Coming In From the Cold(22)

"Well," Willow began, "my friend here had knee surgery at the hospital a  few days ago. And now I think he has a high fever. I called the  hospital, and the doctor is worried about an infection. I'd drive him in  but … " she opened the door.

" … but he's an enormous motherfucker," Bill said, striding over to the bed.

"Language," warned the woman.

Bill tapped Dane gently on the hand. "I'm Bill," he said. Dane didn't  move. Bill put his wrist on Dane's cheek. "Winner. That's a big fever  all right." He held Dane's wrist, clocking his pulse.

"So I'm not crazy?" Willow asked.

"Not about that," Bill agreed. "Besides the surgery, any other medical issues?"

"I wouldn't know," Willow answered.

"We'll get the stretcher."





* * *



Willow got out of the way when they wheeled the stretcher inside. "His right knee is broken," she said.

"We'll take care," the woman said. "Let's have a look." She peeled the sheets off a Dane.                       
       
           



       

His eyes flew open. "Finn?"

"I'm Rhonda," she said. "I'm just going to take a look at your knee. You're going to be fine."

"Finn?" he asked again, his voice panicky. Willow's heart splintered at  the sound of his plea for his brother. She did not know what to say.  "Coach?" Dane tried.

"He's on his way," Willow said. "You'll see him soon."

He craned his neck at the sound of her voice. His eyes were frighteningly unfocused.

Bill had maneuvered a board underneath Dane. "On three," he said. "One,  two … " He and Rhonda lifted ends of the board, transferring Dane to the  stretcher. Moving quickly, Bill clicked straps across Dane's chest and  hips.

Dane didn't like it. He tried lifting his head off the stretcher.

"Easy," Bill said. "This is just for the ride."

But Dane was having none of it. He shook his torso from side to side, and the stretcher rocked.

"Hey now," Rhonda warned. She flicked a glance at Willow. "A little help here?"

Willow stepped up to the stretcher and looked down at him. "Dane," she  said. His eyes swam onto her. "You're a little sick, and you have to see  a doctor."

"Not the nursing home," he said.

"Nursing home?" Willow shook her head. "Of course not. And Coach will meet you at the … doctor's."

Dane's hand flapped. It was held in by his side by a strap at his wrist.  He was trying to reach for her. So Willow took his hand. "You feel  good," he said.

"We can't allow you to ride in the bus," Rhonda said. "But you can follow us."

Willow considered this idea. She could easily climb into her truck and  follow them. But Dane, when conscious, didn't want a thing to do with  her. And because she wasn't family, the hospital would make her wait in  the waiting room. If she went, it would mean sitting on a plastic chair  all night, for someone who did not love her and never would.

The awful thing was, she was quite willing to do it.

That's really pathetic, she told herself. Even as Dane tightened his  grip on her hand, she knew what she had to do. She would let that  ambulance roll down her driveway, and then she would go back inside the  house and stay there. It was for the best.





* * *



Dane held tight to the angel's hand, even as the bed began to move. She tried to let go, but he held on tight.

"No," he said.

"Can't fit you and her through the door, sport," said a voice. A pair of  hands separated his from the angel's, and he didn't like it. So he let  them know. By yelling. But the bed beneath him moved anyway. He yelled  louder.

"Jesus, hold his fucking hand already," the voice said. The angel's hand slipped back into his.

The air was now colder, which felt good on his face. There was winter  light, which made everything better. But the ride was bumpier, and he  felt spears of pain in his knee. "Fuck," he said. The angel's hand  squeezed his.

"Almost there," the voice promised. Then he felt himself being lifted.  "Shoulda had my Wheaties cereal this morning," the voice complained.

He lost the angel's hand.

Christ.





Seventeen





It wasn't really lunchtime yet, but Willow had ducked away from her desk  at the insurance agency. Shrugging on her coat, her plan was to grab a  bagel from the little market on the corner. It had been such an awful,  nauseated morning. She had already thrown up once in the agency  bathroom, flushing the toilet to cover the sound of her retching. She  hadn't got the hang of morning sickness yet. But carbs seemed to help  tame the dragon in her gut.

Also, the cool outdoor air seemed to help. So Willow took her time  walking toward the deli, peeking into the windows of the ski shops that  lined the street. There was a delivery truck pulled up next to Rupert's  Bar and Grill. A metal conveyor slide stretched onto the sidewalk, and  one burly guy in a knit cap hustled cases of beer down the ramp, while  another grabbed them off, stacking them onto a hand truck.

Willow paused, considering her options for navigating around them. But  even as she did so, the smell of stale beer mixed with the urine that  some late-night customer had aimed into the gutter stabbed her nostrils.  All at once, Willow felt the telltale signs of another bout of morning  sickness-too much saliva in her mouth, the rising panic in her throat.

Her path blocked, Willow veered into the door of Rupert's, which was  propped open for the delivery. Inside, she ran straight past a startled  Travis and into the empty ladies' room. There, she leaned over the  toilet and gagged violently. Her body managed to throw up only a  pathetic amount of … she didn't like to think what. But at least she would  feel slightly better now.                       
       
           



       

Willow took her time wiping her mouth, flushing away the evidence and  then washing her hands. She rinsed her mouth repeatedly, blinked her  watering eyes and checked her reflection in the mirror. It was startling  to see that the Willow looking back looked almost normal. Sure, there  was a pallor there, but it was late January. And her eyes were a bit  red. But given the way she felt inside, she ought to have seen a  many-headed mythological beast looking back in the mirror. It was time  to sneak out of here and get back to work.

"Willow, are you okay?" Travis was waiting for her right outside the door, a concerned expression on his face. Damn.

She stood up a little straighter, throwing her shoulders back. "Sure,  Travis, I'm fine. Just a little … " She cleared her throat. "Emergency.  Sorry."

He folded his arms, leaning against the wall. "You sure? You look pale."

"Sure, I'm sure." If only it were true. She could still feel her mouth  watering uncomfortably. What she needed was to get away from here and  buy a bagel. That would settle everything down. She would have never  believed that eating food could cure nausea. But morning sickness was a  different beast than any other stomach upset she'd ever experienced.

"Okay," he said, still watching her. "I've been thinking about you."

That got her attention. Willow's eyes snapped to his, and what she found  there was startling. Her friend's green eyes were soft, like an open  question. The corners of his mouth tugged upward in a handsome smile.

"Would you have dinner with me, Willow?"

She hesitated. "I don't know, Travis, I'm kind of … " she swallowed. Her  empty stomach turned over on itself, and she steeled herself against the  sensation. If she didn't do something soon, she'd be dry heaving in the  ladies' room again shortly. "Travis, I … " she put a hand to her mouth,  trying to get control.

His expression changed to a quizzical one, and then flickered with  trouble. "Come with me, Willow," he said, turning around. He walked  straight towards an open doorway.

Willow drew in the deepest breath she could muster and followed him. By  the time she walked into the big commercial kitchen, Travis had already  grabbed something out of an open crock by the soup station. He cracked  the cellophane on a little packet and held it out to her on his palm.

She took the packet of saltines, broke one and popped it into her mouth  before the surprise set in. And then Willow felt her face begin to  redden. She ate the other half of the cracker and began to feel a little  steadier. She looked up into Travis's eyes again, not knowing what  she'd find there. It was bad enough that she had yet to make the  decision of a lifetime. But now all her troubles were laid bare for him  to see.

But when she met his gaze, it was steady. "I guess my timing is pretty  horrible, right? Trying to ask you out on a date while you're trying not  to puke."