Page 1 of Matthias’s Protective Embrace (Cardinal Falls #3)

FRANK

Two years ago…

“Shouldn’t be much longer, sweetheart.” The same kind nurse who’s checked on me six times in the last hour peeks at my vitals monitor.

I’m not sure why she bothers. Nothing’s changed.

Plus, they never provide clues as to what’s wrong with me.

“Are you sure there isn’t someone I can call for you?

A friend or family member?” She’s offered that a few times, too.

My parents are several states away, which means that calling them only causes worry.

They can’t get here to sit with me. Not that they would.

They’d probably use the opportunity to tell me all the way I’m screwing up my college experience.

Captive audience and all since I’m attached to a bunch of machines.

And my friends? They’re drunk in a frat house somewhere.

Which is exactly where they should be on a Saturday night.

Where else would a bunch of college students be?

Plus, they got tired of sitting in the Emergency Department with me three trips ago.

I don’t blame them. Watching me vomit, shit myself, and struggle to breathe, often at the same time, isn’t what I’d call a good time.

I’d skip it if I could, but I’m the main attraction.

“No, thanks,” I say, realizing I never answered her question.

“Okay, the doctor will be in soon.” She pats my shoulder before she leaves.

Thanks to the combination of antihistamines and anti-nausea medication, it’s easy for me to close my eyes and attempt to relax. At least until a doctor comes in and tells me—again—that there’s nothing wrong with me.

Which would be great news if I didn’t know I’d be right back here, doing it all over again sometime soon.

And that doesn’t include any of the times it’s not bad enough to come to warrant a trip to the hospital.

Though the nights of lying on the floor of the communal bathroom in the dorm while other students step over me, ignoring my moans, aren’t my idea of a good time either.

“Mr. Rosso?”

“Yeah.” I open my eyes to find a young doctor standing in front of me.

Figures. They’re the only ones who use my last name and pretend to care.

Otherwise, I’m an idiot twenty-one-year-old who can’t get his shit together.

This guy at least looks sympathetic, a soft smile stretching all the way up to his deep green eyes.

“I’m Dr. Anderson. I’m sorry you’re having a rough night.

” I hold back from explaining that those are the only kinds I have lately.

The days are bad, too. And I’ve tried everything.

Literally . If the internet thinks it can cure illness, I’ve tested it.

The only thing that worked was a juice cleanse.

For three glorious days, I felt better. As soon as I ate real food, it all fell apart again.

I asked one of the doctors at the University Health Center, and they said it was a fluke. Juice is not a cure for medical conditions.

“Any chance you know why?” It’s a question I’ve asked a lot. To the hospital, to the University Health Center, to the armchair doctors on Reddit . Literally anyone who will listen. Thus far, I’ve gotten a lot of nothing. I don’t expect this guy to be different.

“I might have some answers for you.” He pulls over the empty chair and sits down where he can see me. “Do you do any outdoor activities? Hiking, yardwork, or anything else where you might be next to grass or brush?”

I start to tell him he’s barking up the wrong tree.

I’m purely an indoor cat. Except for that one day about eight months ago.

This cute girl asked my roommate and me to go on a group outing with her.

Of course, it had to be hiking. At the time, I thought I might have a chance with her, so I jumped at the opportunity.

It’d been a miserable day of trekking uphill only to have the view blocked by cloud cover.

The only good thing is that I met a guy whom I ended up going on a few dates with. It was short-lived, but I had a good time. That was back before this whole thing started. Eight months isn’t that long, but it feels like a lifetime right now.

“Um, not usually, but I did go hiking a while back. It was one time, though.” Good date or not, I’m not making a habit of it. I’ll stick to indoor activities, thank you very much.

“Okay, do you happen to remember if you saw any ticks on your body afterward or had any bites?”

“It’s been a long time,” I say, trying to think that far back. It feels like reflecting on someone else’s life. Someone who didn’t know which hospital is closest to campus. “ It was hot out, and I got lots of bites.” The itching. I shudder at the memory of how terrible it felt for days afterward.

“That’s okay. I’m confident you have something called alpha-gal syndrome.”

“That sounds more like a made-up superhero than a medical diagnosis.” I glare at the man in front of me, double-checking his hospital ID. The little tag says doctor, but I’m suspicious. And far too tired for practical jokes.

“I can assure you that it’s very real. It sometimes develops after a bite from certain types of ticks. The result is that you become allergic to mammalian products.”

Ah, the catch. “I cut out meat and still got sick.” The nausea returns. This time, it’s because the tiny bit of hope that this doctor brought in has shriveled up and died.

“It’s not only meat. It includes anything made from mammal products. Things like dairy, of course, but also lots of things that are made using those products. They can be hidden in some foods, making it harder to guess which ones might trigger a reaction.”

Shit . I didn’t cut out milk. At least not completely. “Oh,” is all I can manage to say.

“It’ll take a couple of days to get your confirmatory lab tests back, but I’m confident in my diagnosis.

” He leans in and takes my hand that doesn’t have an IV sticking out of it.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long for us to put the pieces of this together.

It’s not a common diagnosis and isn’t part of our standard panel of tests. ”

I want to ask him how he figured it out when no one else could, but I’m so tired. All I want to do is sleep right now. Hopefully, that means this isn’t a dream.

“We’ll get you fixed up tonight so you can go home, but I’d like to have you make an appointment with a specialist. Dr. Cho is as much of an expert as you can get in this area.

I’ll send your test results over to him as soon as they’re ready.

This will mean a lot of lifestyle and diet changes, but if you do those, you won’t have to see much of us anymore. ”

Tears burn in my eyes, and I turn my head so he won’t see them start to fall.

If this is real—if this is an actual diagnosis—then it means I can return to something resembling normal.

After being on the verge of going crazy the last few months, the relief to find out this isn’t all in my head is too much to process.

The doctor tells me he’s going to check on some things and that a nurse will be in soon.

I struggle to express the words of thanks I want to, but I hope my breakdown conveys my gratitude.

A couple of hours later, I’m back in my dorm room, tired, but relieved that this might be the last time I shuffle back here after a night in the hospital.

They always leave me exhausted and wired at the same time, as if my body knows it should sleep but can’t quite figure out the steps to make it happen.

I slump into my desk chair and pull up my email. As usual, it’s full of various campus newsletters and announcements. Delete. Delete. I click on one from the Dean’s office that looks less spammy than the rest.

And… yeah, that sounds right. Academic probation.

I knew this was coming. Spending multiple nights in the hospital, throwing up daily, and practically wasting away put a real damper on my partying, but it’s also fucked up my already mediocre grades.

I only have a month left in the semester to bring them up or I’ll be out of school.

Well, they can add it to the long list of failures I’m accumulating.