Page 101 of Villainous Summer

You would think that, after years of being in and out of hospitals, I would be used to antiseptic and rubber permeating the halls. But nothing could prepare me for the drawn-out hours of waiting rooms.

As I followed the paramedics, who refused to let me ride with her, I called Devin, who called Summer’s father.

When he arrived at the hospital a few minutes after me, I recognized those same blue eyes and waved him over.

I introduced myself and told him what happened as best I could.

After an awkward fifteen minutes of silence, he turned to me. “So, you’re the one who changed her oil, are you?”

Furrowing my brow, I thought back. “Yeah, I did.”

He made an indistinguishable sound in the back of his throat as he assessed me. “I won’t tell you not to break my pumpkin’s heart because, if you did, I would be the least of your worries.”

I swallowed hard.

“But I’d stay behind her with my tire iron.”

“Noted, Mr. Townsend.”

His gaze didn’t falter as he looked me up and down, his eyes snagging on my hands and the blood over my shirt.

He leaned in closer, asking me, “What are we going to do about this piece of shit who hurt her?”

“I haven’t planned that part out yet, but I have a few ideas.”

In the moments after I saw Summer, my only thoughts were on getting her safe and healthy again.

But Cory had to pay.

While they had loaded Summer into the ambulance, I had given an officer Cory’s name and the make and model of the car and let him know I couldn’t give him a full statement until I knew Summer was stable.

The doctor approached us, her brows pulled together and mouth downturned, darting her gaze between me and Summer’s father. “She’s being brought into surgery now. There was some internal bleeding we need to repair, and she has damage to her trachea. The glass that cut her wasn’t deep, and luckily, it missed the artery by a few millimeters, but she still lost quite a bit of blood. Unfortunately, we are low on her blood type, so we’re waiting on a delivery from a blood bank in Seattle now.”

Seattle. That could’ve been an hour or more, depending on traffic and the ferry system. I needed Summer to be well sooner than that.

Standing to my full height, I stared Dr. Pearce down. “What’s her blood type?”

“B positive,” Peter said, shaking his head. “From her mother, I wish I could give mine, but I’m AB positive. I can’t.”

“I’m O negative. Take my blood.”

The doctor frowned. “This is highly irregular.”

“But can I?”

“Yes, but—” Her eyes shot down to the chart, then back at me as she bit her lip.

“Then, do it. Run any test you need to first, but take my blood.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Alright. Let me get you set up with someone.”

I followed her, the weight of Summer’s father’s gaze on my back.

It was a waiting game. The bandage on the inside of my arm tugged my skin every time I shifted in my seat. But, for the first time, I welcomed the feeling. I did something that could help Summer. The doctors and fate were in control of the rest, but I had done something.

After an hour, Peter grumbled to himself, got up, and left me.

Five minutes later, he returned with an old work T-shirt. “Might have some grease stains on it, but it’s clean.”

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