Page 17 of Endeavor

I’m about to tell her that when someone comes into the room yelling her name.

She turns.

“Will cut his hand on some glass and I think you might need to take him to get stitches,” the girl says.

Emma’s up and out the door before I can ask what happened. I follow her as do the rest of our game players. When we reach the kitchen, I can see the remnants of a wineglass on the floor, a dish towel is wrapped around Will’s hand which Emma is examining.

“I can drive your car,” she says as she attempts to look under the dishtowel.

Will pulls his hand back. “No, it’s OK. Really.”

“Will, that cut is deep, man. You should go get it checked,” a guy by the oven says.

Then it hits me, my inner good person finally speaks up before my mind can catch up to the conversation.

“I can take you,” I say. “My car is right next door.”

“Really?” Emma asks, her voice rising an octave in clear surprise.

I look at her worry-laced face. “Yes. You should really get that looked at,” I say to Will as I notice the blood seeping through the towel. Will’s eyes follow mine and widen when he sees the blood. His face goes white and I reach him right before he passes out.

Great. I just rescued the date of the woman I want to get to know. I’m a motherfucking prince on a white horse for the wrong person.

“I got him,” I mutter as I help Will sit down. He comes to right away, looking around in confusion.

“I hate blood,” he murmurs.

“Don’t we all. Hey, guys? Can you help me get Will to my car?” I call out to Rhett and Max.

They bend down and we all hoist Will back up and help him outside, followed by about ten spectators.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” Will tries to reassure us.

“Buddy, you fainted and you’re bleeding through that towel. So, I’d say, you need stitches,” I state as I open my car door. Emma gets in on the other side to help Will, who bats her hand away.

“Fine. I got this,” he says to everyone as he uses his good hand to put on a seat belt.

“Keep your hand elevated,” I command.

He props it up and gives me a look. What. A. Douchebag.

“I’ll be back later,” I say to my crew as I jump into the driver’s seat and take off toward the nearest ER.

Emma sits in the back, trying to console Will. I turn on the music and ignore their conversation as best I can in a small space. What does she see in this guy? He’s clearly not anything like her. I’m no people person, but I know a mismatched couple when I see one.

I pull up to the ER and Will opens the door as Emma gets out and rushes around to meet him.

“I’ll park and meet you inside,” I state and head off before she can protest.

I find parking and walk back in to find them sitting in the waiting room. Before I can say anything, someone calls Will and he gets up and looks down at us.

“You two can just wait here. I’m sure it won’t take long,” he grumbles as he heads to the door and disappears out of sight.

“Well, uh, thanks for driving us,” Emma stammers, as she wrings her hands nervously.

I can’t help it. I place my hand over hers, noticing how small hers are for the first time. She freezes and looks up at me.

“He’ll be alright,” I reassure her.

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