“Karey, baby, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head and points down the hall.Her phone sits on the floor.
I pick it up to call 911, but the number forBoy Toy #1fills the screen.
“Call Matthew,” she whispers.
“No, cupcake, you need medical help.”
“Won’t help.Tried.Get Matthew,” she pleads.
I curse and hit send.
Matthew answers on the second ring.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
I grit my teeth at his familiarity with my woman, still struggling to accept his lack of interest in her perfection, and brush a lock of hair off Karey’s clammy cheek.
“She won’t let me call 911,” I growl.
“Shit.Send me the address.How bad is she?”
“She’s curled up on the floor in pain,” I snarl.It hurts to see her like this.
“How bad is the bleeding?”
Alarm rips through me at his question.
“Bleeding?What bleeding?”
I run my hands over her but find nothing.
“So not yet, then.Put me on speaker.Let me talk to her,” Matthew demands.
I hate every passing second without answers, but I put the phone on speaker, set it down on the floor about a foot from her head, and add my free hand to checking her for injury.
“You there, hun?”he asks.
Karey grimaces, pushes at my hands, and grunts.
“That bad, huh?”
She nods.
Even without a verbal response, he seems to understand.
“How long this time?”he asks.
“Three,” she whimpers.
“Do you want me to come get you or—”
“Stay,” she gasps and curls into a tighter ball.
“Okay, I’m on the way.Declan, do you have NSAIDS, a heating pad, and menstrual pads?”
I pause and study her pained expression.This can’t be because of her period.Matthew has lost his mind.