her keyboard.

“Ben Whitaker.”

“Take a seat, Mr. Whitaker and someone will be out to speak to you.”

Frustration boiled inside of me, but I knew that demanding someone speak to me now wasn’t going to help matters, so I walked over and lowered down into a chair in the lounge area.

I shifted toward Trevor. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“She had court this morning and texted me about thirty minutes before asking for a green juice, which she’s never done before. She only drinks green juice?—”

“Trevor,” I snapped.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I got there, and her coloring didn’t look right. She looked clammy and gray. She asked me to read the report from our private investigator?—”

“She askedyouto read it?”

He nodded, silently acknowledging the importance of that detail. Olivia rarely ever used the paralegals she had at her disposal because she was concerned they’d miss something. She was a control freak with a capital C capital F. She would never ask someone else to read a report for her.

“Yeah, she asked me to read it and tell her what it said. I did, but I think she might have been asleep because her eyes were closed. Then Mr. Gibson showed up. We went into court. When the bailiff asked for everyone to rise, Olivia stood and then dropped like a sack of potatoes.”

I grabbed my phone to call Charli and tell her what had happened and see if she knew what was going on with Olivia or why she’d need a blood transfusion when I heard my name.

“Mr. Whitaker?”

I looked up and saw a woman in scrubs in front of me.

“Yes,” I answered as I stood.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Lewis.” She looked down at the tablet she held. “Your wife is Olivia Bradshaw?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “What’s going on? I need to see her.”

“She’ll be transferred to a room shortly, but visiting hours are almost over?—”

“I’m staying with her.”

“Mr. Whitaker, our policy?—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your policy.”

“Sir, we can’t have?—”

“You don’t understand. She hates hospitals?—”

“She’s asleep, and we’ll be sure to keep her?—"

“I’m not leaving my wife here alone.”

“Hi.” A man who wore a white coat and slacks walked up and joined us. “I’m Dr. Benson. Is there a problem?”

“No. There’s no problem,” I assured him. “I’m going to be staying with my wife.”

Dr. Lewis sighed. “I told him that visiting hours are?—”

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