Page 82 of Wish I Didn't Want You Back

I shook my head. He was so stubborn.

“I’m on my way. Stay put.”

I ended the call and locked up the house before running out the door.

The ride into town passed by in a blur. My thoughts bounced between worry and regret. I’d been so busy, wrapped up in my own mess, that I hadn’t spent as much time thinking about him and his health.

Marty was sick, and there was nothing I could do other than be there for him.

When I pulled up to the assisted living facility, I rushed inside and headed straight for his room.

I found him sitting on the edge of the bed. His face was as pale as the white sheets beneath him.

“Hey.” I kneeled in front of him and put the back of my hand on his forehead. He was hot. Definitely had a fever. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He coughed, and I could see every ounce of strength draining from him. “The meds make me feel horrible. I don’t want people fussing over me, but I can’t keep anything down.”

My heart squeezed at how frail he looked. “We are going to the hospital right now.”

“No.”

I pinned him with a look. “Yes. It’s not up for discussion.”

He coughed again. “You sound just like them.”

“Will you be okay in my car, or do I need to call an ambulance?’

“I’m not riding in a damn ambulance.”

“My car it is,” I said, helping him stand up. He grumbled the entire way to the hospital.

I found a spot near the ER and helped him out of the passenger seat. The paperwork took thirty minutes to complete.

I brought the clipboard to the receptionist and then joined Marty on one of the hard plastic chairs.

“I hate this place,” he muttered, eyeing all the sick people waiting to get called back.

“I think everyone feels the same way,” I said, checking my phone again.

I tried calling Brooks, but he hadn’t picked up yet.

After waiting for almost two hours for a room to open up, we finally got him settled into a hospital bed. His eyes were closed as a bag of fluids dripped into his IV. I sat beside him, gripping his hand.

A doctor came in and explained that he was dehydrated, a common side effect of his cancer treatments. They gave him some medicine to help relieve some of his symptoms. I could already see some of the color returning to his cheeks.

I reached for my phone, ready to call Brooks again, when the door burst open. He was the first one to step into the room. His face flooded with relief when he saw me. His dad and brothers were right behind him.

In two long strides, he was at my side. “Is he okay?”

I nodded as his dad, Tuck, and Hayes rounded the bed. “He was dehydrated. They are giving him something to help with his symptoms.”

He blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

Marty cracked an eye open and groaned. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Keith leaned over and rested his hand on the bedrail. “We were on the water. Our phones had no cell service.”

“Must be nice,” he grumbled.

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