Page 18 of A Certain Appeal
“We’re going to be late...” He removes his hand from his head to motion toward me, and blood drips from his fingers.
“Whoa!” The chill weight of horror settles on my shoulders. “You’re bleeding.”
I glance at the growing crowd. Onlookers lean over the frame, though for the moment the metal’s serving as a makeshift barrier. Aguy in a baseball cap lifts his phone overhead and snaps a selfie with the scene as his backdrop.
“Can someone call 911?” I beg.
The small crowd moves for pockets and purses as if a unit of a hive mind. A man in a suit says, “I’ve got it,” and angles his head toward his phone. “Hello? I have an emergency.”
“Can anyone help?” I plead. “A doctor or a nurse?”
A few people search among the group, eyeing one another expectantly, but no takers. My stomach pitches, and the fear in Jane’s wide eyes emphasizes how out of my depth I am. I place a hand on his shoulder. Blood drips onto my wrist, and I wince. “I’m going to check out the back of your head,” I tell him, my voice far more solid than I actually feel.
His lashes flutter, but he nods.
“Try not to move.” More blood lands on my hand. I brace myself and scoot behind him. With his shaved head, the damage is immediately clear: brown skin, and the pink of torn scalp bordered by bright red blood. At its center, a sliver of sheer white—
Bone.
I gasp, then place my hands to either side of the gash, pressing my thumbs together to close the wound. Blood oozes from the seam.
“Is it bad?” Jane’s voice is high.
“It’ll be fine,” I choke out. I change my position to keep the pressure applied with one hand. The scene around me tips, my vision swimming.
I just saw Jane’s skull.
“Bennet?”
Hopelessness tugs at me. I grit my teeth. Jane needs me to stay calm. “It’s all good, hon. We’ll get you taken care of—”
Jane goes limp, and I gasp, struggling with the dead weight to ease him onto my knees. My heart clenches. Tears stream down either side of his face.
“Dizzy.” His lower lip trembles. “Ithurts, Ben.”
The pain in his voice edges me toward tears. “I’m so sorry, love. Just stay still.” I stroke his cheek, my other hand still maintaining the pressure high on the back of his head.
He takes in a shuddering breath. “I hate crying like this.” His jaw is stiff, like he’s more offended by the indignity of the tears than the horrible circumstances around why he’s crying. “Lying down, the tears get in my ears. Ihatemy ears getting wet.”
“I know.” The rare gripe is strangely reassuring. “I don’t understand how you shower.”
Jane chuckles, and the fist around my heart releases some.
“We’ll get you taken care of.” I keep my hand on the side of his face and look for the guy with the phone, hoping 911 has given him an ETA.
“Jane!”
At the name, I scan for a familiar face. It takes me a second pass to notice Charles emerging at the front row of onlookers, Darcy beside him.
Charles pales, his eyes darting around wildly as he approaches. “Oh my God, Jane!”
Jane stiffens. “Charles?”
Charles kneels, clasping one of Jane’s hands in both of his. Even with my upside-down view, the relief on Jane’s face at Charles’s arrival is clear.
“What happened?” Charles asks, not taking his eyes from Jane.
Darcy takes a knee beside me. “Has someone called 911?” He leansin to see the wound. The move puts him within motorboat distance of my cleavage, which really shouldn’t be in my awareness right now, but damn it, adrenaline does strange things to a gal’s body chemistry.
