Page 15 of A Furever Home
We were about halfway up the staircase when he stopped.
I waited.
He swayed dangerously and started to lean backward.
I dropped the bag and was at his back in an instant—countering his momentum and pushing him forward. Banging our knees landing upward onto the steps was one thing. Both of us crashing backward was a catastrophe in the making.
The crutch slipped from his hand as he grabbed the railing. “Fuck.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Which I mostly did. The guy was solid—and probably had a good thirty pounds on me. Still, I had us both upright and balanced.
For now.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, bracing at his back.
“Dizzy.” His fingers were clenched white on the railing. “Head’s spinning. Damn.”
“Do you want to sit down?” I wasn’t sure how, but we’d figure it out.
“No. Not moving. It’s okay. Just…keep your hands where they are?”
“Sure. Of course.” I pressed both palms firmly against his spine while he pulled in slow, deliberate breaths.
“No offense if I puke on your feet,” he muttered.
“None. Um, is that likely?” I didn’t flinch. The muscles of his back were taut under my hands.
“Maybe. Damn.” He swayed, then straightened again. “Whoo. Merry-go-round.”
“I can’t catch you if you fall,” I admitted. “Lean forward a bit.”
“Smart man.” Arthur added his other hand to the railing, hunched his shoulders over, and bowed his head, shifting his center of gravity toward the wall and the steps in front of him.
For what felt like an hour but was probably five minutes, we stood there, me braced against disaster, him breathing in a forced rhythm, sweat breaking through his shirt. Then he said, “Easing off a bit. Hang on.”
“Take your time,” I told him, not moving my hands. Digging out my phone to call for help would be smart, but not letting both of us go backward down the stairs was smarter.
Inch by inch, he straightened, then took one hand off the railing. “Okay, that was fun. Not. But I’m better, thank you.” He shifted his weight away from the wall. “Yeah, better.”
“I’m going to bend and get your crutch, then we should gently go back down the stairs. I saw a staff lounge where you can rest while I call the ambulance.”
“No ambulance. No more paramedics or doctors or scans or any of that crap unless I’m dying.”
“Let me drive you, then,” I offered. I was pretty sure a dizzy spell was a bad sign.
“No!” He sighed. “My deductible’s six grand. Between the ride yesterday and the hospital, CTs, everything, I already owe that much. My copay is still twenty percent out of network. There’s no way I’m getting near the ER again.”
“A doctor, then. Just to check you out.”
“It’s no big deal!” he snapped. Then mumbled, “Sorry. I’ve had a concussion before. Dizziness happens the first few days. Anyhow, I was probably just woozy from stressing this stupid leg on the stairs. Getting shot hurts. Zero out of ten, don’t recommend.” He sighed. “Could you grab my crutch now?”
With one hand still on his lower back, in case the dizziness or whatever came back, I snagged the crutch.
He took a deep breath as he slid it under his arm. “Right. If we can get upstairs, I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down for a bit.”
I frowned. “And then what? You’ll go back and forth on these steep stairs by yourself whenever your dogs need to go out? You’ll manage the animals down here as well?”
He twisted to eye me over his shoulder.
