Chapter 5 ✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

Brick Hemmingway was twice my size and strong enough to terrify half the room, but anaphylaxis did not care.

The moment he admitted his throat felt tight, every argument from the last hour disappeared from my mind. I pulled the first auto-injector from the pouch, removed the safety cap, and moved closer to his chair. Brick watched my hands with the same stubborn suspicion he had aimed at me since I walked into the clubhouse, but there was a difference now. His breathing was faster, and the wheeze at the end of each inhale had become impossible to ignore.

“You sure?” Brick rasped.

I braced one hand against his thigh. “Completely.”

I pressed the injector into the outer side of his leg through his jeans and held it there until the medication delivered. Brick flinched once but did not pull away. Behind me, Knox was already on the phone with emergency dispatch, repeating the symptoms I had given him.

“Ambulance is coming,” Knox told us.

I nodded without looking away from Brick. “Good. Tell them his symptoms are progressing quickly.”

Brick tried to sit straighter, but the movement made him pause. His face had gone pale beneath the redness spreading over his neck, and sweat had started along his hairline. I reached for his wrist and found a pulse that was far too fast and weaker than I wanted.

“Any dizziness?” I questioned, keeping my fingers in place.

Brick swallowed carefully. “A little.”

Maeve stepped closer from the doorway. “What do you need?”

I looked toward the couch against the wall. “Help me get him over there. He needs to lie down, and I want his legs elevated unless his breathing gets worse.”

Brick frowned at me. “I can move myself.”

I slid an arm beneath his forearm. “Then move slowly, because I am not catching you if you decide to prove a point and pass out.”

Knox took his other side, and together we got Brick onto the couch. He insisted on doing most of the work himself, but I felt the moment his knees softened. By the time he was lying back, he looked more annoyed by his own body than frightened by what it was doing.

“You always this bossy?” Brick muttered.

I lifted his legs onto the arm of the couch. “Only when somebody is making my job unnecessarily difficult.”

Maeve glanced toward the front of the clubhouse. “I’ll clear the entrance for EMS.”

“Thank you,” I replied before turning back to Brick.

The hives had spread beyond his neck and shoulder. Angry welts crossed the top of his chest and continued down one arm. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, counting the speed of his breathing while he tried not to scratch at his skin.

“Leave the hives alone,” I warned when his hand moved toward his neck again.

“They burn,” Brick complained through another rough breath.

“I know.”

There was no blood-pressure cuff in the office, but I did not need a machine to know I was worried about his circulation. His pulse was weak, his skin was cool despite the flushing, and he was becoming lightheaded. Those signs, combined with the airway symptoms, were enough.

I glanced toward Knox. “Tell dispatch he may be hypotensive.”

Knox repeated it into the phone immediately.

Brick’s eyes followed me. “You work in an ER?”

“I did,” I replied while I checked his pulse again.

His brow tightened. “Did?”

“Later,” I answered.

The word came out more sharply than I intended. I had no interest in explaining Wayne’s cancer while another man’s airway was threatening to close in front of me. For years, emergency medicine had been the place where I felt most capable. Then Wayne got sick, and little by little my job had been replaced by medication schedules, oncology appointments, oxygen tanks, pain management, and the endless exhaustion of caring for someone I loved while knowing I could not save him.

Brick’s wheeze grew louder and pulled me firmly back into the room.

I checked the time and opened the pouch again. His symptoms had not improved enough after the first dose, and I was no longer willing to wait.

Brick looked at the second auto-injector in my hand. “Already?”

“Your throat is still tight, your breathing is worse, and you are getting more lightheaded,” I explained. “I am keeping the second dose ready.”

He did not argue, which worried me almost as much as the wheezing.

Knox moved closer. “What happens if the second one does not work?”

“EMS takes over with oxygen, IV fluids, and airway support if they need it,” I replied. “Right now, the most important thing is that he got epinephrine early.”

Brick looked at me after I spoke. For the first time since we met, there was no challenge in his expression. He was watching me because he needed me to know what I was doing.

I rested one hand lightly on his shoulder. “You are getting treated early, and that gives you a much better chance of staying ahead of this.”

Brick breathed through his mouth. “You always talk people through things like this?”

“When they let me,” I replied.

His mouth almost curved, but another tight breath ruined the attempt.

I checked the clock again. Five minutes had passed, and the improvement I wanted was not there. His pulse was still fast and weak, his voice was rougher, and he was struggling harder for each breath.

“I’m giving the second dose,” I told him.

Brick nodded once.

I removed the safety cap and pressed the second injector into his opposite thigh. His body tensed, then relaxed against the couch as I pulled it away.

For a few seconds, I watched nothing but his breathing. It was still present, still labored, and still too fast. I kept my fingers against his wrist while Knox listened for the ambulance outside.

Brick’s eyelids drifted shut.

I touched his jaw. “Open your eyes.”

They lifted slowly.

“What’s your full name?” I prompted.

Brick gave me a look that would have been irritated if he had more energy. “Brick Hemmingway.”

“Where are you?”

“At the clubhouse.”

I nodded. “Good.”

He breathed in, swallowed, and closed his eyes again.

This time, he did not reopen them when I immediately called his name.

My own pulse jumped, but I kept my voice controlled. I leaned over him, checked that he was still breathing, and pressed my fingers against his wrist again. His pulse was there, though still weak.

From the hallway, Maeve called out, “They’re pulling in now.”

The sound of sirens grew louder outside, but I did not look away from Brick.

I pressed one hand firmly to his shoulder. “Brick, open your eyes.”

His eyelids fluttered.

I leaned closer, keeping my voice strong enough to cut through the noise now filling the clubhouse.

“Stay with me, Brick.”