Page 50 of Claimed By the Cowboy
The edges of the room darken, Tom’s voice the only thing anchoring me as sirens wail faintly in the distance—coming closer, but maybe not fast enough.
Chapter 15
Tom
The following minutes blur together—sirens, paramedics crowding into the living room, brisk voices firing questions I can’t process fast enough. One of the EMTs slides a needle into Kitty’s arm while the other fits a mask over her face.
“Nebulizer treatment, just in case,” he says, his tone clipped.
Medicine mist fills her mask, fogging the plastic, and all I can do is hold her hand—small, limp, terrifyingly still compared to mine. My thumb strokes circles over her knuckles, not for her this time, but for me. If I stop touching her, stop anchoring myself to that fragile warmth, I’ll come apart.
“I’m riding with her,” I tell the EMT, my tone brooking no argument.
“Sir, we have limited space?—”
“I’m riding with my wife.” The words come out flat and final, with enough steel to hide the quake in my chest.
“I’ll follow with Delaney,” Luna says quickly before my sister-in-law can argue.
The ride is a blur of flashing lights and rushing pavement. I sit wedged against the gurney, my hand wrapped around Kitty’s, watching the rise and fall of her chest under the mask. Too shallow. Too slow. Every breath feels like it’s being stolen from me, and I force my lungs to keep moving. If I let myself think about what happens if hers stop—if I lose her—I’ll break.
“Stay with me, Kitty-Cat,” I murmur, leaning so close my breath stirs her hair. “Keep those beautiful eyes on me.”
But by the time we reach the ER, those eyes are closed, her bodyfrighteningly still.
The world becomes a whirl of fluorescent light and motion as hands and voices swarm us.
Luna squeezes my shoulder before peeling away. “I’ll be in the waiting room—I’ll call Angus and let the rest of the family know what’s happening.”
A middle-aged man in a white coat steps into the chaos, his voice steady as it cuts through the noise. “I’m Dr. Morrison, attending on duty. Who is the primary contact for medical decisions?”
“That’s me,” Delaney says immediately. “I’ve always?—”
“Actually,” I interrupt, my voice calm but unyielding even though my heart’s slamming against my ribs, “that’s me now. I’m her husband. Legal next of kin.”
Delaney’s expression flickers—shock, hurt, uncertainty. “I’ve always been the one to speak for her when she couldn’t, Tom. Since we were teenagers?—”
The doctor raises a hand. “Legalities can wait,” he says briskly, though not unkindly. “Right now, my priority is treating the patient. If you have her history, allergies, prior records, I need them now.”
Delaney thrusts the thick folder toward him. “Everything’s in here. Every admission, every medication, every lab result for the past decade. Asthma since she was four. Allergic to penicillin and sulfa drugs. Last hospitalization was three years ago. Rescue inhaler didn’t work this time. This isn’t asthma.”
“Good.” The doctor is already flipping pages as nurses move swiftly around Kitty. “That will help immensely. We’ll get her down to radiology and run some tests.” He turns, leveling his gaze at me. “Is there any chance she could be pregnant?”
My heart lurches. “I… We…”
He nods, already reading between the lines. “I’ll add a pregnancy test to the orders.”
I bend down, pressing a kiss to Kitty’s damp forehead. “I love you,” I whisper, fighting to keep my voice steady.
Delaney leans in on the other side. “Love you, sis.”
For a moment, Kitty is framed between us—the sister who carried her through the worst of her childhood, and the husband who vowed to carry her through everything else.
Then the gurney jolts into motion, wheeling her away. Delaney and I stand shoulder to shoulder, rooted to the floor as the doors swing shut behind her.
Can’t lose her. Can’t lose her.
Delaney’s whisper breaks the silence. “I’ve been managing her care since she was thirteen.”
