Page 38 of The Moment Promised

“Adeline.” He cuts me off, rolling over until he’s directly on top of me, gazing directly into my eyes.

His weight doesn’t ease the ache I feel, it only makes it stronger.

“Have I ever told you how cute you get when you’re embarrassed?” His lips hardly feather mine.

My heart beats so loudly in my chest, if he doesn’t hear it, he definitely feels it.

No,I mouth.

“How’s the moment promised?”

He smells like tea. I want to drink him up. Before I can ponder how to respond, his lips press into mine. I gasp from the unexpectedness of it all, taking no time to reciprocate.

It ends faster than it started because something loud thumps downstairs. Finn is in action faster than my brain can catch up. His pushes off me and bolts down the stairs. I’m right on his heals, gasping for air as it seems to escape the room.

The shattered pieces of glass don’t stop him as he sweeps up my mother’s body, ignoring the shards that must dig into his feet. He leaves a trail of blood, mixing with the last remains of vodka from the broken bottle.

The room spins, and my mother’s life flashes before my eyes as she lays limp in Finn’s arms.

I can hardly comprehend Finn telling me to open the front door, my ears ringing like shots have been fired. Somehow, I do as I’m told in a daze, opening the door to my house and the one to his car.

He sets my mother in the backseat where she collapses unconscious against the door.

“Mom,” I whisper, sliding in next to her and caging her hand in mine, trying to hold onto her for dear life when she can slip away at any moment.

I bring her lifeless body over my lap, resting her on her side in case she throws up. Her skin is cold and clammy. I watch her chest rise and fall only so often… Not nearly often enough. Between each breath I feel her slipping away, like the next may never come.

Finn speeds through my neighborhood, onto the main road.

Time feels infinite, like we’ve been driving for eternity, when only minutes have passed.

“Please don’t die,” I whisper. “I love you, Mom.” My voice cracks, but I imprison my emotions for now.

We just need to make it to the hospital. Then I can cry. Then I can break.

After what feels like hours, Finn finally says, “We’re here.” He wastes no time getting out of the car, he rushes into the ER, probably alerting someone to help us.

In seconds, a team of nurses rush out with a stretcher, Finn swings my door open. He lifts my mom out of the car, placing her on the stretcher. She looks so fragile.

They rush her into the back, but one nurse stays behind with a clipboard. “What’s the patient’s name?” she asks as we enter through the automatic doors.

Cold sterile air slaps me in the face, making this so very real.

Finn is right next to me, squeezing my hand and letting me talk.

“Um, Marsha Miller.” I hardly recognize my own voice. This one belongs to someone broken, much weaker than me.

I answer more questions, like my mom’s date of birth, if she has any allergies...the easy ones.

“Has she been taking any medications you are aware of?” she asks, giving me respectful eye contact, unaware of the hurricane wreaking havoc throughout my body.

This is a hard one. “She takes pain killers.” I swallow. “She takes them every day, way too much. And when she passed out, she was holding a bottle of vodka.” I state the facts, trying not to feel the weight of my sentence.

“Do you know the specific opioid?” She jots things down on the paper.

I panic. “I think it started with Vicodin, but it was prescribed to her years ago when she broke her foot. I don’t know if she takes a different one now.” How do I not know this? What if this is the one piece of information they need to save her life? If only I had read the bottle?—

“That’s okay. We will administer Narcan to reverse the opioid effects.” She writes so fast, I try to hone in on the way the pen moves in her hand, but she throws more information at me.

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