Page 45 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

Birdie nods, seeming relieved. "Yes, that's an excellent idea. Why don't you join me for some iced tea?"

I make my way to the patio, settling into the chair beside her. The cold glass she hands me is a welcome relief against my overheated skin.

"Look at those butterflies," Birdie murmurs, gesturing towards the garden. "Aren't they lovely?"

I follow her gaze, watching the delicate creatures flit from flower to flower. "They are," I agree softly, stealing another glance at her.

What's happening here? I wonder, fear coiling in my stomach. Is this just the heat, or is it something more serious?

"You know, Skylar," Birdie says suddenly, her voice stronger. "I've been meaning to tell you how much I appreciate all your hard work. This garden...it's never looked better."

I swallow hard, touched by her words but still uneasy. "Thanks, Birdie. I love working in the garden. It's...it's become a kind of sanctuary for me."

She reaches out, patting my hand. "I'm glad, dear. Very glad indeed."

We sit in silence for a moment, sipping our tea. I want to ask her if she's feeling all right, if there's anything I can do. But the words stick in my throat. I'm not used to caring this much, to being this afraid of losing someone. Not since I lost Theo.

Stay detached, a voice in my head warns.Don't get too close. You know how that ends.

But as I watch Birdie, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight, I know it's already too late for that.

I turn back to the garden, watching the butterflies flit through, bees buzzing from flower to flower.

Suddenly, Birdie makes a strange, strangled noise. My head whips around, heart leaping into my throat. Her face has gone ashen, eyes wide with panic.

"Birdie?" I reach for her, my voice trembling. "What's wrong?"

She waves a hand dismissively, but I can see the effort it takes. "Nothing, dear. Just a bit of...indigestion, I'm sure."

But there's something in her eyes, a flicker of fear that sends ice through my veins. This isn't right. This isn't Birdie.

"Don't give me that," I snap, my worry manifesting as anger. "Something's wrong. Tell me."

She meets my gaze, and for a moment, I see the fierce, independent woman I've come to love. Then her shoulders slump. "Perhaps...perhaps you should call an ambulance, Skylar. Just to be safe."

My hands shake as I pull out my phone. "What are your symptoms?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as I dial.

"Chest pain," Birdie admits quietly. "And...and my left arm feels numb."

Oh God. Oh God, no.

As I explain to the dispatcher, my eyes never leave Birdie. She's pale, too pale, and her breathing is labored. I'm halfway through describing her symptoms when it happens.

Birdie's eyes roll back, and she slumps in her chair.

"Birdie!" I scream, dropping the phone and lunging for her. "No, no, no. Stay with me. Please, Birdie, stay with me."

My hands are on her shoulders, shaking her gently, desperately. This can't be happening. Not Birdie. Not the only person who's truly cared about me in years.

Don't leave me,I think, tears blurring my vision.Please don't leave me alone again.

The world blurs around me, a kaleidoscope of fear and panic. My chest heaves as I try to breathe, but it feels like I'm drowning. Birdie's limp form before me is all I can focus on, her pale skin a stark contrast to the vibrant flowers surrounding us.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?" The EMT’s voice cuts through my haze. I blink, realizing I'm still on my knees besideBirdie's chair. I don't know how long it's been but the EMTs are here now, thank God.

"Yes," I choke out, wiping furiously at my tears as I look up at the man towering over me. "Please, you have to help her."

"I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me," he tells me, his tone professional but kind. "Can you tell me what happened before she collapsed?"

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