Page 23 of Rockstar Rescue
"I should have told you," he wheezes, falling back against the pillows, still fighting for air. I stare at him, waiting.
And then it clicks—I've seen these symptoms before, in my cousin.
"You're diabetic?" I ask, though it comes out more like an accusation.
He nods slightly.
"Damn it, Dylan. You should have told me when we were at the crash site," I say, my voice catching in my throat.
Dylan's eyes look glassy in the dim light. "I was disoriented. Barely conscious. It didn't cross my mind until we got here. By then it was too late."
I rest my head against his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. His skin feels hot against my cheek, almost burning.
My mind races through everything I know about diabetes – which isn't much. Something about sugar levels. Something about comas.
"Then, after the bath, I felt better," he continues, his words slurring slightly. "It happened before. I missed a few days and nothing bad happened."
"Don't worry. You'll pull through," I tell him, though my stomach twists with doubt.
The nearest hospital is eighty miles away, and with the storm raging outside, there's no way an ambulance could reach us.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just didn't see the point. You tried to call for help. Nothing can be done until the storm ends. You did the best you could."
I press myself closer to him, saying nothing. His t-shirt is damp with sweat. I can smell the sharp, acidic scent of fear on him.
He strokes my hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "And nothing would have been different if we hadn't had sex."
"Okay," I say, trying to focus through my panic. "Let's think rationally. First, you need to lie back. Stay calm."
I glance toward the window. Through the frosted glass, I see the red flashing of the PNB as tree branches whip violently in the wind.
For a second, I consider lying to him about the storm passing soon, but I can't bring myself to do it. If anything, the howling outside has gotten louder.
Dylan's body suddenly goes rigid before he shakes. I push myself up against the headboard, guiding his head to my chest. His teeth chatter now, the sound cutting through the quiet bedroom.
"Just rest here. I’ll hold you," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Charlie Boy!"
At my signal, my dog jumps onto the bed and settles against Dylan's other side, his warm body pressing close. Charlie Boy's brown eyes look up at me, concerned and questioning.
We form a protective circle around Dylan, whose tremors are getting worse by the minute.
I tighten my arms around him, as if I could somehow absorb the violent shaking into my own body. My muscles ache with the effort of holding him steady.
Charlie Boy lets out a soft, worried whimper, his nose nudging gently at Dylan's arm.
"He'll be okay, Charlie Boy," I whisper, though my throat feels tight with unshed tears.
I run my fingers through Dylan's sweat-soaked hair and press my cheek against his burning forehead.
"Don't worry. He'll be okay."
CHAPTER 14
GINNY
Iwake slowly, my mind blank.
As if I’ve forgotten who I am.
