Page 51 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

WREN

“Oh my God, why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Claire says when she takes in Hudson and I standing on her front step. Hudson is out of it, leaning on me with his arm around my shoulders. “He looks awful.”

“I know, I know.” I adjust Hudson’s weight on me. “Hudson said specifically no hospitals, and I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do,” I explain.

Coming to Claire’s for help is the last thing I would ever want to do, after poking my eyeballs out with a fork. But as my panic rose in the car on the way here, so did my desperation to do anything to help Hudson. I can swallow my pride for this, for him.

Claire ushers us inside and gives Hudson a quick once-over, feeling his pulse on his wrist, and feeling his forehead for fever.

“Get him upstairs to the guest room. I have a kit I’ll bring up. He probably needs IV fluids and electrolytes,” Claire instructs me, turning to head the other way as I lug Hudson upstairs. He’s so weak.

“Come on, Landry. You’re gonna have to help me out here, okay?

” He groans as a response and picks up his feet.

I’m out of breath from trying to get him upstairs, and I peer down the hall of the virtual mansion my sister lives in, trying to figure out which of the nondescript doors is a guest room.

I don’t know her house well, having only been here on the occasional holiday, and the place is a maze.

I find the first one that opens into a room with no personal belongings, no evidence someone sleeps in it, and I decide it will do.

I get Hudson inside and use one hand to peel back the crisp white duvet.

“Rest for a while, okay?” I say as he lies down and I tuck the duvet around him. “And please, for the love of God, do not puke all over this bedding. It’s probably 600-thread-count Egyptian cotton and costs more than I make in a month. Even puking on the floor would be better.”

“It’s okay, let him vomit on it,” Claire says casually, walking in behind me. She’s got a red duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a large bowl in one hand. “This is Kevin’s room.”

“Oh, I thought this was—” I stammer. I look around the room, once again finding no evidence anyone uses it regularly, especially not Claire’s husband.

“It’s fine, Kevin won’t care. I sure as hell don’t,” she says with an eye roll.

“You two don’t share a room?” I ask. It’s the first and only indication Claire has ever given me that her life might not be as perfect as she makes it seem. Then again, she never mentioned Kevin at all during her visit.

“We haven’t slept together in a long time, but we keep this room looking like a guest room.

I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone who comes over.

Not that we ever have company anymore,” Claire explains, setting her duffel bag down by the side of the bed and zipping open the top.

She pulls out a few supplies, a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope, and starts taking Hudson’s vitals.

I shift on my feet as she checks him over. I feel so helpless right now.

“His blood pressure is okay, but his heart rate is high, and he has a fever,” Claire says, turning to root through her bag. “Did he eat something out of the ordinary in the last day or so?” she asks, and I go over the last couple of days we spent together in Vancouver.

It’s painful to think about. We were supposed to be enjoying a weekend away together, and instead, we’re at Claire’s of all places, unsure of our future together. I would give anything to turn back time.

“I don’t think so,” I say, still thinking about what it could have been.

“We had all-you-can-eat sushi last night, and he had a lot of it. We bet each other who could eat more,” I explain hurriedly.

Darkness appears at the edge of my vision, a similar feeling to the panic attack I had after the vote.

I purse my lips and breathe like Hudson had shown me.

Inhale, exhale. I need to be sharp so I can help him now.

“Seems unlikely that would’ve caused it.

Otherwise, you’d be sick, too,” Claire says, in between listening to Hudson’s heart and lungs.

She throws the stethoscope around her neck and turns to dig through her bag again.

Pulling out a few plastic packages, she opens them on the bed next to Hudson.

“He probably has some sort of stomach virus, which isn’t dangerous in and of itself, but it can cause severe dehydration.

I’m going to put in an IV. He needs fluids and some medication for the nausea, but if that doesn’t help, he’ll need to go to the hospital to rule out anything more serious. ”

“Okay,” I agree, the panic in my chest settling slightly at the confidence in her diagnosis, or at least in her ability to help him with whatever this is.

I may fight Claire on a lot of things, but I do know she’s a great doctor, and if she tells Hudson he needs to get to the hospital, I will drag him there kicking and screaming.

