Page 51

“I know how great I look,” she says in a cracked voice, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay, Logan, really. I just need a couple of days?—”

She makes a gurgling sound in the back of her throat and sits up, emptying whatever she’s managed to keep down into the wastebasket.

I rub her back, grunting.

“I think you might need some fluids, Meredith.”

“Maybe.” She spits once and then twice into the trash. “Do you think you could drive me?”

“Of course. You think I’d let you drive yourself? In this condition?”

I hurry to help her get dressed, putting her in a pair of jeans and a simple button-up blouse. She’s limp in my arms as I carry her out to the car, and I speed toward the urgent care, worried.

“How long has it been since you’ve kept something down?”

“Not sure.” There’s a slur to her words I don’t like.

“You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, just... pull over, okay?”

She doesn’t quite throw up this time, just dry heaves, and that worries me even more.

I sweep her hair back from her face and put her back in the car when she finally stops.

At the urgent care, they take their sweet time calling her back, and I pace around the waiting area.

“Mr. Whitlock, your wife will be called when she’s triaged,” the nurse finally says, and I don’t correct her.

Meredith doesn’t, either, which makes me happy. Maybe she’s just too sick to argue, though.

Finally, they call her back, and her blood pressure is low and her heart rate is up. So is mine. I’m stressed that they’re not taking care of her, and I wish I could just throw money at the situation.

But Meredith has some of the best insurance in the state because of her father.

“Logan, I need you to chill out.” She watches me pace around the small room after the nurse leaves.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m chill.”

She snorts. “There’s absolutely nothing chill about how you’re acting right now. They’re taking good care of me, you know?”

I let out a long breath through my nostrils and finally sit down in the chair across from the cot they have her sitting on.

“When was your last period?” is the first thing the doctor asks.

Meredith frowns. “A few weeks ago. Maybe a month?”

“So, you’re close to starting your cycle?”

She nods listlessly.

I stand up. “Why does any of that matter? She needs some fluids.”

The doctor looks at me coolly. “I agree with your husband, but I think we need to get to the bottom of this. Are you willing to submit a urine sample? It could be a urinary tract infection.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“The nurse will be in for your sample and to do your bloodwork, and she’ll hook you up to some fluids. I’ll throw in some nausea medication if your husband will calm down a bit.”