Dalton, Tymber - Contractual Obligation (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (25 page)

Fuck.

Okay, if it still hurt this bad by tomorrow, she’d go to the damn doctor, as much as she hated to admit it. This was annoying. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked it, just an e-mail. But that reminded her to turn the ringer back on. When she reached her car, she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and pulled out of her parking space.

She slowly drove home and didn’t bother putting her car in the garage. She parked next to Tate’s car and quietly let herself in. The house was dark and silent around her as she slowly mounted the stairs to her room, passing discarded men’s clothing in the process.

She thought about walking down the hall to listen at the closed bedroom door, but then thought better of it.

Why torture myself?

She closed and locked her bedroom door behind her, then dropped her clothes on the bathroom floor before grabbing a warm shower. She checked her blood sugar—normal—and headed for bed after taking a couple of Motrin.

* * * *

Doug awoke with a start the next morning. Grey light crept in around the horizontal blinds covering the window. After weeks spent sleeping in a hotel room, he had to think to remember where he was.

Home.

Next to him, Tate shifted in his sleep, snuggling tighter against his side.

Doug thought the smile on his own face might break his jaw. Now, if the two of them could just convince Harper that this crazy arrangement could work for all three of them, life would be perfect.

After a few minutes, Tate slowly awoke, stretching and yawning before rolling over into his arms. “Did you hear Harper come in last night?”

Doug shook his head. “No.” He got up to use the bathroom and peeked through the blinds. “Her car’s in the driveway.” He glanced at Tate. “Whose car is that next to hers?”

He grinned. “You mean the Mercedes? Oh, that would be mine, dear. Yours is still in the garage. I tried to talk her into just letting me drive yours, but she wanted me to have my own car.” His smile faded. “She feels damn guilty. I tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault.” He arched an eyebrow at Doug.

Doug felt his face redden. “Yeah, well, had I told her about us, none of this would have ever happened. And Mom and Dad would be out of their house.”

Tate stood and walked over to him, throwing his arms around him. “I know. I’m not blaming you.” He thought for a moment. “Wait, I am blaming you, but knowing the whole story, I totally forgive you.” He kissed Doug. “Let’s get a shower. I have a meeting at nine.”

“Meeting? For what?”

“Who do you think’s been doing your job since you’ve been loafing in jolly ole England?” He slapped Doug on the ass before heading to the bathroom. “I’ll have to get my razor out of Harper’s bathroom.” He stopped and glanced at the time. “Crap, it’s after seven. I need to make sure she’s up anyway. I haven’t heard her moving around.”

He grabbed his robe and headed for the door. Doug retrieved a pair of boxers from the drawer and followed him out into the hall.

He didn’t miss the worried look on Tate’s face as he stood at Harper’s door. “What’s wrong?”

He pointed toward the stairs. “Coffee’s not on yet. She’s not up. And her door’s locked.” He knocked. “Harper? Honey, it’s after seven. Time to get up.”

* * * *

Harper spent a miserable night in and out of pain. About the time she’d get to sleep, another round of misery would overtake her, leaving her weak and trembling. She’d ask Tate to take her to the doctor in the morning. There was something wrong with her, and she was in too much pain to worry who the fuck knew.

Finally, she managed to drift into a fitful sleep. At some point she awoke to Tate knocking on her bedroom door and calling to her. She was going to answer when another wave of pain took the breath from her. She tried to sit up and only succeeded in rolling out of bed, landing on the floor on the far side, where she lost consciousness.

* * * *

Tate didn’t like the worry in his gut. Harper hadn’t looked good the day before, but after hounding her to check her sugar, he assumed it was just emotions from Doug’s impending arrival. He knocked again. “Harper? Are you okay? Come unlock the door, please. I need to get in there.”

Doug stood next to him. “Harper, please? We also need to talk to you.”

They listened and got no response.

Tate walked down the hall, found where his pants had landed at the top of the stairs, and fished his cell phone out of his pants pocket. He returned to Harper’s door and dialed her cell. Inside the room, they heard the muffled tone of her phone ringing several times until it stopped, and on Tate’s end it went to voice mail. He hung up and tried again with the same results.

This wasn’t right. He balled up his fist and pounded on her door, deep worry setting in. “Harper! Open this door right now, goddammit, or we’ll break it down! Answer me! Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t she be okay?” Doug asked.

Tate ignored the question as he handed him his cell and tried wrenching the doorknob open. No good. He took a couple steps back and slammed into the door with his shoulder. The door shook, but didn’t give.

“What the hell are you doing?” Doug asked.

“She’s in there, and there’s obviously a problem. Are you going to stand there or help me, dammit?”

Together, they hit the door two more times, and the lock finally gave, splintering the doorframe. They rushed in. Tate spotted her first and rushed to her side.

“Oh, fuck. Honey, are you okay?” He cradled her in his lap and gently patted her cheeks.

Doug stared, shocked. “Should I call 911?”

