“You cannot handle Demerol, however,” she said.

Thanks for the newsflash, Vin thought. He’d been hurling since they’d given him the shot about thirty minutes ago.

After his latest bout of gagging lost its enthusiasm, he settled back against the pillow and closed his eyes. As a cool hand towel-wiped his mouth and his face, he smiled. Marie-Terese—Gretchen, actually—was still terrific with the terry cloth.

And God willing, she wouldn’t have to put that skill set to use on him again anytime soon.

“I’m going to give you an antinausea injection,” the doctor said, “and if the vomiting subsides, we can release you. Stitches need to be removed in ten days, but your internist can do that. We’ve given you a tetanus shot and I’ll write you a prescription for oral antibiotics—but we have some samples here, and we’ve already given you one of them. Any questions?”

Vin opened his lids and looked not at the doctor, but at Gretchen. She loved him. She’d said so, in the ambulance. He’d heard the words from her very own mouth.

So nope, he didn’t have any questions. As long as he knew she felt like that, he was good to go on pretty much everything else.

“Just shoot me up, Doc, so I can get the hell out of here.”

The woman snapped on fresh gloves, uncapped a syringe and put the needle right into his vein. As she hit the plunger, he didn’t feel a thing, which made the hurling almost worth it. “This should ease things immediately.”

Vin held his breath, not really expecting—

Holy shit. The effect was lickety-split, as if his belly had been blanketed in a whole lot of whoa-nelly-easy-there-big-boy. On a shuddering breath, his entire body went loose, giving him a clear idea, as if the upchucking hadn’t, of exactly how green he’d felt.

“Let’s see if that holds,” the doctor said, recapping the syringe and tucking it into an orange box. “Just rest here, and when I release you, we’ll get you and your wife a cab.”

He and his wife.

Vin brought Gretchen’s hand up to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with a kiss. “Sound good to you?” he asked. “Honey?”

“Perfect.” A smile lifted her lips. “As long as you’re ready to go. Dear.”

“I so am.”

“All right, I’ll be back to check on you.” The doctor went over to the curtain that separated Vin’s bay from the rest of the ER. “Listen, the CPD is asking to see you. I can tell them to contact you—”

“Send them in,” Vin said. “No reason to wait.”

“You sure?”

“What’s the worst that can happen? I start throwing up again and use the guy’s pockets instead of my bedpan? I’m willing to risk that.”