23
JORDAN
Ihad 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 amind your damn businessglare.
“I’m not sure…this seems bad.”
“Jordan, I’m fine.” His voice was hard and ragged. Maybe itwould 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.”