Whether he likes it or not, he’ll go. Because all I can think about right now is if something were to go wrong, and anything happened to him …

My palms sweat again, and my chest feels tight, like an elephant is sitting on it, a crushing weight.

Claire pulls out a huge needle and inserts it into Hudson’s arm, and I think I might be sick. Darkness closes in on my peripheral vision again.

“Go downstairs and wait in the kitchen if you’re going to get all queasy on me,” Claire says, though her tone isn’t sharp. “I don’t need two patients in my house today.”

I nod and head downstairs. I take a seat at Claire’s kitchen table, the late evening sun streaming in through the wooden shutters in her breakfast nook.

My mind is spinning with the events of the last few days.

The gallery opening, the opportunity I turned down, Hudson’s concern I’m giving it up for him.

The thing is, I’m not giving it up for him.

I’m giving it up for me. Because if I’ve learned anything over the last few weeks of being back in Heartwood, it’s that success and accolades are not the be-all, end-all.

I want to challenge the part of myself that is desperate for external validation—the part of me that still feels like the little girl, trying to earn her parents’ approval and always failing.

It wasn’t her fault I ended up this way, but it’s my choice now whether I continue down that path.

It isn’t a pretty one. The constant panic attacks, the unceasing stress.

It’s not healthy, and I need to reevaluate what my priorities are.

I can either go back to the city, find another engineering job, please my parents, and be miserable.

Or, I can stay in Heartwood. Find a job that pays enough to cover the bills while I create and pursue my art.

But most importantly, I could be with Hudson, the only person in my life who supports whatever dream I want to dream, and who encourages me to go after it.

Claire comes down into the kitchen a moment later, pulling me out of my spiralling thoughts. She walks over to the counter around the massive island, which is probably bigger than Hudson’s whole kitchen, and flicks on an electric kettle.

“Tea?” she asks, and I nod. Something warm would be great for my nerves right now. “The IV fluids are running and I gave him some anti-nausea meds, so I’ll go check in on him in a bit. Right now, he can sleep.”

I swallow, a thick lump of hurt pride sticking in my throat.

“Thanks, Claire.” I can’t look at her. Coming here has taken the last crumbs of dignity I have left after this weekend. Claire pours steaming water into two mugs and brings them over to the kitchen table.

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for. Contrary to what you might believe, I do care about you,” she says, pulling out a chair and sitting across from me. I blow on the hot, fragrant herbal tea.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” I say, still not daring to look up at my sister, though I can feel her intense Miller stare on me.

“Listen, Wren. I have always tried my best to make sure you were okay. But for some reason, all you cared about was Mom and Dad’s approval.”

“Didn’t you? Look at you, you’re like their trophy child.” I gesture around at the massive kitchen we’re sitting in, the superfluous house she lives in and walks around in like she’s a fucking Kardashian.

“Yeah, you’re right. I did everything they wanted.

I got a job, married a man they approved of, I have the life they envisioned for me.

Right down to how I get my fucking hair cut.

” She plays with the ends of her sleek, chestnut bob brushing her collar bones, straight and blunt like Mom’s.

“And you know what? I’m miserable. The only good thing in my life is these medical trips, so I don’t feel like I’m taking this disgusting amount of privilege for granted. ”

I’m stunned by her words. I open and close my mouth like one of those mounted fish that sings a terrible song, but no sound comes out. I’ve always lived with the assumption Claire had her life figured out. I never would have guessed this isn’t what she wants.

“Don’t say anything to Mom and Dad, but Kevin’s been cheating on me,” Claire says, looking down into her lap.

When she looks back up at me, she seems almost fragile, like the little girl I grew up with.

“When I’m off on an assignment with Doctors Without Borders, he brings women to the house.

I found a hairbrush one of them left in my bathroom.

And someone else’s lace thong under the bed.

” She shakes her head as if she’s still trying to understand how she’s ended up here herself.

“He’s probably sleeping with someone right now while he’s on his golf trip.

Meanwhile, Mom and Dad worship the ground he walks on. ”

“God, Claire,” I say, still unable to form a coherent thought about what she’s confided. “I had no idea.”