Page 7 of Crow's Haven
“Scout!” I yell across the yard, voice sharp enough to capture his notice. “Get your ass down. Now.”
He looks at me and that damn grin widens.
I drop my sparring stance, rush forward, intent upon getting to him before he does something stupid.
He gleefully jumps. It probably doesn’t look like a huge jump from where he’s standing but does from my perspective.
I’m still running towards him at full speed and the sound his body makes when he lands is unmistakably bone hitting concrete. A dull, sick thud followed by the sharp snap of something giving way.
Everything else disappears as I kneel down beside him. I barely hear the prospects shouting for someone to get Rage, our medic.
Scout’s curled on his side, his face twisted in pain, his body shaking with breathless sobs. I’m pretty sure he’s broken his arm.
I check him over, careful as I can. Luckily—well not for him—it’s just his arm and a grazed knee.
“I got you, Sprocket. You’re tough,” I murmur, using the voice I always use when they’re hurt. “You’re alright. Everything’s gonna be okay. We’ll get you to the docs.”
Chase runs over, his face pale and round-eyed. “Is he dead?”
“No,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “Your brother’s injured. I want you to stay right by my side and be as quiet as you can.”
Rigs asks, “What do you want to do, go to the ER?”
“Hell no. I’m taking him to see Patch.” Our club doctor has admitting privileges at the local hospital. Unless it’s life or death it’s usually quicker if we go through him. I want the best for my boy, and Patch will make sure he gets to the right place without us having to wait hours to be seen.
Rigs jerks his chin towards the back parking lot. “I had them bring the van around for you.”
I climb in the van, keeping Scout tight against me as I buckle him in.
“I’ll drive so ya can spend time with your boy,” Evan volunteers.
“Thanks, Evan, I owe ya.”
Evan tells Chase, “Come on, buddy, you can ride up front with me, but you gotta wear a safety belt.”
They make short work of getting the situation sorted and then the engine rumbles to life, and Evan shifts the truck into gear.
Hurts like hell, seeing Scout like that, but he’s stopped crying now. Instead, he’s giving little sniffles.
“We’re going to see Patch,” I tell him, shifting hard onto the road. “Doc’ll fix ya up.”
By the time we pull into the gravel lot outside the clinic, Scout’s gone quiet.
“You okay, buddy?” I ask.
He’s looking pale. Damn it! I should have taken him to the ER.
When Evan parks up, I grab my boys fast, cradling Scout against my chest like I did when he was an infant and cried through the night. He’s bigger now, but not by much. Still small enough to remind me just how fragile kids are and how quick they can break.
“Patch!” I shout before I’m fully inside. “Doc, I need ya now!”
The waiting room is empty except for a woman behind the front desk. She stands as soon as she sees the blood on Scout’s shirt and the way I’m holding him.
“He fell off the back deck,” I tell her gruffly. “I think his arm is broken.”
“Come with me.” Her voice is calm. I don’t know who this woman is but she’s professional. She rounds the desk, already pulling gloves from the wall dispenser as she leads me into the nearest exam room, leaving Chase and Evan behind.
Scout whimpers against my chest, wincing in more pain when he’s being jostled about.
