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 legswobbled 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.”
We made it through the sliding glass doors, the cool air inside the hospital hitting me like a slap. The waiting room wasn’t as crowded as I’d feared, but every second still felt like an eternity. I half-dragged Preston up to the check-in desk, where a woman in scrubs looked up from her computer, her expression immediately shifting to concern.
“He’s in really bad pain,” I said, my voice trembling. “Lower right stomach. He can’t walk, he’s sweating, and he’s...he’s really out of it.”
The nurse nodded quickly and picked up the phone. “We’ll get him seen right away. Can you help him into this wheelchair?” she asked, gesturing to one parked nearby.
“Yeah, of course,” I said. Somehow, I managed to ease Preston into the chair without dropping him. He groaned again, his head lolling to the side. That couldn’t be good. My stomach hollowed out in terror.
“Preston,” I whispered, crouching beside him, “you’re gonna be okay, alright? Just hang on.”
The nurse finished her call and turned back to us. “We’re bringing him straight to triage. Follow me.”
I pushed the wheelchair behind her, weaving through the maze of hallways, the fluorescent lights above flickering faintly. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t get a full breath, but I forced myself to focus on Preston. He slumped forward in the chair, one hand clutching his side.
We stopped in a small room where another nurse waited. “What’s his name?” she asked.
“Preston Charming,” I answered quickly. “He’s a college student.”
The nurse nodded and knelt beside him, her tone calm but professional. “Preston, I’m going to check a few things, okay? Can you tell me how bad the pain is, on a scale of one to ten?”
Preston groaned. “Ten, he whispered.
I stepped forward, my voice urgent. “It’s bad. He said it’s like stabbing, and it’s getting worse.”
“Alright,” the nurse said, glancing at the other. “Get a blood pressure reading and let’s prep for an abdominal ultrasound. This could be appendicitis.”
They worked quickly, checking his vitals and asking me questions while I hovered helplessly nearby. I answered everything I could—when it started, what he’d eaten, if he had any allergies.
Soon, they were wheeling Preston toward another room, and one of the nurses turned to me. “We’re taking him for imaging now. If it’s appendicitis, he’ll need surgery. You can wait here, and someone will update you soon.”
“Surgery?” My voice cracked, but I nodded. “Okay. Just...please take care of him.”
“We will,” she said, her tone kind but firm.
As they disappeared through the doors, I sank into one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area. My hands were shaking, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. I stared at the double doors, willing them to swing open with good news. Thank god the nurse told me to bring him here. I couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if we’d stayed home. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Please be okay,” I whispered, more to myself than anything.
I lost track of time in the waiting room. The clock on the wall ticked on, but every minute felt like an hour. My foot bounced nervously against the floor as I stared at the double doors, half-expecting someone to come through and tell me something—anything. Every time a nurse walked by, my stomach twisted, only to sink again when they kept going.
