Never Been Kissed(9)

I clear my throat, watching the numbers above the door crawl down to the basement. “Hi, Matty. I’m Sera. I found your Dad. We’re gonna take his keys, and we’re gonna drive him to the hospital, ok? He’ll get better there.”

“Okay.” Matty’s too calm about all of this. Freaks me out. I mean, I’m glad he’s not wailing, or shrieking, but this tranquility’s getting me nervous. Like this kinda thing happens all the time, and he understands what’s going on. Christ, how old is he?

The elevator doors open and I’m in trouble. I haven’t thought this far ahead.

“Matty-”

“A4, Sera. The blue Honda is Daddy’s.” I swallow past the pain in my throat. How many times has this asshole done this to his kid? Ugh.

“Awesome. Okay, do you know how to unlock the doors?” The car beeps three times, unlocking the front and the back of a blue car twenty feet away from us. Totally doable. Right? Right? “Of course you do. Alright, get the front door open. I’m going to drive.”

Matty does as he’s told, running ahead, and getting the passenger side open. God, this asshole weighs a ton. Bastard probably has a whole protein diet, protein shake thing going on. I grunt with every step as he stays glued to my back, wondering if I’m going to pop a knee and Matty’ll have to drag both our sorry asses to the car.

Hunter keeps making little hurt sounds in his throat, little whimpers and unintelligible noises I can’t make out as anything in English. At least he’s not fighting me anymore.

Pivoting around when we finally get to the car, I end up sitting on his lap, manoeuvring him how I want in the passenger’s seat. Scrambling off, grunting with exertion, I get his long legs into the car, half-crawling over him to get his seat belt on. I shut the door, only to see Matty sitting in his car seat.

This thing is NASA-sanctioned. I can’t figure out the snaps and where they’re supposed to go. Matty helps me, pointing out where buckles snap into locks, and where the straps tighten. I start the car, hoping we’ve got at least a quarter tank of gas.

Amazing. I screech out of the underground parking lot, almost drifting around the corner Fast and the Furious 3 style, almost taking out another car’s mirror. Whatever. I woulda paid for that. Flooring the gas pedal, we get out of the fluorescent –lit parking lot and into the daylight.

“Hunter? HUNTER!” I yell, Charlie-horsing his thigh with my fist. He yelps. Good. “We’re going to the hospital like you asked. We’ll be there in fifteen.” He nods absently, and his head falls back against the headrest. I keep sneaking glances at him, as I burn through three stop signs in a row. He’s gone and closed his eyes, barely breathing.

Better make the drive under ten minutes.

I make it in eight and a half.





I slam the brakes, haul up the emergency brake in case someone decides to tow us before I get Hunter’s ass fully in and registered in Emergency. Turning, I see Matty trying to undo his million and two straps surrounding his little body. I turn off the car, grab my purse, and haul ass to his side of the car.

My hands shake as I try to get the snaps undone, helping him as much as I can. When he’s free, he keeps a hold of the back of my shirt as I get Hunter’s passenger door open. I heave Hunt’s legs out, pulling my back, and have to smack his face a few times to get him awake and lucid. I don’t think he sees me, but I’m hoping his body is on automatic enough to listen.

“Ma’am you can’t park here-” A security guard has Hunter’s door in hand ready to close it on his feet.

“Does he look okay to YOU?” I yell, pulling on Hunter’s arms to get him out of the way. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him! Do something useful and get him a wheelchair! Get him inside!”I screech, sounding like a lunatic. I don’t care. Now’s not the time for stupid questions and dumb rules.

The guard gets high up on his authority horse, puffing out his chest.

“Look, there’s something wrong with him. Get me a wheelchair. We need to get him inside. NOW.”

Tweedle-Dee stares at me long and hard. Long enough to make a point. Long enough to waste time and for Matty to lose it.

“My Daddy is SICK! HELP HIM!” Matty howls, winding his fists into the back of my shirt. The hideous sound that comes out his mouth makes me want to cover my ears, and hide in a corner.

“Help me get him out. Hurry!” I yell.

It takes three orderlies to get Hunter out of the car. Three of them to bark questions at me that I don’t have the answers to.

Matty trembles beside me, tears leaving shining tracks down his cheeks. I don’t know what to tell him; I don’t know what I can say. When my blank face doesn’t give the nurses any answers, Matty pipes up: “Insulin-dependent diabetic.”