I froze.
"You used to say you wanted to see what it looked like down to your waist. But you were always too busy, kept it short for convenience." He turned toward the glittering ocean, voice barely above a whisper. "Now you finally grew it out. It's beautiful."
Something slammed into my chest. The ache came flooding in.
I looked at Paul's profile. Sunlight carved out his features. His eyes held none of that old arrogance. What I saw now was something deeper. Restrained. Earned.
Maybe Lina was right. I didn't know what the future held. Didn't know if this late-blooming devotion could stand up to reality's cruelty.
But in that moment, under the Waikiki sunset, I heard it. The sound of my heart beating again.
Chapter Twenty
Casey
A piercing scream ripped me out of deep sleep, a sound of pure, visceral terror I'd never heard before.
I practically rolled off the bed, stumbling into Tommy's room. The moment I shoved the door open, the dim glow of the nightlight revealed a sight that froze my blood solid.
Tommy was curled up in his blankets, his normally pale face covered in angry red welts. The rash was everywhere, creeping from his cheeks to his neck, from his neck down his arms and chest. He cried with his eyes squeezed shut, his voice already hoarse, his little hands clawing desperately at his skin. His nails left red tracks, some spots already broken and bleeding.
I lunged forward and grabbed his hands. His palms were drenched in sweat. "Tommy! Mommy's here!" My voice shook so badly I barely recognized it. He cried that it itched, thrashing in my arms. His temperature was terrifying. He'd had mild reactions before, a few spots we'd treat with cream, but this was different. Completely different. Panic swallowed me whole.
My trembling hand reached for my phone. Without thinking, my finger scrolled down and stopped on Paul's name. I hit dial.
He answered on the first ring, voice thick with sleep—until he heard my sob. Then he was instantly awake. "Casey? What's wrong?"
"Paul... Tommy, Tommy's having a reaction, he's covered in hives, he's crying... he's breathing so fast... I don't know what to do..." I sobbed incoherently, tears streaming down my face, unable to catch my breath.
"Don't panic, Casey. Breathe." His voice turned rock-solid steady. "Listen to me. Get a cold compress on him. Don't let him scratch. I'm coming. Three minutes. Wait for me."
The line went dead. I stood frozen for a second, then bolted to the bathroom, grabbed a wet towel, and pressed it against Tommy's neck and arms. The cool sensation quieted him slightly—his sobs became hiccupping gasps.
I held him on the edge of the bed, whispering over and over that it was okay, Mommy's here, you're okay. My eyes locked on the doorway, ears straining for sounds in the hallway.
Less than three minutes later, tires screeched outside, followed by frantic footsteps. When the door burst open, Paul stood there in nothing but a thin gray sweatshirt and dark pants, his hair a mess, wearing slippers—clearly straight from bed. Sleep creases marked his face, but his eyes blazed with urgency, every trace of drowsiness gone. He rushed in without a word, took Tommy from my arms, examined the rash, and his face darkened.
"We're going to the hospital. Now." He yanked a blanket off the bed, wrapped Tommy in it, and pulled me against his side as we headed out. My legs felt like water, my steps unsteady.
Paul drove fast but smooth. The wipers couldn't keep up with the rain hammering the windshield, streetlights bleeding across the wet pavement. Tommy lay in my lap, no longer crying but still whimpering, his hands trying to scratch. I held them down.Paul kept one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to grip mine. "He'll be okay, Casey. I promise."
When we reached the hospital, Mark was on shift. He looked startled to see Paul carrying Tommy, but immediately focused on my son.
He checked Tommy's eyes, throat, and the rash pattern. His expression turned grim. "Severe acute urticaria. Possible mild laryngeal edema. He needs antihistamine injections immediately." His professional assessment brought brief relief—until his next words plunged us back into dread.
"Problem is, with this seasonal allergy outbreak, we're out of the specific medication he needs." Mark scrolled rapidly through computer records. "I've contacted the main hospital, but there's a storm warning in the mountains tonight. The supply truck won't arrive for at least two hours."
"Two hours?" My voice cracked. I looked at Tommy writhing on the hospital bed, my heart shattering. "He can't wait two hours! Mark, there has to be something!"
Mark looked helpless, rechecking records repeatedly. Then Paul, who'd been staring out the window, suddenly turned. "Mark, remember that salve Elder Kahuna from the community hospital mentioned?" His voice was ice-calm.
Mark blinked. "You mean that traditional remedy—breadfruit leaves and some kind of seaweed compound? It works wonders on reactions like this, but we don't stock it. Only the elder has it."
Paul glanced outside. The long-brewing storm had finally erupted—torrential rain driven by howling wind slammed the windows, water streaming down the glass, streetlights blurred by the downpour. "The elder lives at the foot of the mountain in the native settlement. Motorcycle's faster than a car. You have one I can borrow?"
Mark hesitated, then nodded. "There's one behind the ER—nurses use it for house calls. Keys are in the duty room." He turned to get them. Paul followed and took the keys.
"I've been volunteering in the community. The elder knows me. I'll get it." He clenched the keys in his fist and headed for the exit.
