Welcome to Installment #5 of my upcoming novel, Take Two: a Hollywood Romance with a Twist (see previous blog posts for excerpts 1-4). I am sharing Take Two for FREE every week, so click here for details on how to follow the story of Zac and Gina!
Zac sighed; he hadn’t the energy for this. “I woke last night with terrible stomach cramps. I puked up a lung a couple times.”
“That’s it.” Gina stood and moved toward the desk. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”
“Ourselves?” Dale said. “No medic transport?”
“In my car.” She tossed him the keys. “You drive.”
“Sylvester won’t like it,” Dale said.
“Screw him,” Gina said. “We should have taken him when this first happened. You know how to get there?”
“Bring the car as close to the trailer as you can. If we’re quiet about it maybe I won’t have to deal with Syl until after we find out what’s wrong.”
Gina picked up Zac’s backpack and slid it onto her shoulders. Then she slipped her own purse over her head so that it hung across her chest.
“You really don’t have to go to all this trouble.” Zac struggled to a sitting position, eyeing his backpack. “I’m sure if I got a couple days rest…”
“Come on.” Gina sat down next to him. “I’ll help you. Just go slow.”
Zac put his feet on the ground and his hands in Gina’s. Slowly he got to his feet. He stood there, swaying slightly as the room swirled around him.
Gina’s arm came around his waist. “I’m not strong enough to catch you if you fall,” she said. “So you’ve got to let me help you.”
He let his arm come down around her shoulder somewhat timidly.
“Better,” she said. “Now I think we’ll make it.”
The moment the car started moving, Zac was sick again. And he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. And damn it all, he was spread across his boss’s lap with a bucket in his face.
You’re a real professional, Davies.
And then it was difficult to care where he was; as dry heaves wracked his body and blackness buzzed at the edges of his vision, he could only pray that the hospital was close and the movement would stop.
I am in hell.
And then, somehow, he was on a gurney in a hospital room, still curled up and clutching the bucket. Gina’s voice floated somewhere overhead. He tried to concentrate on the doctor’s words: Food poisoning. Stomach pumped. The prick of a needle in his arm. “Sedative…relax…”
And now this doctor’s face hovered over his, saying “relax, Zac, relax.”
Who was he kidding? He wasn’t the one with a tube being shoved down his throat!
I am in hell.
©2013 Tracey Cramer-Kelly
Click here to read Installment #6, “Confrontation”!