Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“It’s Dean,” he said. “He’s not feeling well.”
Shock smacked into me and caused my heart to pound, but instinct was almost as quick. I pushed past the alarm that rang through me, ignored the instant worry tightening my stomach, and lowered the volume of the anxious kid brother in me who blurted out, Dean’s here? Where is he? Why did he come tonight?
“Take me to him,” I demanded.
He took the lead, and we hurried past the staircase and down the hallway. Past the changing room and kitchen, toward River and Reese’s office.
“He told me not to call 9-1-1, but I’m not sure, Sir. He can barely form words.”
“But he’s lucid?” I pressed.
“Somewhat—he’s dizzy and slurring his speech. Here.” He came to a stop and let me enter first. “Tell me what to do.”
Dean was slouched forward on a small sofa, and Kingsley was trying to talk to my brother.
“You can get Macklin for me, Tate,” I said, closing the distance to the sofa. I squatted down in front of Dean, and Kingsley stepped back. “Dean, can you hear me?” I grabbed his chin and tried to get his attention. “Dean, it’s Walker.” Fuck, he looked too pale, and I noticed his fingers were twitching a little. His glucose levels had to come up stat. “I need a non-diet soda and whatever candy bar you can find,” I told Kingsley quietly. “Some fast carbs if you see any too.”
“Of course, man.” He nodded once and hurried off.
I heard Dean mutter something, but I couldn’t decipher the words.
“What did you say, big brother? Talk to me.” I sat down next to him instead, and I pulled him close to lean on me. The sofa had to be new and someone else’s idea, because the twins didn’t want anyone to get too comfortable in their office. “Dean, stay awake.”
He grunted and winced when I felt his pulse. “I took…took a glucose tablet.”
“You took one recently?”
“Yeah,” he rasped.
“Okay, good.” Thank fuck, thank fuck. But it was too soon to relax. We’d been through this before, and the recovery took a while. “When did you take it?” My heart refused to slow down yet, but I went through the steps anyway. I patted his pockets for his—there. I found the wallet-sized pouch in his left front pocket and opened it. “Dean—when did you take the tablet?”
“I…” He tensed up as if he was in pain, and he made a face. “When I-I got here.”
“You started feeling bad on the way here?” I asked to make sure. “The usual dizziness? Nausea?”
He managed a sluggish nod and tried to flex his fingers. I was sure they were tingling. He’d described the symptoms many times in the past, and I’d read more articles on hypoglycemia than I could count.
After activating the digital reader with a test strip, I attached a new lancet to the pen and pricked Dean’s middle finger.
“When was your last meal, big brother?”
Five, four, three…
The digital read beeped with the results, and I clenched my jaw. Fifty-eight was way too fucking low. Jesus Christ, he hadn’t dropped this low in years. He might struggle against his nightly sweet tooth, but he had self-discipline worthy of being envious of. He was meticulous with his diabetes care. His kidneys were fine, he needed reading glasses at the most, and his body had suffered none of the damage that was common with diabetes sufferers. But of course, he was human. Sometimes, we forgot things.
The problem was, when Dean forgot, his life was threatened.
“Dean.” I let the test kit fall to the floor, and I cupped his cheeks. “Stay with me, Dean. We’ll get your levels up, okay?”
“Mm.” He dipped his chin, then fell against my side. “I’ll be…better…soon.”
I drew in a deep breath and hugged him to me. I kissed the side of his head, and my mind raced to our childhood. Back then, he hadn’t been so careful. The care hadn’t been so advanced either. And his hair hadn’t been silver.
Remembering I had some sweets in my pocket, I pulled one out, uncertain he’d be able to digest it. But one could try. I could hear commotion down the hall—Macklin was on the scene, and he knew. He’d understand the second he saw what I’d asked Kingsley to find. Macklin would make sure I could get some carbs into Dean too.
“Can you chew this, brother?” I unwrapped the chocolate candy and pressed it to his lips. “Try for me, okay?”
It was a no-go, but luckily, Macklin stormed in with everything we needed. Cheeks flushed, eyes brimming with worry, he shut the door and rushed over to us with a Coke, some white bread, a banana, a packet of dried cranberries, and honey.
He squatted down in front of us and stuck a straw into the Coke can. “Try to drink this, Dean.”