I leave her with a bowl of soup and ginger ale while I catch a few waves. When I return and find the bowl untouched, a prickling feeling emerges beneath my skin. She says she’s too nauseous to eat but promises she’s fine.
Still uneasy, I hop in the shower, and just as I’ve finished and have wrapped a towel around my waist, Millie comes racing into the bathroom. She barely makes it to the toilet before she throws up.
I rush to her side and drop to my knees. “What’s wrong?”
With a groan, she slumps against me.
Water from my hair soaks her bare shoulder. “Millie.”
She hurls again, then collapses in my arms, her body limp.
Heart pounding, I clutch her to my chest. “Hey, come on. What’s wrong?”
“Don’t feel good,” she moans. “Stomach hurts bad. Blood. Bleeding.”
Shit. She’s out of it, and fuck if it isn’t really freaking me out.
“Okay, honey, I’m going to help you get dressed, and I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I expect her to protest and insist she’s fine, but all she does is heave over the toilet once more. When there’s nothing left to vomit up, I support her weight and help her into a T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts.
Once I’m dressed, I shove my wallet and phone into my pockets, then gather her things as well. I help her slip into her sandals on the way to the car and ease her into the passenger seat as gently as I can. She clutches her knees into her chest the whole ride, her face as white as a sheet.
Okay, I’m officially worried. Periods aren’t supposed to bethis bad, are they?
We don’t have to wait long after she’s checked in before a young man in blue scrubs appears from a set of double doors and calls her name.
Whispering assurances, I help her stand and lead her across the room.
“Are you family, sir?” the man asks.
I could say no. Ishouldsay no. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go back there by herself. “She’s my wife.”
“Very well. Follow me, Mr. Greer.”
A nurse takes over, checking Millie’s vitals and asking a whole host of questions. “Are you on birth control?”
Millie shakes her head, and I shit you not, my dick twitches. The idea of Millie not being on birth control? Yeah, I can’t deny I like it when she calls me Daddy, but clearly, she was on to something when she asked if I had a breeding kink.
“Could you be pregnant?”
“No,” we answer in unison, our voices a little too loud.
Shit. Based on that response, she probably thinks we hate kids.
“Well,” she says, her eyes bouncing between us. “Let’s take a test anyway, then we’ll draw some blood.” She hands Millie a plastic cup and directs her down the hall to the restrooms.
I follow, arms out cautiously in case she stumbles.
At the bathroom door, she turns and presses a hand to my chest, stopping me from following her in. “I’m fine.”
“What if?—”
“I’ll be fine.” She rolls her eyes.
“Leave the door unlocked, just in case.”
She’s out of breath just walking down the hall. If she passes out in there, I’m not waiting for someone to get the door open for me.
