I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Confused as to what had happened, I glanced at the television. The Samsung screen saver bounced from one corner of the television to the other.

I rolled to the side to wake Abby up. “Abby,” I tapped her on the shoulder. “Abby, wake up. We fell asleep.”

I pressed my hand against her arm and immediately yanked it away.

Her skin was hot to the touch.

Not warm.

Hot.

I leaned over her, gripped her shoulders, and shook her. “Abby, wake up. We need to get you in the bath, you’ve got a fever.”

She didn’t respond.

Fuck.

I shook her again. “Abby!”

She was limp in my hands.

I took her pulse. It was faint, but she was alive. I scrambled to find my phone, found it in my jeans pocket, and then dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one, state your emergency.”

Racing against a clock I couldn’t see, I stumbled across the floor as I tried to get into my jeans. Panic-stricken and afraid, I responded.

“This is Porter Reeves. She’s non-responsive. She’s hot to the touch. She won’t.” I glanced in her direction. Her hair was matted and stuck to her face. “She’s got a horrible fever. I need an ambulance.”

“Slow down,” she said. “Who is she?”

“Abby Northrop. Uptown Abby. My fiancé. She’s. She’s passed out.”

“Has she taken any drugs that you know of?”

I placed my hand on her cheek. If I didn’t do something quickly, she was going to die.

“Listen lady, I don’t have time for this shit. I’m headed to Mercy. Tell whoever you’ve got to tell I’m in a sixty-seven Mustang. Gray. License plate reads ELEANOR. Don’t try and pull me over, because I won’t. I’m taking her in there now.”

I rested the phone between my shoulder and my cheek, picked up her naked body, and lifted her from the bed.

“Tell them to get ready.”

“Sir, I’m sending an ambulance. Will you verify the address? You’re on Mission Boulevard?”

“I’m headed out the door right now.”

“Sir, stay where you are. I’m dispatching an ambulance.”

It would take fifteen minutes for an ambulance to navigate traffic, and an additional fifteen minutes for it to get back to Mercy. I knew alternate routes. I was a better driver than any ambulance attendant.

If things went to hell, I’d have her there in ten minutes, tops.

“No!” I shouted. “There’s no time. I’m headed in your direction. Tell them I’m coming. Have people ready at the emergency room.”

“Sir, please. Stay—”

“I’m headed down the steps now,” I mumbled. “Forget the ambulance.”

“Does she have a pulse?” she asked.

With Abby in my arms, I took the steps two at a time. “It’s faint.”

“Sir, stay on the line. I’ll have a response team in wait at the entrance. Can you answer a few questions?”

When I landed on the bottom step, the phone slipped from between my shoulder and cheek, and landed on the driveway. After trying to bend over and get it, I gave up.

There wasn’t time.

I carefully placed her in the passenger seat, strapped her harness in place, and ran around the car.

I hopped in the driver’s seat, not bothering with my harness. “Hold on, Baby.” I said. “We’re going for a little ride.”

I shoved the shifter in reverse, did a one-eighty maneuver, and shifted into first gear before the car came to a stop. After releasing the clutch, I hammered the gas.

We shot out of the driveway and into the street. I fishtailed for sixty feet, then hit second gear. Then third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

In triple-digit speeds, I flew up Mission Boulevard, then onto West Mission Bay Drive.

“Don’t worry, Baby. I’ll get you there in time,” I assured her. “Almost there.”

I took the entrance to the eight at one hundred and forty miles an hour, speeding onto the highway between a truck and a minivan, and then taking the middle lane, which was empty.

In and out of cars I swerved, keeping an open lane ahead. “Five minutes, Sweetheart. Five minutes. Hold on.”

In five minutes we were at the one sixty-three exit. “Hard right, Baby. Hold on.”

With my heart in my throat, I took the exit sideways, but in control. Scripps Mercy was only minutes away, and every minute counted.

I simply needed her to hold on.

“Baby. I bought you a ring. It’s in my pocket. After they get you to a room, guess what? I’m going to propose to you. We’re going to have kids and play on the beach and I’m going to walk away from the club and we’re never going to have to worry about anything ever stopping us from living life. I love you so much, Baby.”

“Baby?” I looked at her. “Baby? Did you hear me?”

I took the Washington exit and flew toward fifth. As smoke poured from the back tires, I blasted up fifth toward the hospital’s entrance.

“It’s right here, Baby,” I blubbered. “We made it.”

No less than ten men were standing in front of the emergency room entrance. I hoped like hell they were there for Abby. As I slid to a stop right at their side, I realized she was completely naked.

I yanked my door open.

“Abby Northrop?” someone asked.

I pulled the passenger door open. “Yes. She needs a blanket,” I shouted, lifting her from the seat. “She’s naked.”

I turned around. “Where do I--”

“Sir,” a doctor said. “We’ll take her.”

A rolling bed was between me and the door. People came from every direction. Monitors, wires, and hoses were being attached to her faster than I could comprehend what was going on. Then, as they began to rush her into the hospital, it dawned on me that there was nothing I could do.

Nothing.

“Is she alive?” I shouted.

A man glanced over his shoulder as they ran toward the double door. “Yes,” he responded. Yes, she is.”