Page 99 of Reckless Promises

“I’m on my way.”

“I—”love you. “See you soon.”

Hanging up, I hand the phone back to Fallon. There are too many things bursting inside me and none of them can be said over the phone. I need Cillian here.

“I want to run one more test before I discharge you, just to be sure.” The doctor glances down at me. “Given how you’ve been… feeling.”

I’m thankful the doctor doesn’t announce I’m pregnant when I told him I wasn’t ready for people to know yet.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to have to come with me.”

“Why?” Daniel steps into the room at the doctor’s words. “Run the test here.”

“I’m afraid the machine wouldn’t fit in this room even if I could move it.”

“What kind of test is it?”

The doctor glances at me again, not answering right away. And I have a feeling if he does it will give away my condition.

“It’s fine,” I say, before he’s forced to blurt out that I’m pregnant. “Cillian wouldn’t want me to be discharged if something might still be wrong, right?”

I feel a little bad using my husband’s concern for my well-being against Daniel, but it’s my only option right now.

“You’re right, he wouldn’t.” Fallon sticks up for me.

Daniel’s gaze bounces from one of us to the other, before he nods in defeat. “Fine.”

A nurse brings in a wheelchair, and Daniel helps the doctor get me into it. I’m still weak from the poison, even if it should be mostly out of my system by now. And I’m secretly thankful the doctor wants to check on me because whatever those pains were, they didn’t feel right.

“How long?” Daniel asks, typing something into his phone. And if I had to guess, he’s probably texting my husband.

“Thirty minutes,” the doctor answers.

Daniel nods, typing as we pass.

The hospital is full midday with people rushing everywhere. But I’m immediately ushered through a door that saysNO GUESTS BEYOND THIS POINT, and I relax. I might not like the confinement of my room, but being out in the open doesn’t feel any better.

“What do you think might be wrong?” I ask when it’s just me and the doctor.

He’s quiet for a moment, turning me down another hallway. Pausing, he adjusts my IV, and my head wooshes with whatever floods me. “Nothing important.”

“I feel…” My head spins, and I grip the arms of the wheelchair tighter. “What’s wrong with me? My head is…”

Floating.

I’m floating away.

The doctor circles the chair, stopping in front of me.

“You’ll be okay, Mrs. Cross.”

I don’t know if he actually said it or if I’m imagining it, only that everything is fuzzy again. Like when the poison hit me. But without the pain or nausea this time. And when I slip away, it’s like a dream. Instant, serene.

Blank.

Empty.

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