by Gracie Leigh
The door swung shut behind her, cloaking her in darkness. The flat was quiet and still, and at first not a thing seemed out of place. Eddie glanced around, taking in the folded sofa-bed with its neat stack of blankets, the clear coffee table, and spotless kitchen area. She poked her head in the bathroom and found it empty.
Feeling somewhat calmer, she turned back to the living room, and then she saw him, and her heart stopped dead. “Sam?”
Chapter Sixteen
Eddie dashed into the kitchen and dropped to Sam’s side where he was slumped against a cupboard door. “Sam? Sam?”
Sam groaned and clumsily swiped at her chest, but then he fell slack again, his eyes closed, disappearing into the pallor of his cold, clammy skin.
Eddie shook him. “Sam!”
But there was no response, and with her stomach in her throat, she somehow found her phone and called Dylan. “Something’s wrong.”
“Is he conscious? Breathing?”
“He’s breathing, but I can’t wake him up. He’s passed out on the kitchen floor.”
“Okay, I need you to listen very carefully and do exactly as I say.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Should I call an ambulance?”
“Maybe, but you need to treat him first. He needs medication, and he needs it fast.”
“His insulin?”
“No! God, no. Not that. It’ll make him worse. Right, Eddie, I need you to listen. First, you need to put him in the recovery position. Can you do that?”
Eddie considered Sam’s slumped form and tried to picture the recovery position from the handful of first aid lessons she’d had at school. “I think so.”
“Do it, carefully. And don’t take any notice if he tries to stop you. If he comes round at all, he won’t have a clue what’s going on.”
But Sam didn’t come round as Eddie manoeuvred him onto his side. He didn’t react at all, and the fear roaring in Eddie’s ears was a savage beast. She stroked Sam’s hair out of his face. “I’m here, baby. It’s okay.”
“Eddie?” Dylan’s voice was sharp with worry. “Did you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, I need you to open the drawer by the fridge. Inside, you’ll find a glucagon kit.”
“A what?”
“Trust me, you’ll see it.”
Eddie scrambled to her feet and opened the drawer, wedging her phone under her chin. Inside, there was nothing but a red plastic case. She grabbed it and pried it open to find a vial and a syringe. “Is it an injection kit?”
“Yes. You need to set it up, and inject it into Sam. Can you do that? Because if you can’t, we need to call an ambulance right now.”
“I can do it. Just tell me how.”
“Break the seal on the glucagon powder and take the case off the syringe.”
Eddie obeyed. “Done. What now?”
“Stick the needle into the rubber stopper on the powder vial and inject the stuff in the syringe into it. Done it?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now shake it until it’s clear. It’s gotta be clear, Eddie, or you can’t use it.”
“Okay. Clear. Got it.” Eddie shook the vial, eyes trained on the cloudy liquid until it cleared. “It’s done.”
“Right, now you need to stick the needle back in and suck it all up into the syringe, then you need to inject it into Sam.”
“Where? Where do I inject him?”
“His arm, his leg, whatever. Suck up the glucagon first, Eddie. Make sure you get it all.”
Eddie stuck the needle into the rubber stopper on the vial and drew back the plunger on the syringe, sucking up all of the clear liquid. Then she slowly withdrew the needle and stared between it and Sam, nausea rushing up her throat. “Which part of his arm?”
“His bicep is fine. Push his sleeve up and put your thumb where you want to inject.”
“Done.”
“Okay, now get a wipe from the needle case and quickly clean the injection site.”
“Damn it, Dylan. Couldn’t you have told me that before? I’ve got my hands full.” Eddie let go of Sam’s arm and stretched back, snagging the red case that she’d carelessly discarded. She snatched a wipe and tore it open with her teeth, and rubbed it over Sam’s skin. “There. Clean. Do I inject him now?”
“Yes, but be careful Eddie. Only push the plunger down, don’t draw it up again. Oh, and wait until the needle’s all the way in before you do anything else, okay?”
