Thanksgiving and Christmas…he was the most boring teenage boy alive. Alive…please let him be alive.
Nora closed her eyes and turned onto her side. She could smell Wesley’s warm, clean scent on his pillows. For the first time in a long time she prayed with everything within her.
God, I know You’re probably still pissed about Søren, and I really don’t blame You. But please don’t take Your wrath out on Wesley. Flog me all You want. He doesn’t deserve it.
At 4:30 a.m. she was still wide-awake and staring at his ceiling when her red hotline phone rang. She sat straight up and found her hands were shaking so much she could barely hit the answer button.
“King, please tell me you know something.”
“ Oui, chérie . Your intern is a most interesting young man.”
“Just tell me where he is. Is he okay?”
“He’s in the hospital, but he is unharmed if rather the worse for wear.”
“What happened?” Nora ran a hand through her hair. She leaned over and breathed through her fear and relief.
“A comely little nurse took a peek at his chart for me. Something called DKA? Is that familiar to you?”
Nora’s hands went numb at the initials. “It’s diabetic ketoacidosis. It can be fatal.”
Kingsley rattled off the story sliding in and out of French as he did so. From what she gleaned from his hasty bilingual recitation, Wesley had gotten sick at the library and passed out after throwing up several times in the bathroom. He’d been admitted to the hospital in full-blown DKA.
“Which hospital?” she asked. “What room? Please tell me he’s at General.”
“ Oui. I’ve already called Dr. Jonas.”
“Tell him I’ll give him the freebie of his dreams if he can get me in.”
“No freebies, mistress. He’s already promised to help any way he can. He would never cross La Maîtresse. ”
“Great. Wonderful. Where is he? ICU?”
“PICU,” Kingsley said and laughed. Nora laughed a little, too. They’d put Wesley in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. “ Mais chérie, you cannot go.”
“Fuck you. Of course I can.”
“His parents flew in. They’re with him.”
Nora swore. Wesley would kill her if she turned up at his bedside with his parents sitting right there. He did everything he could to keep her a secret from them. His parents would yank him back to Kentucky so fast his head would spin if they discovered he was living with an infamous erotica writer—especially one who worked as a Dominatrix. Jaded New York parents wouldn’t let their kids near her much less these conservative Southerners.
“Forget it. Just tell me where he is.”
Nora jotted down his hospital room number.
“Thanks, King. I owe you.”
“ Pas moi. Our mutual friend was the one who found where they’d taken your pet.”
“Then tell him we’re even now for him tricking me.”
Nora hung up the phone and ran to her room. She threw water on her face and changed clothes again. At 6:00 a.m. she arrived at the hospital and found Dr. Jonas. He explained that Wesley ended up in the PICU because the ICU was full. Nora told him not to tell Wesley that.
He brought her down several hallways past dozens of hospital rooms. She glanced at the figure of a priest talking quietly to a family in tears in one room. Nora lowered her eyes respectfully and kept walking. Passing through a set of double doors, they entered the pediatric ICU. Teddy bears holding balloons were painted on the walls. Oh, yes, she’d never let Wes hear the end of this. Dr. Jonas put his finger over his lips and left her by room 518. She stood outside the open door and listened intently—a woman’s voice with a heavy Southern accent, his mother’s she guessed, loudly whispered to a man with a softer accent. In hushed tones they went back and forth about how they never should have let their son move so far from home for college. Fighting was a good sign. That meant Wesley was out of the woods. But her relief was short-lived. His mother sounded
Nora closed her eyes and turned onto her side. She could smell Wesley’s warm, clean scent on his pillows. For the first time in a long time she prayed with everything within her.
God, I know You’re probably still pissed about Søren, and I really don’t blame You. But please don’t take Your wrath out on Wesley. Flog me all You want. He doesn’t deserve it.
At 4:30 a.m. she was still wide-awake and staring at his ceiling when her red hotline phone rang. She sat straight up and found her hands were shaking so much she could barely hit the answer button.
“King, please tell me you know something.”
“ Oui, chérie . Your intern is a most interesting young man.”
“Just tell me where he is. Is he okay?”
“He’s in the hospital, but he is unharmed if rather the worse for wear.”
“What happened?” Nora ran a hand through her hair. She leaned over and breathed through her fear and relief.
“A comely little nurse took a peek at his chart for me. Something called DKA? Is that familiar to you?”
Nora’s hands went numb at the initials. “It’s diabetic ketoacidosis. It can be fatal.”
Kingsley rattled off the story sliding in and out of French as he did so. From what she gleaned from his hasty bilingual recitation, Wesley had gotten sick at the library and passed out after throwing up several times in the bathroom. He’d been admitted to the hospital in full-blown DKA.
“Which hospital?” she asked. “What room? Please tell me he’s at General.”
“ Oui. I’ve already called Dr. Jonas.”
“Tell him I’ll give him the freebie of his dreams if he can get me in.”
“No freebies, mistress. He’s already promised to help any way he can. He would never cross La Maîtresse. ”
“Great. Wonderful. Where is he? ICU?”
“PICU,” Kingsley said and laughed. Nora laughed a little, too. They’d put Wesley in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. “ Mais chérie, you cannot go.”
“Fuck you. Of course I can.”
“His parents flew in. They’re with him.”
Nora swore. Wesley would kill her if she turned up at his bedside with his parents sitting right there. He did everything he could to keep her a secret from them. His parents would yank him back to Kentucky so fast his head would spin if they discovered he was living with an infamous erotica writer—especially one who worked as a Dominatrix. Jaded New York parents wouldn’t let their kids near her much less these conservative Southerners.
“Forget it. Just tell me where he is.”
Nora jotted down his hospital room number.
“Thanks, King. I owe you.”
“ Pas moi. Our mutual friend was the one who found where they’d taken your pet.”
“Then tell him we’re even now for him tricking me.”
Nora hung up the phone and ran to her room. She threw water on her face and changed clothes again. At 6:00 a.m. she arrived at the hospital and found Dr. Jonas. He explained that Wesley ended up in the PICU because the ICU was full. Nora told him not to tell Wesley that.
He brought her down several hallways past dozens of hospital rooms. She glanced at the figure of a priest talking quietly to a family in tears in one room. Nora lowered her eyes respectfully and kept walking. Passing through a set of double doors, they entered the pediatric ICU. Teddy bears holding balloons were painted on the walls. Oh, yes, she’d never let Wes hear the end of this. Dr. Jonas put his finger over his lips and left her by room 518. She stood outside the open door and listened intently—a woman’s voice with a heavy Southern accent, his mother’s she guessed, loudly whispered to a man with a softer accent. In hushed tones they went back and forth about how they never should have let their son move so far from home for college. Fighting was a good sign. That meant Wesley was out of the woods. But her relief was short-lived. His mother sounded
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