I shake my head, trying to pull myself together. “I can drive?—”
She sets her hands on her hips, and even through my haze, I recognize that stubborn look. “I’m not letting you drive when you can barely breathe and you’re about to lose that crab dip all over your truck.”
This time, I don’t argue. The fact that I hand them over, no questions asked, reveals exactly how bad I’m feeling.
I stay hunched over in the passenger seat the entire drive, eyes closed, trying to focus on breathing and not panicking about the fact that Ican’tbreathe.
She keeps shooting worried glances at me as she speeds through town, and I’ve never been so grateful for her lead foot.
“I’m so upset they served shellfish without better labeling,” she mutters under her breath.
“Not their fault.” My voice sounds wrong, all tight and wheezy. “It’s my responsibility. I always check ingredients.”
“I know you do,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road. “You’re super vigilant about that stuff. What happened?”
“I was distracted.” I lean my head back against the seat, eyes shut.
“By what?”
I crack one eye open to look at the face that’s been haunting my dreams since high school. “You really want to know?”
She nods.
“You.You consumed my attention.”
She blinks, then shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you should.” Apparently, allergic reactions strip away my filters. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You’re delirious.”
“Not yet.” But my head is starting to feel spacey, either from lack of oxygen or the effects of medication. I look down at my arms and notice hives blooming across my forearms, angry red welts spreading by the second.
“Everything I said in that hot tub,” I continue, leaning against the headrest and trying to catch my breath. “Is true. I want a future with you. That won’t change after the wedding is over.”
“Brendan, you need to focus on getting past this episode.” She pauses. “We can talk about it later, when you’re clear-headed?—”
“I need you to know now.” But then a coughing fit hits me and I can’t catch my breath. Maybe this is worsethan I thought.
She reaches over and takes my hand, gently enough that it slows down my racing thoughts. “Just keep breathing. We’re almost there.”
By the time we reach my uncle’s house, I’m barely holding it together. Scarlett helps me to our suite, where I head straight for the couch.
“Absolutely not.” She steers me toward the bed instead. “You’re taking the big bed.”
“No,” I protest weakly.
“It’s closer to the bathroom, Brendan.”
“I don’t need—” A wave of nausea hits me and I double over, grabbing on to the bedpost as a cough wracks my lungs. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. When I stop coughing, I don’t have the energy to argue. I fall onto the mattress without even removing my shoes as the room spins.
“Where’s your inhaler?” she asks, already moving toward my bags.
“Inside pocket of the duffel.”
She finds it and presses it into my hand. I take a puff and almost immediately my lungs start to loosen.
She watches me, sitting on the edge of the bed with a worried expression.