Eddie was far from okay, but adrenaline saved her focus. She brought the needle to Sam’s skin and pushed it in, then she pressed the plunger down until all of the glucagon solution had disappeared into Sam’s body. “It’s in. Now what do I do?”
“Pull the needle out, slowly, then apply pressure to the site.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know, Eddie. His fucking T-shirt. Anything.”
Eddie withdrew the needle and pressed the sleeve of Sam’s T-shirt to the tiny wound. A micro-speck of blood seeped through, and she shivered. She knew shamefully little about Sam’s illness, and she couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live in a body that regularly tried to kill you. “How long will it take to work?”
“Not long. If he doesn’t come round in five minutes, you’ll need to call that ambulance, okay?”
“I shouldn’t call it now?”
“I think it’s safe to wait now he’s had the glucagon. The paramedics will probably want to take him in, and he gets a bit shitty about being manhandled.”
“Unless it’s you, right?”
Dylan chuckled tensely. “Trust me, he prefers you. Is he moving yet?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll happen, but can you do something while you wait?”
“Sure.”
“Go into the hall and open the wardrobe by the door. At the bottom there’s a cardboard box with a couple of spare glucagon kits in it. Get one, and stick it in the drawer.”
“For next time?” Eddie got up and followed Dylan’s instructions, her phone still wedged tightly under her chin. “So we know where it is?”
“Exactly. You saved his life with that injection, Eddie. He’d have died if you hadn’t found him.”
The enormity of what had just happened hit Eddie like a train. Dazed, she drifted back to the kitchen and shoved the glucagon kit in the drawer. She hadn’t saved Sam. Dylan had, because if it hadn’t been for him, she’d have slept the night away while Sam was dying on his kitchen floor.
A strangled sob escaped her.
“Eddie…” Dylan said softly. “It’s not your fault. I only knew because I’ve been through it with him before. I only caught it the first time by accident.”
“What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“He will.”
And as Dylan spoke, Sam stirred at Eddie’s feet. Phone forgotten as it clattered to the floor, she dropped to her knees. “Sam? Can you hear me?”
Sam brought his arms beneath him and tried to push himself up, but he didn’t have the strength, and Eddie caught him as he collapsed back down, tugging him gently into her lap. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”
A low, pained sound escaped Sam, and somehow, he found Eddie’s hand, though she couldn’t tell if he knew that it was hers. She squeezed it tight and put her lips to his ear, whispering, “I’ve got you” over and over until he finally opened his eyes.
Eddie released Sam’s hand and cupped his face in her open palms, wiping his watery eyes with her thumbs. “Sam, baby? You okay?”
Sam blinked a few times before recognition dawned in his bloodshot eyes. “Eddie?”
“It’s me. I’m here. Are you all right?”
“Um…” Sam swallowed. “Need sugar. Need food.”
“Okay…hang on a sec.” Eddie stretched over Sam and grabbed her phone, praying that Dylan was still there. “He’s awake. He wants sugar. Can he have it? Is that the right thing to do?”
“Yes.” The relief in Dylan’s voice was
clear. “In the cupboard next to the sink, you’ll find Lucozade, honey, and stuff like that. If he can sit up and drink, give him the Lucozade. He’ll know how much to take. Once the sugar starts to work, he’ll need some real food. After that, put him to bed, and stay with him, checking his sugar levels every hour for the next five hours. If you’re worried, call an ambulance.”
Eddie frowned, struggling to absorb the influx of information. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere you can’t reach me. Can Sam talk? Put him on, if he can.”
Eddie held the phone to Sam’s ear. “It’s Dylan. He wants to talk to you.”
Sam nodded, and closed his eyes as Dylan spoke to him, then he nodded again and grinned slightly. “Dickhead.”
Eddie took that as her cue to reclaim her phone, and when she looked at the screen, Dylan had gone. Which meant she was on her own. Sugar. He needs sugar. “Sam? I need to get to the cupboard. Can you sit up?”
