Page 42 of Beautiful Crazy
I laugh dryly, the sound hoarse to my ears, a sharp pain stabbing me right in my side as I do it. “Not really, buddy, but it’s okay.”
Everett stands too, concern furrowing his brow. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I quickly get out, the pain in my sidenotsubsiding.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Gee, thanks.” I try to laugh again, but it’s a mistake. “Fuck,” I grunt, hand flying out to Everett’s forearm for support because it feels like my knees are going to buckle.
Stepping closer to me, Everett murmurs quietly, “Gemma, you are not fine.” He brings a hand up to my forehead. “You’re burning up. How long has this been going on?”
“Mom?”
The worry in my son’s voice makes my chest squeeze. “Honey, I’m okay.” I reach up and cup his face, trying to relay to him with my eyes that he doesn’t need to worry. “Have you eaten yet?”
“Yeah.”
“We had a frozen pizza and the rest of the watermelon I had in my fridge,” Everett explains.
“Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”
“I don’t mind. We were playing ball, and I was hungry so we ate.”
Nausea churns in my gut as the throbbing ache intensifies. It’s like fire ripping through the lower half of my stomach; it brings tears to my eyes.
Everett glances at Sutton. “Hey, bud, why don’t you take these plates into my house and put them in the sink. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure.” Sutton takes the plate from Everett’s hand before disappearing across the yard.
“Where’s the pain?” he asks me as soon as my son is out of earshot.
“It’s nothing, Everett. I’m fi?—”
“You’re not fine, Gemma,” he grits through his teeth, cutting me off. “Your face is twisted in pain, you’re holding on to my arm for dear life, and you’re clutching at your side. Tell. Me. What’s. Wrong.”
I look up, meeting his gaze, concern written all over his features, from his pinched brows to his down-turned mouth and hard jawline. “It’s my stomach,” I finally admit. “It hurts, and I don’t understand why.”
“Where exactly?” he asks. “Where your hand is right now?”
I nod, a whimper falling off my lips as the pain hits me again. “I think something’s wrong, Everett.”
“I think it’s your appendix,” he announces, gaze finding mine again. “Where are your shoes and purse? I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“What?” Panic rises in my chest. “No, no. That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is. If I’m right, your appendix could burst, and that would be ten times worse. Tell me where your stuff is so I can grab it for you.”
“But Sutton.”
“He can come with us. Now, where?”
Just then, my son comes back around the corner, and I can tell he already knows something isn’t right.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to be okay,” I say, trying to reassure him. “But I think we gotta go get Mom checked out.”
“Can you run in the house and get your mom’s purse?” Everett asks before looking at me. “Are your insurance cards in there?”