Page 46 of What About Us
Allie answers on the first ring, and after I fill her in on what’s happened, she assures me she’ll be here in thirty minutes to take over for Finn.
“Thanks, Allie,” I say and hang up. Throwing the truck into reverse, I say to Finn, “I’m taking you to Red Lodge.”
“No,” Finn says, and it’s the first time it comes out clear. She’s adamant. She tries to sit up from her slumped position, but a wave of dizziness must hit her because she drops her head back to the window with a groan. “Just take me home.”
I glance in her direction and huff out an irritated sigh. “We have to take you to the hospital, Jameson. You don’t look good.”
She shakes her head, obstinately. “No.”
God, she’ssofucking stubborn.
“You’re not thinking straight. You need to see a doctor. I don’t even know what your blood sugar is by now. This is seri—”
“No!” she says forcefully and then winces, rubbing her forehead. “Just home.”
Confusion creases my brows, and I grit out through clenched teeth, “What? Why?”
“I can’t afford a hospital stay,” she says, trying to force herself to sit up. Finally shifting to rest her elbows on her knees, she drops her head into her hands and sniffs. A tear rolls down her cheek. “Just...please take me home.”
I will argue with her about this if I have to. “Your insurance will cover it,” I start.
“No,” she says. “It won’t.”
Chapter 15
Hudson
I search her profilefor a few beats, frustration bunching my shoulders. She’s confused. That’s what this is.
“I just need my insulin and to rest and I’ll be ok,” she says, turning her head slightly to make eye contact with me. What I see isn’t confusion, it’s resolution. She isn’t budging and I can sit here and argue with her, or I can get her to her insulin.
“Please,” she whispers, and I can’t say no. Not with the way she’s looking at me like this decision isn’t mine to make.
I sigh and navigate toward town. When I get to Main Street, instead of turning right toward the edge of town, I make a left and head in the direction of her place.
“Thank you.” She sighs and relaxes back into the bucket seat when she realizes we’re going home and not to the hospital.
I nod, though I don’t feel happy about it. My eyes roam over her before going back to the road. “How are you feeling?”
Eyes closed, she tips her head back onto the headrest and blows out a long breath. “Like ass,” she says weakly. At least she feels well enough to try to joke.
“Did you pass out?”
“I don’t know.” When I glance over at her, her brows are furrowed. “Maybe,” she finally answers. “Probably.”
Four minutes later, we pull into the garage. I shut off the truck, then climb out, coming around her side to help her down. She lets me lift her out, but she refuses to let me carry her inside.
“I can walk,” she says. Still, I keep a close eye on where she’s walking, and my fingers stay wrapped around her elbow until we’re inside.
“You want to lay on the couch or in bed?” I ask and cross to the fridge to grab her insulin. Maybe she just forgot to change the cartridge in her pump and unhooked it all. But when I open the fridge, all that is there is Paige’s insulin. How have I not noticed there was no insulin for her in here?
She’s on her way to the stairs, and I can just see her tumbling back down them. So, I rush to her side. She’s not waiting, and by the time I get there, she’s already a third of the way up.
“Where’s your insulin?” I ask from behind her.
“On my nightstand,” she answers after a few seconds. She’s dragging ass up these stairs, but I know she’ll tell me no if I try to carry her.
“All of it?”
