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“Those fucking idiot chefs,” he grunts, the shops passing by in a blur as he moves quickly with me in his arms. It’s then that I remember his leg, and I start to feel bad.
“Babe.” I cough. “Put me down. Your leg.”
“There’s not a chance I’m setting you down anywhere until I get you to the hospital.”
I don’t respond, knowing he needs this. I try to keep my breathing even, despite the anxiety that’s running rampant throughout my body.
I haven’t had a reaction like this ever, and it scares me.
Within five minutes, he’s running us into the lobby of the emergency room, Elio out of breath as I try to catch mine.
“My girlfriend had an allergic reaction. She needs help,” Elio shouts, his voice ridden with worry.
Moments later, I’m in Elio’s arms as we sit on a gurney while we wait for the doctor to come. He hasn’t let go of me, and I’m thankful for it. His touch soothes me in places he can’t actually touch.
Once the doctor arrives, she goes through a standard checkup, running various tests to ensure I’m okay. She deems me to be fine, even after Elio asks her countless times if she’s sure. The doctor tells me to get some rest and to be careful when eating out, with a reminder to ensure my EpiPen is always with me.
We eventually return home, Elio taking the utmost care of me as I rest in bed. While I do feel better, my thigh is sore from the EpiPen and overall, my body feels tired from the events of the day.
As I drift off to sleep, the one thing running through my mind is how badly I want to reach out to my father, who always made me feel better when I was sick. But I can’t, and that fact hurts me more than anything else I’ve had to deal with today.
Chapter 42
Elio
This has been the longest day of my fucking life.
Logically, I knew she was okay, but seeing her reach out for me in desperation with fear swirling in her eyes at the café? Yeah, that broke me.
She is safe now, napping in our bed.
As for me? I can’t rest. My blood is boiling too much to do that.
Instead, I make a call to the place we ate at, and let’s just say, I’m not very fucking nice. I know mistakes happen, but that’s one that could cost someone their life and I don’t fucking mess around with that. Especially when it’s the girl who holds my entire world in her heart.
I’m about to begin making cacio e pepe spaghetti when my phone pings with a text from Brooks.
Attached is a video link, and once I click on it, my grip on my phone tightens. Someone recorded us at the café this morning and posted it online. Whoever recorded it must have had their phone out at the right time because you can see everything. The moment her fork clatters on the plate, me dumping her purse and jabbing the EpiPen into her thigh.
Fear trickles down my spine watching my worst nightmare once more, but anger follows it knowing that the video is also out there for everyone else to see. It hits me then that if this has gone viral, I have no doubt her parents must have seen it by now.
Fuck.
Before I can think of what to do, my phone starts to ring, Colin’s name popping up on the screen. I answer it, wondering how this day can get worse.
“Mr. Mazzo, I’m sorry to bother you, but there is a couple here requesting to come upstairs.”
Well, there’s my answer. It can get worse.
I already know who it is. Her parents.
I don’t want them upsetting her after the day she’s had, but I imagine as her parents they need to hear what happened. I decide to head down there instead. That way I’m not overstepping by allowing them into our home when I’m not sure she wants them there.
Using a sticky note, I leave a note on the bedside table, telling her where I am in case she wakes up and I’m not there.
I head downstairs, and as the elevator begins to descend, my anxiety increases. I have no idea how this is going to go. Once I’m in the lobby, I spot Jasmine’s mom, sitting on the couch.
“Mrs. Park,” I greet her, noting that Ned is missing.
