Tymber Dalton - Contractual Obligation

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t hate me?” Doug asked.

Tate’s face softened as he reached for Doug and pulled him close. “No, baby. I could never hate you. Not for loving your family as much as you do.”

Doug relaxed against Tate’s chest. He’d missed this even more than the sex. “Just one problem.”

“What?”

“How the hell do we explain this to my mom and dad?” Doug asked with a laugh.

“Your mom and dad? How the hell will we break this to Harrison!”

Harper didn’t want to go home that night, and she damn sure didn’t want to go to the Boca house and face her father’s questions. She stayed late at the office, her door locked and all phones turned off, including her cell.

Finally, after midnight, she realized it was stupid to stay away. The men would most likely be asleep anyway. She winced as another pain pulsed through her abdomen. Damn periods. She’d done the math and was due within a week. It wasn’t unusual for them to sometimes be a few days off in one direction or another. Maybe it was cramps and not the falafel.

Once the pain subsided again to a low roar, she packed her stuff and made her way to the elevator. Inside, she gasped and leaned against the wall as another surge of pain caught her off guard.

Fuck.

Okay, if it still hurt this bad by tomorrow, she’d go to the damn doctor, as much as she hated to admit it. This was annoying. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked it, just an e-mail. But that reminded her to turn the ringer back on. When she reached her car, she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and pulled out of her parking space.

She slowly drove home and didn’t bother putting her car in the garage. She parked next to Tate’s car and quietly let herself in. The house was dark and silent around her as she slowly mounted the stairs to her room, passing discarded men’s clothing in the process.

She thought about walking down the hall to listen at the closed bedroom door, but then thought better of it.

Why torture myself?

She closed and locked her bedroom door behind her, then dropped her clothes on the bathroom floor before grabbing a warm shower. She checked her blood sugar—normal—and headed for bed after taking a couple of Motrin.

* * *

Doug awoke with a start the next morning. Grey light crept in around the horizontal blinds covering the window. After weeks spent sleeping in a hotel room, he had to think to remember where he was.

Home.

Next to him, Tate shifted in his sleep, snuggling tighter against his side.

Doug thought the smile on his own face might break his jaw. Now, if the two of them could just convince Harper that this crazy arrangement could work for all three of them, life would be perfect.

After a few minutes, Tate slowly awoke, stretching and yawning before rolling over into his arms. “Did you hear Harper come in last night?”

Doug shook his head. “No.” He got up to use the bathroom and peeked through the blinds. “Her car’s in the driveway.” He glanced at Tate. “Whose car is that next to hers?”

He grinned. “You mean the Mercedes? Oh, that would be mine, dear. Yours is still in the garage. I tried to talk her into just letting me drive yours, but she wanted me to have my own car.” His smile faded. “She feels damn guilty. I tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault.” He arched an eyebrow at Doug.

Doug felt his face redden. “Yeah, well, had I told her about us, none of this would have ever happened. And Mom and Dad would be out of their house.”

Tate stood and walked over to him, throwing his arms around him. “I know. I’m not blaming you.” He thought for a moment. “Wait, I am blaming you, but knowing the whole story, I totally forgive you.” He kissed Doug. “Let’s get a shower. I have a meeting at nine.”

“Meeting? For what?”

“Who do you think’s been doing your job since you’ve been loafing in jolly ole England?” He slapped Doug on the ass before heading to the bathroom. “I’ll have to get my razor out of Harper’s bathroom.” He stopped and glanced at the time. “Crap, it’s after seven. I need to make sure she’s up anyway. I haven’t heard her moving around.”

He grabbed his robe and headed for the door. Doug retrieved a pair of boxers from the drawer and followed him out into the hall.

He didn’t miss the worried look on Tate’s face as he stood at Harper’s door. “What’s wrong?”

He pointed toward the stairs. “Coffee’s not on yet. She’s not up. And her door’s locked.” He knocked. “Harper? Honey, it’s after seven. Time to get up.”

* * *

Harper spent a miserable night in and out of pain. About the time she’d get to sleep, another round of misery would overtake her, leaving her weak and trembling. She’d ask Tate to take her to the doctor in the morning. There was something wrong with her, and she was in too much pain to worry who the fuck knew.

