Page 46 of The Girl He Loves

I wrap him in a hug. “I love you, and I can’t wait to give you a hard time about all those sleepless nights coming. It’ll be awesome.”

Doug groans and pushes me away, moisture in his eyes. “C’mon Tyler. Let’s go play some football.”

Tyler gives me a quick hug and is out the door, followed by Doug with the backpack.

Dax pauses before exiting. “Enjoy your quiet. We got this.” He winks and steps out.

It takes a good thirty minutes before I can focus on my To Do list. I register for the classes, organize my class notes, and make a few flashcards, which I use to help me study, so I can be ready for finals.

An hour later, I’m painting my toenails when my cell rings. Doug’s name shows up on the screen.

My first words are, “So, how was it? Everything he expected and more? Though I’ll admit I hope he kinda hated it.”

“Heather,” Doug says in a tone that makes me sit up straight.

“Oh my god, what’s happened?”

“There’s nothing to freak out about. Everyone’s okay. We’re at Halifax Medical Center in the emergency room—”

Simultaneously, I disconnect and spring up. There's no point in hearing whatever it is Doug has to say. Because I'll only be able to deal with it once I see it for myself.

Sliding my feet in flip-flops and not caring about the wet polish, I grab my purse and dash outside. Only my van’s in the garage and the remote is inside. I cuss Dax and his handyman skills and, with fumbling hands, get the front door unlocked. I dash through the kitchen and out the door to the garage, slamming my palm against the wall-mounted clicker that opens the door.

My breathing is shallow. My heart is racing. I glance at my watch and tap the screen, wondering why it didn’t give me an alert. Tyler’s seizures can be ugly. And they ravage him. Afterward, he’ll sometimes throw up or collapse from exhaustion. All of which is manageable. But to have to go to the emergency room tells me this is big. Too big. And no alert on my watch means it might not be a seizure. My mind races with all the awful possibilities.

I speed down the street, not even sure I closed the garage. My knees shake as I make the ten-mile drive from the beachside of Daytona to the mainland toward the hospital.

“Please let him be okay,” is all I can say.

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