Page 29

JORDAN

I had never seen Preston sick. In our three years of friendship, not once did he have a cough or stuffy nose or throw up. He’d been hungover a few times but sick? No. Never. Logan and I had had our fair share of flus and whatnot but never Preston.

He shivered next to me in the rideshare, his large body trembling next to me every few minutes as his hands covered his stomach and he took deep breaths.

“We’re almost home,” I said, running my fingers over his forehead and hair. He was so hot it freaked me out. “Should we go to the ER?”

“No. It’s just stomach pain or the flu,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “It’s nothing.”

The driver met my eyes in the mirror, his narrowing as he stepped on the pedal. It was only a five-minute drive until we arrived at the house, and I sent him a mind your damn business glare.

“I’m not sure…this seems bad.”

“Jordan, I’m fine.” His voice was hard and ragged. Maybe it would be better if we didn’t talk until we arrived back. We could change, get medicine, all that.

“Okay. Deep breaths, Charming. Almost there.”

He stilled and bent forward, foregoing the seatbelt and grabbing his knees as he lay on me. Then he’d adjust. He moved every minute, his breathing getting louder and his movements more awkward. One hand remained on him, the other googling the symptoms he had.

Fever. Pain. Chills.

God, it could be a thousand different things.

Worry gripped my throat when the driver hit a bump, and Preston gasped. “ Fuck. ”

“Can you be more careful?” I snapped, assessing my best friend to make sure he was okay.

“Lady, if he gets sick back there, I’ll charge your ass a fortune.”

“That’s fine, just get us there safely.”

Preston trembled even harder against me. This couldn’t be a normal flu. There was no way. Okay, I needed to come up with a plan.

Assess his symptoms, call the dial-a-nurse, then have Quentin help me carry him to a car.

I went through the checklist, never taking my hand off him.

My heart pounded against my ribs, aching with concern.

Preston was my rock, the most consistent person in my entire life.

To see him sick…I cringed. No. I had to be strong.

“Almost there,” I whispered, massaging his scalp. My fingers were wet—all from his sweat.

The driver pulled onto our street, and a small blip of relief entered me. We’d be out of the car. Every pull of breath stretched my lungs as my stomach twisted with the urge to drive faster. Finally, we pulled into the driveway.

“There you are,” the driver grumbled. “Get out of my car. ”

I didn’t respond. I pushed the door open and guided Preston out of it. “Put your arm around me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He wouldn’t look at me, but he did listen. He put his arm around my shoulders, leaning all his weight onto me. “It feels like I’m getting stabbed in my lower gut. I can’t even fucking walk.”

“Let’s get you on the couch.” I gritted my teeth, doing my best to hold him up as my legs wobbled. Stupid heels! We walked inside, and Preston immediately went to the couch, groaning as he cupped his lower stomach. “That cannot be normal,” I whispered, immediately calling the 24/7 nurse by phone.

The trill rang, and I tapped my feet as I stared at Preston with my heart in my throat. Finally, someone answered. “Hi, my name is Jordan, and I’m calling about my friend Preston. He’s in a lot of pain, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, Jordan, I’m here to help. Can you tell me what’s going on with Preston?”

“Yeah, so, he’s been complaining about stomach pain since earlier tonight, but now it’s a lot worse.

He’s groaning and clutching his lower stomach—like, the right side—and he says it’s so bad he can barely walk.

He’s sweating a ton and looks totally out of it, like he’s kind of confused or something. ”

She sucked in a breath, her tone more urgent. “That sounds concerning. When did the pain start, and how has it changed?”

“I’m not entirely sure but definitely an hour or two ago. He keeps saying it feels like stabbing and moving makes it worse.”

“Hm, has he had any nausea or vomiting?

“No vomiting yet, but he did say he felt really nauseous earlier.” I chewed on my lip, hating to see him like this: pale, weak, in pain.

“Alright, Jordan. From what you’re describing—the sharp pain in the lower right side, difficulty walking, sweating, and confusion—it sounds like this could be appendicitis. It’s important to get him to the ER immediately.”

“Appendicitis?” I repeated, my pulse skipping a beat. “Oh god, what is that? Are you sure?”

“It’s hard to know for sure, but his symptoms are consistent with appendicitis, which can be life-threatening if the appendix ruptures. It’s critical he’s evaluated by a doctor as soon as possible.”

