And finally, since the moment she collapsed, her breathing evens out.
I wait until Cami’s eyes drift closed before I slide my phone from my pocket and send a quick update.
Me: Stable. They’ve admitted her. Stripe and Shadow owe you big. Thank you.
Millie replies within seconds.
Millie: Always. Kittens are fine. We’re trying to figure out how to kidnap them before you two get back home. Tell Cami we love her. And don’t let her flirt her way out of those hospital socks.
A smile tugs at my mouth as I tuck the phone away.
The room is dim now with just the monitor blinking, steady at her side, a trace of hallway lighting spilling through the partially closed door. I shift in the vinyl chair, elbows on my knees, eyes on her.
She looks so damn small in that hospital bed. And all I want to do is crawl in next to her, wrap her up, and keep bad news away.
Instead, I reach for her hand again, and her fingers curl into mine like they’re already waiting.
Minutes pass like hours.
Eventually, a nurse wheels in a tray with a sandwich and a bottle of water.
“Brought you some sustenance,” she says, smiling. “Looks like you’re staying a while?”
I nod. “Yeah. Not going anywhere.”
“Good. She’ll probably rest better knowing that.” She sets the tray down, then walks over to check the IV monitor. “I’ll bring you a toiletry kit, and a pillow and blanket. That chair over in the corner actually folds out into a bed.”
“Appreciate it.”
When the nurse steps out, I take a bite I barely taste, my eyes never leaving Cami.
Sometime later, she stirs, voice hoarse. “You still here?”
I lean in, fingers brushing hers. “Right here.”
She opens her eyes, finds me in the low light. “It’s probably nothing, right?”
“Probably,” I say. “But we’re not betting on probably.”
She nods, then swallows. “It’s not how I pictured today going.”
“No? Fainting into my arms wasn’t part of the summer-fling fantasy?”
A breath of a laugh slips out, dry and amused. “Definitely not the sexy part.”
“I don’t know, Bubble Girl,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her hand. “You collapsing dramatically in the kitchen? Pretty cinematic.”
Her eyes glint, even in the low light. “I’m scared.”
I shift forward, inching closer, my hand rising slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. I let my fingers linger there, and she leans into them.
“Me too,” I say, barely above a whisper. “But we’re gonna figure this out.”
I dip down and press a kiss to her temple, tender, to keep us both calm.
“What if it’s not POTS?” Panic ripples through her eyes. “What if it’s the same thing that took my mom?”
“Then we fight it. With answers, with doctors, with whatever the hell it takes.” I steady her hand in mine. “You’re not alone in this.”
