and when I saw a distressed Wells with a very agitated Ira in his arms, I grabbed my sweater and pulled it over my head, then headed out of my room to put on my shoes and run downstairs.
Something must’ve been terribly wrong.
I could feel it, and I couldn’t imagine how horrible that feeling must’ve been for Wells.
“What happened?” I asked as I stepped outside into the cold fall night, and when Wells saw me, I could see some kind of relief in his eyes.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, but he can’t stop crying. He threw up. I don’t know what it is,” he told me as I stepped closer to them.
“Oh, sweet boy,” I whispered, caressing his head before grabbing the car key out of Wells’s hand.
“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” I told him, already walking over to the driver’s side.
“Thank you, Rooney. God, I wanted to call you but I don’t have your number. I was helpless,” he told me.
I smiled at the thought of him thinking of me in this situation, and when he was sitting in the back with Ira in his lap, I looked back through the rearview mirror to get one more look at the two people that I could never let go through this on their own.
Ira’s cries got quieter throughout the drive, but instead of that being a good thing, I felt Wells’s nervousness grow as he tried to speak to his son.
“Ira! Ira, buddy, stay awake, okay? We’ll be at the hospital soon. Don’t fall asleep, bud,” he begged, making my heart race like crazy.
I needed to hurry up, and luckily, there were no cars around in the middle of the night.
“Ira, don’t sleep, buddy. Please keep your eyes open,” he continued to tell him, but Ira’s hiccups and cries got quieter with every second that passed.
The panic in Wells’s voice was not to miss, and I cursed myself for pushing him away almost a week ago.
I should’ve been there for him when Ira was starting to feel sick, and maybe we would’ve been here earlier without him having to frantically stand outside and wonder how to get his son to the hospital all by himself.
“We’re here, Ira. Stay awake, bud. We’re here,” he repeated as I stepped out of the car and helped him get out with Ira still in his arms.
His face was pale and his mouth all dry.
The sight of little Ira like this was horrifying, and it was something no parent would ever wish for their children to go through.
“I checked his pump. I should’ve checked it earlier. His insulin level is too damn high,” he croaked out with a shaky voice.
“Let’s go inside,” I told him, rubbing his arm before heading to the entrance.
To our luck, the lady at the front desk recognized Wells and Ira and immediately called someone.
I had no clue how hospitals worked, and I didn’t want to assume things that weren’t true, so I kept quiet while the lady pointed us down the hall where a doctor already walked toward us.
“He’s not responding. His insulin level is too high. Please, help my boy, Dr. Cole,” Wells begged desperately.
I was glad he knew the doctor, and once Ira was in the safe hands of doctors and nurses, I pulled Wells to me and hugged him tight as he cried into the crook of my neck, his arms tightly around my body.
“He’ll be okay. They’re gonna take good care of him, Wells,” I whispered, caressing the back of his head and letting him know that he’s not alone.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Wells
It’s been an hour since they took Ira into a separate room, and while we waited in the waiting room, Rooney held my hand and assured me that they would know exactly what to do to help Ira get back on his feet.
I was grateful to have her with me, because at least then one of us was calm.
If I had called my mother, she’d be more hysterical than me, and that would’ve only made me more nervous.
Rooney was a source of serenity and security I didn’t wanna let go of, but when the door to Ira’s room finally opened, I pushed myself off the chair and walked toward Dr. Cole.
“Is he okay? Can I see him?” I asked, looking past him to try and get a glance of my boy.
“Ira is awake and well. He suffered from hyperglycemia. He lapsed into a diabetic coma, but we got him all the fluids his body needed