Page 77 of Shattered Souls
“I don’t know, sweetheart. However, there were no brake marks, and he sped out of there as if his life depended on it after Grayson pushed you out of the way.”
Riley’s eyes meet mine. “Are you sure?” she asks, voice small.
I give a helpless shrug, but it’s Royce who answers. “I saw the CCTV footage. He wasflyingthrough that parking lot.”
“That doesn’t mean he wanted to hit me,” she argues, but I can see the thin thread of hope she’s clinging to.
“Either way, we have some questions for whoever he is.” The silent threat in Royce’s words promises more than words will be exchanged before the end of that encounter.
The doctor, a man in his mid-forties, chooses that moment to enter the room. Pausing in the threshold, his sharp gaze rakes over each of us, likely picking up on the underlying tension and violence, before resting on Riley. He gives her a reassuring smile.
“Miss James, I’m Dr. Beaumont. I’d like to discuss your condition.” He glances warily at the rest of us. “Would you prefer to discuss it in private?”
Riley waves a tired hand. “It’s fine. You can talk in front of them.”
With a curt nod, he adjusts the chart in his hands and says, “I have good news for you. The scans are clear. There are no signs of any bleeding in the brain or fracture to the skull, two issues we were particularly concerned about. However, you do still have aminor concussion. Therefore, it is important that you take it easy for the next few days.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, the tight knot in my chest loosening just a bit.
“You are free to be discharged,” Dr. Beaumont glances between us, sizing each of us up, “but only if there is someone at home who can keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours. It’s crucial to monitor for any changes.”
“We’ll take care of her.” Royce’s voice is firm, his protective nature evident.
The doctor nods, satisfied. “Good. You’ll need to watch out for persistent vomiting, severe headaches that don’t go away, confusion or difficulty waking her, weakness or numbness in her limbs, slurred speech, or any unusual behavior. If any of these symptoms occur, bring her back to the hospital immediately.”
Riley looks slightly overwhelmed by the list, but Logan moves to her side, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Got it,” he states confidently to the doctor.
“Make sure she gets plenty of rest,” the doctor continues. “No strenuous activities.”
Logan, always the practical one, asks, “Is there anything specific we should do?”
“Keep the environment calm and quiet,” Dr. Beaumont advises. “Dim lights are better; she should avoid reading or looking at screens. Hydration is important, and small, light meals are best. If she has any pain, over-the-counter acetaminophen can be used, but avoid ibuprofen or aspirin as they can increase the risk of bleeding.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I say, unable to hide my relief.
He gives us a tight, although reassuring, smile. “You're welcome. Riley, if you have any concerns or if anything feels off, don’t hesitate to come back. Take care, and I hope you feel better soon.”
With that, he leaves the room, and I return my attention to Riley. There’s relief in her eyes, but it’s overshadowed by concern for her daughter. I know we’re going to have a hell of a job getting her to relax and recuperate until we have Aurora home safe and sound.
“We’ve got you, Tempest,” I say softly. “We’ve got both of you.”I swear it.
21
RILEY
Laughter peels through the air—familiar laughter, so pure and joyful that it tugs at my heart. With quick steps, I follow the sound of my daughter’s laughter through the house.
I find her in the living room, and I freeze in the doorway, my eyes raking over her long, dark hair and delicate features. She looks exactly as I remember from the last time I saw her.
She’s playing on the soft rug, her tiny hands gripping a toy as she runs around in circles, her pigtails bouncing with each step. Sunlight streams through the windows, glinting off her hair and highlighting her auburn strands. Mesmerized, I can’t take my eyes off her. I memorize that smile. The sparkle in her hazel eyes. God, she looks so happy. This is how I always want her to be. Safe. Carefree. Untroubled.
Logan is sprawled on the floor beside her, making exaggerated faces as he pretends to be a monster. “Roar! I’m gonna get you, Aurora!” he growls playfully, crawling toward her. She squeals in delight, darting away only to circle back and touch his nose with a giggle.
Royce is on the couch, his usually stern face softened with a rare smile as he watches my little girl playing with Logan. “Daddy!” Aurora squeals, Logan chasing her. “Save me!” Herlittle legs race toward Royce, who holds out his arms, and she runs into them without a second thought before he lifts her onto his lap.
He holds her close like she’s something precious, and the look on his face—on all their faces is one of pure love, unwavering affection. “Daddy,” Aurora says again, and my heart clenches at hearing her say that word. At her calling my men that. Her eyes are heavy now as she snuggles closer to Royce. “Tell me a story.”
Logan drops onto the sofa beside them, and Aurora shuffles over so she’s nestled between them. She’s blinking furiously, fighting sleep as Logan weaves a tale about brave knights and dragons.
