“I’m okay,” I assure him, seeing the unease in his eyes as they scan me over from head to toe.
“You’re not okay, so stop saying you are,” he growls, looking into my eyes and palming my cheek gently. “You were hit by a car and were unconscious. When we got to the hospital, they thought you were going to need surgery because of the hit you took to the head. No fucking part of that says you’re okay.”
“Please calm down,” I whisper, hating the fear I see in his gaze. “Dr. Woods said I’m okay, and she’s right. I’m sore, but I’m all right, and if that changes, I swear I’ll tell you and let you bring me back here.”
“If something happens to you…” He closes his eyes briefly before opening them back up. “I can’t even think about what that would do to me.”
“What are you not telling me?” I question gently, knowing in my gut he’s keeping something from me. His fear is palpable.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head then turns me away from him before I can ask him more.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, my throat closes up. The side of my face, from my cheekbone to my temple, is an ugly shade of yellow-green, and my new blonde hair is copper-colored and matted with blood at the roots. “Oh, my God.” I move a chunk of my hair to the side and see a large portion has been shaved clean to my scalp, which is angry-looking with a row of stitches in the center.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers behind me, and I catch his gaze in the mirror. “They didn’t have any other option.”
Swallowing, I nod, knowing now is not a time for me to be vain. “It will grow back,” I assure him and me at the same time.
“It will.” He kisses my road rash covered shoulder softly then picks up my T-shirt that is sitting on the side of the sink. “Let’s get you dressed and then get you home.”
“Please.” I turn toward him, letting him slip the shirt on over my head and help me feed my arms through the holes in the sleeves. I then watch him get down on his suit-covered knees and hold open a pair of my sweats.
“Put your hands on my shoulder for balance,” he instructs, and I rest my hands on his shoulder and lift my foot then do the same with the opposite side. Once I have both feet in, he pulls them up my legs, being careful of my thigh and hip as the material skims over my bruised skin. “There.” He kisses my stomach then slides a pair of flip-flops onto my feet.
“Where are my shoes I had on?” I know, of all the things I should be worried about right now, my shoes should not be one of them, but my Louis Vuitton peep-toe, leopard-print heels were one of the first things I ever bought with my own money, and they are one of my prized possessions.
“Your cousin has them,” he mutters, dumping the gown I had on in a large red container in the corner of the bathroom.
“Who?”
“July. She and Wes didn’t see what happened, they heard my shout and the car…” He stops talking and shakes his head, running his fingers though his hair roughly. “I was going to put you in my car, but July was adamant about not moving you and insisted we call an ambulance. They stayed with me until the ambulance got their then they followed us to the hospital.”
“They didn’t stay?”
“They stayed for a while, but they weren’t allowed to stay in the room, so they went home after the doctor assured them you were okay and Jax took off.”
“You should call her and tell her I’m okay.”
“Your mom sent out a mass text when we were in the hall earlier. I’m sure the state of Tennessee will be over to see you tomorrow,” he says as he carefully picks me up.
“I can walk.”
“You may be able to, but I would rather carry you. Open the door for me.”
I lean over and turn the nob, and he pushes us out with his shoulder.
As soon as we step out of the bathroom, my mom comes toward us, holding a few papers in her hand and giving them to me. “Dr. Woods dropped those off. She said you need to come back in a few days to have your stitches checked, along with the wound, to make sure it’s healing properly and is not infected.”
“Okay,” I agree, and her face softens as I yawn.
“How is your headache now?”
“Not as bad as it was.” I rest my head against Dillon’s shoulder, feeling exhausted. “I’m just tired.”
“Let Dillon take you home,” Dad mutters, taking my mom’s hand in his. “We’ll come over tomorrow to check on you.”
“Sure, but we’re staying at Dillon’s house, so you’ll have to come over there,” I inform them, and their eyes widen. “Oh, come on,” I sigh. “Was I really that vocal about his house?” I question as Dillon chuckles.
“A little.” Mom smiles as Dad shakes his head, grinning.
“It’s growing on me,” I admit, and Dillon’s arms tighten slightly. It’s not a lie; it really is growing on me. I love the kitchen and the library, but I really love his bedroom and his closet. I also love that he has a giant tub with jets in it. And really, wherever he is, that’s where I want to be.
“And the fountain?” Dad asks with a raised brow. Apparently, I was vocal about that too.
“I still hate it, but I was thinking about buying some gold fish to put in it.” I shrug.
“You really are crazy.” Dillon laughs along with my parents.
“Come on. We will walk you out,” Dad says, and Dillon and I follow behind my parents, out of the hospital. After giving them each a hug and a promise to call if anything changes, they wait with us until Dillon has me buckled in the car before they head for my dad’s truck across the lot.
Once Dillon’s behind the wheel, I turn my head to look over at him and smile. “I should have gotten hit by a car a week ago,” I joke, then wish I didn’t when his eyes darken and narrow.
“Do not say shit like that.”
“It was a joke,” I defend quietly, and he runs his hands roughly down his face.
“It’s not funny. I would rather have your parents hate me for the rest of my life than to see you in the hospital ever again.”
“Okay.” I rest my hand against his cheek. “Please calm down. I’m okay, remember?”
“I know.” He turns his head, kissing my palm, then starts up the car. I can tell he’s still tense as he drives, but I have no idea what to say to put him at ease. As soon as we get to the house, he parks in the garage without a word and carries me inside and up the stairs to the bedroom, where he helps me brush my teeth and get undressed. Crawling into bed a few minutes later, I roll to my side and watch him strip down to his boxers.
“Are you coming to bed?” I ask when I see he’s putting on a pair of sleep pants, and not stripping down like he normally does every night.
“In a few. I just need to make a quick call,” he explains, coming over to where I’m lying, then bends to kiss me. “Try to sleep. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” I agree, watching him pick up his cell phone off the bed, where he tossed it. I don’t know how long I lie there looking at the ceiling, but eventually exhaustion takes over and I fall asleep before he comes back.