Not on his own, apparently, but between them they managed to get Sam sitting up enough for Eddie to wriggle out from beneath him and retrieve the Lucozade from the cupboard. She held it to his lips and helped him drink, and it worked fast, and before long he was apparently determined to get up.
“I’m supposed to put you to bed,” Eddie protested.
“So do it.” Sam climbed unsteadily to his feet, his face still deathly pale. “I could do with lying on something soft.”
Eddie couldn’t argue with that. She left Sam holding himself up on the kitchen counter and hurried to the living room to open the sofa-bed. With that done, she fetched the pillows and duvet she knew he left in the airing cupboard, and set up the bed.
Sam had made his way to the living room doorway by the time she was done. “You don’t have to do that. I’d have been fine on the couch.”
“Get in the bed,” Eddie said absently, distracted by a sudden and horrific thought. My God, how long was he unconscious? “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“How long were you on the floor?”
Sam said nothing as he carefully got himself to the relative safety of the sofa-bed. “I don’t know, to be honest. I can never remember much if I have a really fucked up hypo.”
“Hypo?”
“Yeah, that’s what happens if my blood sugar drops too low. Sometimes I can catch it with some food, like we did the other week, remember? But I didn’t get home in time and I couldn’t fix it.”
“Why didn’t you call someone?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t remember coming home—oh shit.”
“What is it?” Eddie flew instantly to his side. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Sam hung his head and covered his face with his hands. “Your concert. I missed it, didn’t I?”
Oh Sam. Eddie wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “Baby, it doesn’t matter. You can come to the next one.”
Sam sighed heavily and pressed his face against Eddie’s chest. His reply was muffled, and Eddie let him be, trusting that he’d repeat it when she could bear to let him go.
Which wasn’t happening anytime soon, though it was clear that Sam needed to lie down. She coerced him into bed, and lay with him, holding him and stroking his hair, while she considered if he’d have anything in his fridge that she could make for him. Considering the war chest Dylan had directed her to in the cupboard, she assumed so, but assumption had got her in trouble of late.
She nudged Sam gently, rousing him from his daze. “Dylan says you need to eat. Have you got anything in, or do I need to raid the café?”
A ghost of grin warmed Sam’s tired face. “There’s food in the fridge, I ain’t Mother Hubbard, you know.”
Giggling, Eddie forced herself to let him go and got out of bed, kicking her abandoned boots into the corner so they wouldn’t clutter up Sam’s ordered home too much. In the fridge, she found an Aladdin’s cave of Polish leftovers and her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten either. She grabbed potato pancakes, cold sausages, cheese, and the sauerkraut she’d become addicted to, and chucked it on a plate.
Sam was sitting up when she got back to bed, and her choice of midnight snacks seemed to amuse him. “You like the Polish food, eh?”
Eddie shrugged. “Your grandfather has fed me enough of it, it’s hard not to. Now stop taking the piss and eat up.”
For once Sam did as he was told, and the more he ate, the more colour came back to his cheeks. And Eddie ate too, and felt the fear-laced adrenaline finally fade, though the guilt remained. I’d never have forgiven myself if—
But she couldn’t complete the thought, and the pancake in her mouth turned to dust.
She pushed the plate at Sam. “Finish that. I need to use your bathroom.”
“Eddie—”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I just need a moment.”
She fled the room before Sam could protest and locked herself in the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. The frigid shock did little to ease her jittery heart or shaky hands, but it did serve to clear her mind enough for her to realise that her private pity party was kind of pathetic. It’s not you who spent God-knows how long on the kitchen floor.
With a heavy sigh, she washed her hands and returned to the living room. The dirty plate had somehow found its way to the kitchen, though Sam didn’t appear to have moved. “You better not have washed it.”
Sam said nothing, just shifted over to make room for her, but he caught her arm before she could slide in beside him. “Have my T-shirt. You can’t sleep in that dress.”
That he wasn’t trying to get her naked was telling. Eddie helped Sam out of his T-shirt, then raised up on her knees to shimmy her borrowed dress over her head. Sam’s T-shirt smelled amazing, and felt better against her skin than any dress ever could.
