Page 187 of Fighting the Pull

Tom carefully removed the towels and inspected my cuts.

“Deep, not too deep, nothing vital hit.” He looked at me and gave me a reassuring doctor smile. “You’ll need to be stitched up, but it’s not too bad. I’m going to bind them now and we’ll get you to a hospital to have them taken care of.”

I nodded.

“You feeling light-headed? Nauseous?” he asked.

“Just shaky,” I told him.

“Good girl. You’ll be all right. Hang in there. Let’s get you sorted,” Tom replied.

Tom got to work.

Hale watched him for a few beats with an expression on his face I got, because his girlfriend was sitting by the basin in a men’s room, blood all over her gown, and he looked livid.

He looked something else too.

I got that something else, but I also didn’t.

It was terror-stricken.

“Hale, honey, I’m okay,” I repeated.

Tom turned his head to Hale, Hale flicked his gaze to mine.

Then he turned on his foot and stalked out.

* * *

My phone was ringing.

I opened my eyes, rolled in bed and saw Hale wasn’t beside me.

I also felt a ping of pain in my hand and arm.

I reached to my nightstand to see the call was from Dad.

He and Mom had shown at the emergency room last night. Hale had called Dad. Dad had called Mom.

It was unnecessary, to my way of thinking. But not theirs. They hung with me and rode with us back to Hale’s when the hospital released me.

Twenty-eight stitches in my hand, seventeen on my arm.

She really got my hand, from webbing all the way across to the apple.

I didn’t know when or even if my parents left, since the hospital gave me painkillers, Hale made me take them, and the last thing I remembered was lounging on the couch, tucked tight to Hale, while he talked to Mom and Dad.

Clearly, he’d carried me to bed.

But where was he?

I took the call, “Hey, Dad.”

“How’s my beautiful girl this morning?”

“I’m good.”

“Did I wake you?”

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