Finally, she managed to drift into a fitful sleep. At some point she awoke to Tate knocking on her bedroom door and calling to her. She was going to answer when another wave of pain took the breath from her. She tried to sit up and only succeeded in rolling out of bed, landing on the floor on the far side, where she lost consciousness.

* * *

Tate didn’t like the worry in his gut. Harper hadn’t looked good the day before, but after hounding her to check her sugar, he assumed it was just emotions from Doug’s impending arrival. He knocked again. “Harper? Are you okay? Come unlock the door, please. I need to get in there.”

Doug stood next to him. “Harper, please? We also need to talk to you.”

They listened and got no response.

Tate walked down the hall, found where his pants had landed at the top of the stairs, and fished his cell phone out of his pants pocket. He returned to Harper’s door and dialed her cell. Inside the room, they heard the muffled tone of her phone ringing several times until it stopped, and on Tate’s end it went to voice mail. He hung up and tried again with the same results.

This wasn’t right. He balled up his fist and pounded on her door, deep worry setting in. “Harper! Open this door right now, goddammit, or we’ll break it down! Answer me! Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t she be okay?” Doug asked.

Tate ignored the question as he handed him his cell and tried wrenching the doorknob open. No good. He took a couple steps back and slammed into the door with his shoulder. The door shook, but didn’t give.

“What the hell are you doing?” Doug asked.

“She’s in there, and there’s obviously a problem. Are you going to stand there or help me, dammit?”

Together, they hit the door two more times, and the lock finally gave, splintering the doorframe. They rushed in. Tate spotted her first and rushed to her side.

“Oh, fuck. Honey, are you okay?” He cradled her in his lap and gently patted her cheeks.

Doug stared, shocked. “Should I call 911?”

“Get her monitor first. I need to check her blood sugar. She might just have forgotten to eat.”

“What?”

Tate looked up. “Her blood sugar monitor. It’s on the bathroom counter. Go!”

The frantic tone of Tate’s command seemed to spur Doug to action. He found it on the counter and hurried back with it, handing it to Tate, who immediately checked her level.

“Since when does she need that?” Doug asked.

“She’s had type 1 since she was a kid.” He didn’t look up from the monitor while it calculated her level. “She didn’t tell you. Didn’t want anyone to know. Dammit! It’s normal. Call an ambulance.”

Doug apparently tried to process all this information. “She’s diabetic and didn’t tell me? Why didn’t she—”

“Doug!” Tate screamed, looking up at him. “We can talk about this later. Call 911!”

Doug grabbed the phone while Tate carefully picked her up and laid her on the bed. When Doug hung up with 911, he said, “They’re on the way.”

Tate didn’t look away from her. “Good. Go get our clothes out of the hall and open the front door. Bring me my clothes. I’ll ride with her. Take my car since it’s already in the drive and follow us.” When Doug left to do it, Tate grabbed her hand and stroked it. She felt hot, feverish. “Come on, honey. Wake up and look at me.”

Doug returned with his clothes as they heard an ambulance approaching. Tate quickly yanked on his clothes and grabbed her purse. “Go down and meet them. Then hurry up and get dressed.”

Tate had Harper’s purse and phone by the time the EMS crew made it upstairs. Tate told them as much as he knew about her condition and how they’d found her.

“I’m going with you,” he said as they transferred her from the bed to the gurney.

“What’s your relationship to the patient?” one of them asked.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he said.

He was vaguely aware of Doug standing near the door and silently watching.

“Okay,” the paramedic said. “Let’s get her transported.”

Tate followed them as Doug trailed behind. “What hospital are you taking her to?” Doug asked before Tate climbed into the back of the ambulance.

“Tampa Community,” one of the EMTs replied.

She briefly regained consciousness in the ambulance. Tate grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Hey, sweetie.”

“What’s…going on?” Her voice sounded weak.

“We found you passed out in your bedroom. Your blood sugar was okay. They think you’ve got some sort of infection.”

“Hurts. Stomach…”