I was fifteen both of those times, and she handled everything with the doctors over the phone.
“If you’re stupid enough to forget to pay attention to what you’re eating, I may just forget that you’re in the hospital.”
I didn’t forget. The first time, it wasn’t labeled properly, but that didn’t matter to her. The second time, I ate the peanut-filled bar on purpose. I wanted to see if she really didn’t care about me. When the inevitable happened, and I ended up in the hospital again, her response was the same. Cold, distant, uninterested.
She at least sent the driver to wait around and drive me home afterward.
Her indifference stung more than the allergic reaction itself. Each time, I hoped for some sign that she cared, some hint of motherly concern.
But every time, her absence and harsh words confirmed what I dreaded. My own mother couldn’t be bothered to show up for me.
The dizziness clings stubbornly, a side effect of the medication I know will pass, but for now, it turns the bright hospital corridor into a gently swaying bridge.
Dr. Cockwomble will hate me for dropping to the floor in the middle of the cafeteria —bringing attention to our department, and not in a good way—and being out of work for something as trivial as an allergic reaction. He expects resilience, the kind that comes packaged with a PhD and a relentless work ethic.
And ovaries.
Because if he or Hendricks are out for a sick day, nobody bats an eye.
So, planning to summon an Uber and dive back into my workload, I push through the exit. But the scene I find outside halts me in my tracks.
I see the guys in profile, loitering near the entrance—Oliver and Grey leaning against a stone wall with stern faces, while Misha stands in front of them, talking animatedly but not in a happy manner.
My heart does a strange little flip.
Why are they here?
“Amelia, hey,” Misha calls out, spotting me first. My legs, traitorous things, choose this moment to wobble dangerously. He’s instantly at my side, his hand firm on my upper arm, his gaze full of worry. “You okay?” He turns to look at the others, his tone a little desperate when he calls out, “Oliver!”
Oliver is by my other side in a flash, his concern palpable. “Can I?” His voice is hesitant.
Yes, anything,my weary mind and body seem to answer as I get lost in his deep green eyes.
Confused and a little overwhelmed, I try to keep my focus, but the world tilts a bit more, not entirely from the dizziness. Before I can sway too much, his arms scoop me up into a bridalhold with surprising ease, my arms coming up around his neck, holding on tightly.
Oh my God.
He smells like fresh soap and strawberries again.
So it wasn’t a hallucination.
“I’m heavy,” I protest weakly, embarrassed. I’m tall, which adds up more than he might think, even if I don’t look like it.
Oliver smiles. A small, genuine thing that makes something warm unfurl inside me. “I’ve got you.”
Bloody hell. It’s the meds, Amelia. Just the meds.
“What are you guys even doing out here?” I ask, looking at Misha.
“We would have waited inside, but Oliver…” He shrugs as if that would answer my question.
“Sorry,” Oliver whispers next to my ear, and a shiver runs down my neck. “I’m not good with hospitals.”
Wait, what?
“Great, let’s get you home.” Misha finally grins again, easing something in my chest.
He and Grey, who haven’t really looked at me, walk in front of us while Oliver carries me, his hand warm on my thigh. When I lean the side of my head against Oliver’s chest, closing my eyes and trying not to feel even more dizzy from the swaying of his steps, I can hear his heart beating frantically, even faster than mine.