Oh my god. I swallowed the ball of nerves, nodding, even though the nurse couldn’t actually see me. Life-threatening.

“Okay. Should I call an ambulance, or can I take him myself?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“If Preston is alert and able to get into the car with your help, it’s okay to drive him. But if his confusion gets worse or he passes out, call 911 immediately.”

“Okay, okay. Yes. I’ll take him now.”

“Good. It’s better to be safe. You’re doing the right thing, Jordan. Make sure to explain his symptoms when you arrive so they can take care of him quickly.”

She hung up, and I gave myself exactly two seconds to freak out. As I inhaled, a flurry of thoughts twisted and tangled. Oh my god. What if it bursts? Is he gonna be okay? I can’t lose him. Appendicitis… fuck. Then, I exhaled, making a plan. Keys. Get him to the car. ER.

After that one breath, I went into go-mode. “Quentin, are you here?” I yelled, yanking off my heels and moving toward our front closet to find my snow boots. “Logan, Q, if you’re here, I need help!”

I grabbed my unsexy winter coat and a hat for Preston just as footsteps thudded near me.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Quentin stood there, eyes alert. “Are you okay?”

“It’s Preston. ”

“What do you mean?” Quentin tensed, his jaw flexing.

“I think his appendix might burst. I called the nurse, and she said his symptoms align with it, and we need to get him to the ER as soon as possible.” I was better equipped to take him to the ER now.

“I have his keys. Can you help me get him in there? He said walking feels like he’s getting stabbed. ”

“Damn, of course.” Quentin scrubbed a hand over his face. “Let me grab shoes.”

I returned to the couch and ran a hand over Preston’s pale face. “Hey, Charming, can you sit up for me?”

“No.”

“We’re going to your car right now. Q is gonna help you. I need to take you to the ER.”

“This is food poisoning or something. Cramps. I promise. Just let me sleep it off.” He never opened his eyes. His breathing picked up, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “I don’t want to go there.”

“I know it’s a pain in the ass, but I’m not taking a chance with you. It could be bad if it bursts, Preston, and I’m terrified.”

Something in my voice had him opening his eyes. Sure, he was disoriented and feverish, but his concern for me was evident there. “You’re worried about me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

I nodded, my lip trembling. “Yes, honey. I need you safe and healthy. Can you please come to the ER, for me?”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispered, his gaze still on me. “You’re so pretty it’s making my chest ache right here.” He pointed to his heart “Jordan. You are…an angel.”

“Only you, Charming, would flirt while having a medical situation.” I smiled and grabbed his hand, hoisting him into sitting position.

“Well, when the woman you’ve secretly crushed on for years is staring at you with those wide eyes, yeah, your brain scrambles thoughts, and all you can think about is you.” He closed his eyes, leaning onto the couch, his words not quite making sense.

Secretly crushed on for years.

My stomach did that swoop thing, but there wasn’t time to think about the comment. I filed it away as Quentin and Logan joined us, their faces concerned. “Let’s get him to the car.”

I ran outside to warm it up because it was still wicked cold out, watching Q and Logan help Preston to the front seat.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Logan asked. “We can. We can come and help or stay.”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head, gripping the steering wheel as fear and worry and concern bubbled over. “Let me get him there first. Once I know, I’ll call you.”

“Please do. I’ll let his brother know too.” Quentin reached in the door and squeezed Preston’s shoulder. “Hold it together, man. We need you.”

“I think it’s just the flu.” Preston held his lower right side of his stomach. “But thank you.”

“Enough chatting. We need to go now.” I put the car in reverse, waving at Q and Logan as we backed out onto the road. It was an eight-minute drive to the campus ER.

I pulled into the ER parking lot faster than I probably should have, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ached.

Preston was slumped in the passenger seat, pale as a ghost, his breathing uneven and shallow.

Every few seconds, he groaned, clutching his stomach, and I had to fight the rising panic clawing at my throat.

“We’re here, Preston,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and hopping out of the car. “Just hold on, okay?”

He didn’t answer, just let out a low moan that made my stomach flip.

I hurried to his side, opening the door and trying to help him out.

He staggered as he stood, leaning heavily on me, his weight almost too much for me to manage.

His legs wobbled like they might give out any second.

So glad I changed my shoes. If I were in those heels, I would’ve toppled over.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” I said, even though my heart was racing. “Just a few more steps.”