“No can do, little lady. You’re getting the special ride all our customers get,” he says with a sweet smile.
I grumble under my breath, and I hate that I don’t have a choice. “Can we at least skip the needles?”
The man’s smile widens. “I’ll see if I can pull a few strings.”
I push myself up and try to stand, but everything starts to spin. Oliver grips my arm, holding me steady before my knees have a chance to crumple underneath me. “I’ve got you,” he says as I give him my weight and lean on him for support.
Oliver doesn’t let go of me until I’m on the gurney, ready for a ride I never wanted to take.
“Thank you,” I tell him, smiling up at him—or at least I think I am, but with my lips as swollen as they are, who knows what expression I’m really giving him.
“I’m not leaving your side, sweetheart.”
“Vinnie will drive your truck to the hospital,” Dad tells Oliver. “We’ll meet you two there.”
Great. The entire gang is coming. I’m sure by the time we pull out of the driveway, the entire family will know what happened and will show up at the hospital.
Oliver fishes his keys out of his pocket, handing them off to my uncle. “Thank you.”
“Take care of our girl,” my uncle says to him.
“Been trying to, but she doesn’t make it easy,” Oliver replies.
“She’s been like that since she was a little girl,” Dad says before bending over and placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “We’ll be right behind you, kiddo.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I whisper, feeling like a little kid again.
“And we’re on the move,” the medic says as someone starts to strap me down.
“Why?” I ask.
“So you don’t fly around the back. It’s a seat belt,” he tells me, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
Everything passes by in a blur as they rush me out the front door with Oliver somewhere behind us. It’s not the smoothest ride ever. The gurney needs a pair of shocks because every bump in the cement walkway is more jarring than some of Chicago’s biggest potholes.
I’m placed in the back of the ambulance, followed by one of the paramedics and Oliver.
“How far?” Oliver asks the guy as he reaches for my hand, which, thankfully, isn’t strapped down like the rest of me.
“Four minutes. And with Jessie driving, possibly three,” he says, moving around the bay in the back to grab at some cords. “Just hooking you up. No needles.”
“Thank you,” I tell the man. I’m not an easy stick, and there’s nothing I hate in this world more than being poked repeatedly.
The guy isn’t lying about Jessie. It feels like he’s driving a race car track rather than the sleepy roads of the northern suburb.
Oliver’s hand tightens in mine as we take a corner so fast, my entire body stiffens.
“He’s trying to make it in two point five,” the man reading the machines on the opposite side of Oliver says.
“I think he’s going to make it,” Oliver replies, giving me a smile. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m lying.
Now that I’ve had a little bit of time, everything is starting to hurt. The rush and fear of earlier has dissipated, and I’m feeling more than I want to.
Once we arrive, the doctors and nurses are quick to assess me and get me into testing. Other than what’s visible on the outside, there’s no internal damage.
Oliver’s with me when a new police officer arrives. “Good evening,” he says, and it suddenly dawns on me that the entire day has passed between the attack by Mark and my time here at the hospital. “I’m Detective Larson. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened today.”
