Page 92 of Loud Unspoken Memories

People are yelling, still trying to find an EpiPen. Kids are crying. A woman comes over, steps in front of us, and shoves a packet of Benadryl pills in my face. “Give him this.”

“He can’t take pills.” I push it away. “Besides, it won’t work in time.”

“I read that—”

“It won’t work!” I look at my son, limp in Dallas’s arms. His face is ballooning, and his lips are already turning blue. “He needs epinephrine,” I cry. I look at Dallas. “Dallas, oh my god.”

“No!” he shouts and continues toward the front of the hotel. “This is not happening.”

Tears are streaming down his face. He’s shaking. Yet he’s holding my son as if he’s a China doll, taking care to support his head against his chest, while at the same time keeping it extended to give him the best chance at getting air.

In the back of my mind, I curse the hotel for being so large and for having the kids’ pool area at the very back of the massive indoor structure.

Asher runs up behind us. “They’re on the way. Two minutes.”

Two minutes.How long has it already been? Does hehavetwo minutes?

I cry out a guttural sob, running beside Dallas until we get to the lobby, plowing through the curious onlookers who have gathered to see what the emergency is.

“Stay back!” Asher barks as he escorts us through the front doors.

Sirens sound. They aren’t close enough.

“Baby, it’s okay,” I say, putting my lips to Charlie’s forehead. I squeeze him gently. “You’re going to be okay. M-mommy’s here. I’m right here.” I look up at Dallas. He looks as destroyed as I feel. “Th-this c-can’t h-happen.”

“It’s not going to.” He sniffs sharply, tears still falling. “No way. He’s going to be okay. He’s got to be.”

He’s not looking at me. He’s only looking at Charlie. There’s not even room in my mind to think of what Dallas might be going through at this very moment. Because all I can think of is my son and how incredibly helpless I feel standing here doing nothing.

Lights flash. The siren is piercingly loud. The ambulance pulls up under the awning and two paramedics dart out.

I’m too distraught to even speak at this point. Asher explains. One of the paramedics takes Charlie and carefully places him on the ground while the other administers epinephrine.

In an instant, Charlie takes a huge breath, coughs a few times, then starts crying. His lips pink up. A moment later, his facial swelling starts to abate.

My whole world swirls and I fall into Dallas’s waiting arms.

When I come to, it must have only been seconds that passed, because Charlie is being put on a gurney and loaded into the back of the ambulance. Covered in blankets now, he has an oxygen mask over his face and he’s calling for me.

“We need to bring him in for observation. There’s always a chance of a rebound reaction,” the paramedic says, looking between Dallas and me. “We can only take one of you.”

“Me. I’m going.”

“We’ll follow,” Asher says. “Go.”

“Ma’am,” the paramedic asks. “Are you okay?”

“She’s perfectly fine,” Dallas insists. “She’s good and she’s going with him.”

I look over at Dallas as I make my way to the back of the rig. “Thank you,” I say, my eyes pools of relieved tears.

He’s visibly trembling as he nods.

The last thing I see before the large rear doors close is Dallas running over to vomit into a nearby bush.

And somehow, deep down, I know it’s the last memory I’ll ever have of Dallas Montana.

Chapter Thirty-seven

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