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“Okay, and how long have you been feeling like this?” Mitch asks beside me, picking up my wrist and taking my pulse.
“Off and on for the past few hours.”
“Have you been back here like this for that time?” Miles asks with worry.
“No, I was home. I only got here about thirty minutes ago,” I say, feeling another tightening around my chest. Shit! Holy mother of fucking demon ducklings, this hurts.
I take in a shaky breath, and with tears in my eyes, I look to Garrett.
“I’m ready to go now,” I say, my voice high in pitch.
“Ma’am,” he obliges. They move me to the backboard and haul me up in the air. Miles and Noah are yelling something at Percy, the kitchen chef, as they trail behind.
I hear Noah on the phone then tune out to just focus on my breathing.
Moments later, I’m in an ambulance and confused.
“I thought we couldn’t take the ambulance?” I ask.
“The rig will take us to the field where we have the chopper waiting for us. There isn’t enough room for the chopper to land in the middle of the parking lot or the street. Ma’am, I’m going to have to lift your shirt then fix these here sticker-like pads. I’m going to get an EKG.”
“Okay,” I say watching him lift my shirt. He places the stickers on my stomach and then around my rib cage underneath my breasts. He then places one of each of my legs.
Then, with some weird contraption, wires are hooked up to the stickers like something out of a mechanics garage.
Once everything is in its place, he turns to the monitor and asks me to try to be still. I do what I can, wincing as another tightening spell takes over.
“What does it feel like?” he asks.
“Like I’m being squeezed,” I reply, wincing.
“Still how you mentioned earlier, like a corset?”
“Yes, sir.” I nod.
“The good news is you’re not having a heart attack. We’re still going to get you to Hollybrooke General as soon as possible though, so that way we can have a doctor rule out anything else that could be serious.”
He begins to unhook me from the jumper cables but leaves the stickers in place.
A moment later, we arrive at the open field with a helicopter waiting for us. Both medics unhook the gurney that I’m on from its place and then wheel me to the helicopter. There’s a pilot already sitting in the front who nods as I look over to him.
“Patient is Rhiannon Jones, age twenty-eight. She is experiencing chest pains, originating on medial anterior. Confirmed a negative on the EKG, locked and loaded.” Garrett hits the side of the helicopter.
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