Page 63 of Skate the Line

It’s admirable the way Sunny angles her chin and shakes her head, like she’s in no need of anyone’s help. “I’m fine, thank you.”

The nurse, Patty, flattens her lips before leaving the room.

Sunny shifts on the bed, still holding the bloody rag against her hand. She tilts her head and stares at the ceiling.

“Take some deep breaths. It’ll help.”

Instead of arguing with me, she does what I say.

It seems to be working.

Her chest isn’t rising as fast as before, and the spot on her neck that I can’t stop staring at is no longer thumping with her flying pulse.

The screeching of a moving curtain draws our attention to the doctor coming into the room.

“So, we have a cut, do we?” he announces, sitting down in a swivel chair.

Surprise flickers across his face when he lands on his patient. It’s the same look every man has on his face when they lay eyes on her.

They’re stunned by her subtle beauty. It likely steals their breath, just like it did mine.

As if he’s caught, he quickly turns to me and tries to mask his thoughts while introducing himself.

I read them as if they’re my own, though. My jaw clenches, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m feeling protective over her or if it’s something else.

Likepossessiveness.

There’s a deep-rooted part of me that wants to stand up and bang on my chest like a fucking caveman. I want to say,She’s mine, Doc.But that’s absolutely fucking insane. She’s my daughter's nanny and nothing else.

Other men can look at her.

Other men can have her too.

“Can I take a look?” the doctor asks, moving closer to her and farther away from me.

Sunny holds out her hand and stays as still as a statue while he pulls back the rag. The wound is split wide open with fresh blood still pooling. “I’d say you need no more than seven stitches.” He places the rag back onto her hand. “Have you had stitches before?”

She finally makes eye contact with him. She nods, but that lip stays trapped in between her teeth.

“Okay, good, you understand the process. Can I ask where you’ve had stitches at?”

Sunny’s swallow is loud enough for the patient in the next bay to hear. “My head.”

“Your head? Were you young or…”

She shakes her head, and nowmyheart is racing.

“A little over nine months ago,” she whispers.

The doctor’s eyebrows furrow. He says nothing as he rolls over to the computer and starts typing quickly. I watch him closely. His eyes move back and forth, like he’s reading something. Then, his furrowed brow smooths, and a noise leaves his throat.

He peeks over his shoulder at Sunny then to me. “I need to ask her some questions.”

I stare at him.

“Alone.”

What?

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