Right As Rain (Complete)

Chapter 2

Maelee

I climb on top of the gurney and hover over Noah to continue CPR as the paramedics roll us towards the ambulance. The wheels of the gurney hit the crevices of the tiled patio in rhythm with my rapid compressions and send vibrations through my knees on either side of Noah's hips and into my shoulders.

Ba-Bump. Ba-Bump. Ba-Bump.

I have always embraced the overwhelming obstacles and impossible challenges thrown my way, but this seems a bit ridiculous. I moved to Los Angeles seven months ago to be trained by the best surgeons at the best hospital. I'm not sure how I missed the lecture on treating celebrities in a restaurant with zero resources.

Before we make it outside, where staff are holding open the patio curtains and fending off photographers, Noah's body jerks beneath me. I yell for the paramedics to stop and lift myself from Noah's lap as he rolls to his side and vomits on the ground below; a common side effect of glucagon. I put my arms around his torso to keep him from falling off the gurney and breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

He's awake.

Noah groans and rolls to his back, almost knocking me to the floor. I step down from the raised stretcher and lift the backrest so he is only slightly reclined. He pulls his arm to his forehead and gazes up at me groggily.

"Noah, I'm Maelee. Do you remember me?" I ask, leaning forward to check the dilation of his eyes.

Pupils are blown.

His cheesy smile tells me he has no idea what just happened or who I am. He closes his eyes and drops his head to the side as if I just woke him from his sleep. He reaches his arm towards me and wraps it around my waist, pulling me closer. "Beautiful," he hums.

I'm sure Noah has found himself in this type of position before. Being woken by a blonde stranger straddling his lap is probably just another Thursday. Unfortunately, for Noah, this is not one of those days.

I forcefully grab his face and direct his eyes to mine. "Noah, do you remember me?" I ask again.

His eyes widen with surprise at my sudden vigor. "Yeah, you're Jessica's friend!" he shouts. He leans his head back, groans in disappointment, and rubs his face. "Hudson is going to kill me. He had dibs. We never do that." Noah grabs my wrist. "We don't do dibs!"

What the hell?

"I'm sorry?" I ask.

His blue eyes soften and are clearer than before. "Don't be sorry, love," he says. Noah smiles sadly and lifts his arm, putting it behind me and gently rubbing my back. "It isn't your fault."

I look over my shoulder at Jessica, laughing, and Hudson, palming his forehead. Noah recognizes the presence of his friends and squints between the three of us. He moves his hand from my rubbing my back to rubbing his forehead in confusion.

"Noah, do you know where we are?" I ask.

He looks around the restaurant patio, vacant of anyone other than his friends, a handful of staff, the paramedics, and me. He concentrates on one of the tables holding a basket of bread, a half-eaten piece of cheesecake, a bowl of fruit, and two empty cups of coffee.

"France?" he asks.

Though the answer is wrong, I can't totally discount it. In all fairness, the restaurant is very French. And it wouldn't be that far-fetched for the superstar to be in another country. So, I try again. "Do you know what year it is?"

"February," he answers confidently.

Nope.

"Can you tell me how old you are?"

"I'm Irish!" he proclaims, acting as if I should have known this and have now offended him.

"Very good," I say, patting his leg. His exuberance is promising.

Hudson, steps closer and nudges the back of my shoulder with the front of his own. "What's wrong with him?" he asks in a hushed tone right above my ear. His warm breath hits my neck causing a ripple of goosebumps to stream down my spine.

I step away. "Cerebral hypoxia. It's pretty common after something like this. It should get better."

Noah looks down at his tattered shirt and holds one of the cut strips in his hand then lifts his confused gaze to his friend. "What's going on?"

I hold Noah's wrist between my thumb and finger and time his pulse. "You stopped breathing," I tell him, watching the seconds tick on my watch. "We had to do CPR."

He screws his face down and holds his side in pain. "Is that why my chest hurts?"

Shit.

I lift the pieces of his cut shirt and examine his ribcage. "I could have broken a few ribs. Don't worry; we'll get that fixed right up."

Noah is dumbfounded. "You broke my ribs?"

Hudson leans towards Noah on the gurney and puts his arm around my waist. Are all popstars this handsey? "Apparently, Jessica's friend is a doctor," he says in a loud teasing whisper.

Noah looks surprised. A typical expression when people discover what I do. Some of Jessica's more "affluent" friends have assumed I am an actress, an heiress, a bottle server, and an Instagram personality –whatever in the hell that is– but never a surgeon. Jess and I have been friends a long time. I'm not a celebrity and that's okay; our friendship is no more or less significant because she is.

"Yeah, you're welcome," Jessica sarcastically chimes in, not wanting anyone to forget her significance during Noah's rescue.

Noah laughs and closes his eyes, relaxing into the stretcher. "I told you she was too good for you."

Jessica quirks her brow at Hudson then down to where he has comfortably put his hand on my hip. I've seen enough entertainment news to know about him. He's a flirt; a modern day Don Juan, I once heard. He's hot and I'm sure it's easy for him to send girls into a frenzy. Not me.

I step away from him and put my hand on Noah's shoulder. "We need to get you to the hospital."

News of Noah's collapse has traveled quickly. Restaurant security makes a path through the large crowd gathered outside the patio. There are cameras, video cameras, lights flashing, reporters in suits, paparazzi in beanies, and fans with snot rolling down their faces.

The paramedics, large enough to break through the wall of rabid fans and parasitic paparazzi, manage to get Noah to the ambulance unscathed. I keep my head down and follow close behind them. One of the paramedics holds out his hand and pulls me inside the truck before slamming the large double doors shut, much to the disappointment of our audience.

A few phones, a camera with a large flash, and multiple hands appear in the ambulance window. With every picture, flashes of light reflect in Noah's worried eyes. I sit on the small bench to his right and pat his arm, hoping to provide at least a little comfort. My heart and body both jump when fists pound on the side of the truck and it begins to rock.

"Oak Valley?" the paramedic asks, knowing we need to move fast.

I nod. "Oak Valley."