“Do you feel better?” she asked when they were huddled down again.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine by the morning.”
Eddie wasn’t convinced, and now that Sam was bare-chested, the sight of the tiny red welt on his arm reminded her of Dylan’s other instructions. “How do you check your blood sugar?”
“Hmm?” Sam opened his eyes. “Oh, fuck…yeah. Hang on.”
He rolled over and reached for the coffee table that Eddie had shoved aside when she’d unfolded the bed. On it was the bag Sam often left lying around the café. He retrieved it and lay down again, unzipping it to reveal his insulin pen and what Eddie presumed was a device to test his blood sugar levels.
The process turned out to be relatively simple, and apparently painless, though Eddie couldn’t help wincing as the tiny drop of blood oozed from Sam’s finger. And the numbers meant nothing to her. “Is that good or bad?”
“Better,” Sam said. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be right as rain.”
“Do you need to eat anything else?”
“Nah, I’m good till breakfast. You’re staying, right?”
Eddie pushed Sam onto his back and leaned over him, pressing her chest against his, counting the steady beat of his heart. “Baby, I’m not going anywhere.”
Eddie woke to warm hands roaming her body, and soft kisses on the back of her neck. Still mostly asleep, her body naturally arched, pushing her against Sam’s hard cock as it dug into her spine.
“I know you’re awake,” he whispered. “Roll over so I can see you.”
Eddie obeyed without question, and when she met Sam’s gaze, her heart leapt. Clear and bright, it was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. “You’re back.”
“I was never gone.”
Eddie begged to differ, but as Sam tugged her borrowed T-shirt over her head, words seemed unnecessary. She arched up into him and shivered as her breasts brushed his warm skin. Her legs naturally fell open for him, cradling him between her thighs, but then she looked up at him, and remembered that just a few hours ago, he’d been unconscious on the kitchen floor.
She moved fast and toppled Sam onto his back, straddling him before he could p
rotest. And the fact that he let her gave away that perhaps he wasn’t feeling as sharp as he claimed. Eddie pressed her forehead to his and stared into his eyes, losing herself, all the while searching for any sign of the terrifying vacancy she’d witnessed the night before. “Are you okay?”
“Never better.”
“Liar.”
Sam started to roll his eyes, then seemed to think better of it. “How about I lie here good as gold and let you take care of me?”
Eddie grinned. “I think I can live with that.”
She moved her lips to his and kissed him, lightly at first, but then deeper, harder, as she undulated her hips on top of him, grinding a slow circle that made her wet. Sam seemed to like it too. He broke away from Eddie’s kiss to savage her neck, dragging his teeth over her sensitive skin, and his groans met her gasps with every roll of her hips.
For a while, it was a perfect cadence, but then the need for more overwhelmed Eddie. She wriggled out of her underwear and tossed it aside, then moved down Sam’s body, relieving him of the sweatpants he’d slept in.
On her way back up, his cock was too tempting to ignore. She took him in her mouth and teased him with a gentle suction, grazing him with her teeth, shuddering when his hips bucked in response, and his hands found their way to her messy hair.
He wove his fingers into the tangled strands and tugged just hard enough for the answering shot of pain to be wonderfully pleasurable. “If you want me to shoot in your mouth, you’re going the right way about it.”
Already? Eddie smirked around Sam’s dick. That was a new one. Usually he had her on a knife edge before she’d truly realised what he was doing to her. Having the upper hand now felt odd—good, but strange, like it was happening to someone else.
Sam pulled her off him, gently forcing her to look at him. “Fuck me.”
Eddie didn’t need asking twice. She crawled up over him and kissed him again, her body instinctively aligning with his, and then she sank down him oh-so-slowly, taking him in, inch by inch, her breath coming in stuttered pants as she watched his eyes widen, and then roll, and then flutter closed.
“Dear God, woman. You're gonna kill me before anything else does.”