Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“I did?” I put a hand to my head and wince. Yup—it’s sore. I’ve got a bump back there and it really hurts.
“You might have a concussion,” Logan informs me. “I’m taking you to the hospital to find out.”
“What? No,” I protest weakly. “I’m fine—I just need a minute and I can get back to work.”
“Like hell you will,” he growls. He’s carrying me out to his work truck like I’m as light as a feather. He’s so tall I feel like I’m thirty feet off the ground. But maybe that’s just because I’m feeling dizzy again. I close my eyes and let my head lean against his shoulder.
“I’m okay,” I say, but I can’t make my voice sound strong—it’s not. I’m not. I feel tired and weak and little and stupid. I interrupted his whole day because I can’t even keep myself upright at work. Some independent woman I’m turning out to be!
“You’ve been under a hell of a lot of stress lately, sweetheart,” he says, surprising me, both with the endearment and the concern in his deep voice. “Let’s just get you checked out.”
I don’t make any more complaints as he gets me into the passenger side of his truck and makes sure I’m buckled in. It’s kind of nice how careful and concerned he is. Dirk never worried about me. Even that time I sliced my finger making him lunch and had to go to urgent care for stitches because it was bleeding all over. He barely even looked up from his video game.
“Wrap it in a paper towel and drive yourself,” he said, when I begged him to pause the game and take me. “I can’t stop right now, babe—I’m right in the middle of a quest.”
When I remember things like that, I feel even more stupid for ever believing he loved me. But what can I do? It’s too late to go back and change things now.
We get to the ER and once again, Logan insists on carrying me. He even waves off the orderly with the wheelchair who comes to meet us as we pass through the sliding glass doors.
“No—I’ve got her,” he says firmly.
“You don’t have to—I’m too heavy,” I protest.
“No, you’re not, kitten.” He cradles me closer. “Not letting you go until we find out what’s going on with you.”
It’s not too crowded in the ER—maybe because it’s the middle of a workday—so we get sent back to an exam room immediately—a cubical type area surrounded on three sides with pale blue curtains. Logan at least agrees to put me down on the hospital gurney but then he pulls up a chair and holds my hand, watching me anxiously all the while.
A few minutes later, a nurse comes in. She gets my vitals and the story of what happened and nods. Next comes a doctor—an older man with silver hair and a frown. He checks my pupils with a light and feels the bump on the back of my head. When I wince in pain, he tells me he wants to get a quick X-ray of my skull to be sure everything is okay. Then he bustles away.
A few minutes after that, a girl in her twenties with short, bleached blonde hair and lots of piercings comes over with a wheelchair.
“Hi there—I’m here to take you to Radiology. But first, we have to do a little test. So we’re going to the bathroom.”
Logan helps me get into the wheelchair and makes the girl promise not to leave me.
“She’s still dizzy,” he says anxiously.
“Don’t worry,” the girl chirps. “It says she’s a fall risk on her chart—I won’t leave her for a minute.”
True to her word, she accompanies me into a large bathroom with a single toilet. She helps me get up and then looks away nicely as I sit on the toilet.
“Good—now pee in this—fill it up to here.” She hands me a cup, pointing to the line near the middle.
“Okay,” I agree, groggily. Everything still feels kind of unreal. I pee in the cup and hand it back to her. She nods, labels it, and then puts a cap on.
“All right—we should know in a minute if we can do those X-rays or not,” she says brightly.
I want to ask what she means. Didn’t the Doctor order the X-rays? Doesn’t that mean we have to do them? But I feel too tired and dizzy to say anything about it. So I wash my hands—while she stands beside me, making sure I don’t fall—and then she rolls me down a long hallway.
A few minutes later, though, she rolls me right back to my cubical again. I’m too out of it to protest as she and Logan help me back into bed.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, frowning. “That was quick. Did the X-rays show something bad?”