“Get her monitor first. I need to check her blood sugar. She might just have forgotten to eat.”

“What?”

Tate looked up. “Her blood sugar monitor. It’s on the bathroom counter. Go!”

The frantic tone of Tate’s command seemed to spur Doug to action. He found it on the counter and hurried back with it, handing it to Tate, who immediately checked her level.

“Since when does she need that?” Doug asked.

“She’s had type 1 since she was a kid.” He didn’t look up from the monitor while it calculated her level. “She didn’t tell you. Didn’t want anyone to know. Dammit! It’s normal. Call an ambulance.”

Doug apparently tried to process all this information. “She’s diabetic and didn’t tell me? Why didn’t she—”

“Doug!” Tate screamed, looking up at him. “We can talk about this later. Call 911!”

Doug grabbed the phone while Tate carefully picked her up and laid her on the bed. When Doug hung up with 911, he said, “They’re on the way.”

Tate didn’t look away from her. “Good. Go get our clothes out of the hall and open the front door. Bring me my clothes. I’ll ride with her. Take my car since it’s already in the drive and follow us.” When Doug left to do it, Tate grabbed her hand and stroked it. She felt hot, feverish. “Come on, honey. Wake up and look at me.”

Doug returned with his clothes as they heard an ambulance approaching. Tate quickly yanked on his clothes and grabbed her purse. “Go down and meet them. Then hurry up and get dressed.”

Tate had Harper’s purse and phone by the time the EMS crew made it upstairs. Tate told them as much as he knew about her condition and how they’d found her.

“I’m going with you,” he said as they transferred her from the bed to the gurney.

“What’s your relationship to the patient?” one of them asked.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he said.

He was vaguely aware of Doug standing near the door and silently watching.

“Okay,” the paramedic said. “Let’s get her transported.”

Tate followed them as Doug trailed behind. “What hospital are you taking her to?” Doug asked before Tate climbed into the back of the ambulance.

“Tampa Community,” one of the EMTs replied.

She briefly regained consciousness in the ambulance. Tate grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Hey, sweetie.”

“What’s…going on?” Her voice sounded weak.

“We found you passed out in your bedroom. Your blood sugar was okay. They think you’ve got some sort of infection.”

“Hurts. Stomach…”

One of the paramedics took over. “Miss Wells, what kind of pain are you having?”

“Stomach.”

When he tried to palpate her abdomen, she cried out in pain.

Tate stroked her hand. “I love you, baby.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I love you, too…” Her eyes fluttered closed again.

At the hospital, Tate got out of the way while they rushed her into the ER. He had to handle her admissions paperwork, and was finishing up with it when Doug arrived. A nurse led them back to the room, where Harper lay unconscious, hooked up to IVs and monitors.

A doctor carrying a clipboard walked over to them. “Are you family?”

Doug remained silent as Tate spoke up. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Looks like she’s got acute appendicitis. We need to operate immediately in case it’s ruptured.” He showed Tate the surgical forms and where to sign. “Is she allergic to anything?”

Tate took the pen and signed where indicated. “No, she’s a type 1 diabetic, though.”

“Yes, the paramedics told us.” He handed the men off to a nurse. “She’ll take you to the waiting room. Once we know more, we’ll either call the waiting room or send someone out to talk to you. Any questions?”

“Is she going to be okay?”

He didn’t like the hesitation on the doctor’s face. “We’ll take good care of her, sir.”

In silence, the men followed the nurse to the waiting room. “I’ve got to call Gorden and Harrison,” Tate said. He felt horrible, guilty. If he’d checked up on her the night before, he could have gotten her help sooner. “Dammit, why didn’t I get up and go check on her?”

“Why didn’t she tell me about her diabetes?” Doug softly asked again. Tate felt a little sorry for him. He looked shell shocked.

“Because you know how she is. She is fiercely protective of her privacy and doesn’t like showing weakness. No one else at the office knows except me, Gorden, and her father.”

“I lived with her. I love her. How could she not tell
me
?”

“You know how she is,” Tate offered again.

“Then why did she tell you?” Doug looked hurt. “Why didn’t she trust me enough with that secret?”

“Probably because of the same damn kind of thinking that led to you not telling her about me,” Tate said, exasperated. He realized Doug was trying to wrap his mind around everything, but he had to deal with telling her dad. “And she had no choice but to tell me, because at our first meeting her blood sugar tanked and I pulled her out of it.”

He looked up Harrison’s phone number first and called him. As he expected, he reached the man’s voice mail. He left him a message and called Gorden next.

He took the news well, but understandably sounded upset. “I’ll meet you there at the hospital. I’ll keep trying Harrison for you. He’s more likely to pick up if he sees it’s me calling.”

When Tate hung up, he leaned back in his chair and stretched. He didn’t want to worry, wanted to believe everything would be okay and turn out fine.

Doug sat, elbows on his knees, head hung low.