Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,2
“I’m a bit bruised, that’s all.”
Her legs shifted first, straightening in a seemingly easy motion. Then she raised her head. Rotated it cautiously but without signs of distress. Wiggled her torso.
“If your back and neck feel okay, do you want to try sitting up?” He offered his hands, ignoring how they trembled fully as much as that stubborn chin. Jesus, she’d scared the hell out of him. “Here. Let me help.”
She mustered a small smile. “Although I appreciate your offer of assistance, I’m more than capable of—fuck!”
With a gasping cry, her attempt to lever herself up ceased, and she curled in on herself once more, cradling her left arm against her body, panting through obvious pain.
He’d never heard her use an obscenity before. If only these sorts of situations prompted them, he hoped he never would again.
“Okay. Okay.” Frantic, he peered out through the doorway, hoping to see their security guard, but he wasn’t sure Carlotta even worked so late during the summer. “I’ll call an ambulance. Or drive you to the emergency room.”
“No.” It was an instant refusal. Firm and loud and definite.
He ignored it. Why weren’t his keys in his jeans pocket? If he’d deposited them on top of his desk, he’d have to leave her long enough to get them. Shit.
“I’m going to my classroom for my keys, but I’ll be right—” Already on his feet, he gaped down at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
Somehow, while he’d been patting his pockets, she’d raised herself to a sitting position using her right arm, her left still pressed against her chest. “Getting up, clearly.”
She was trying to maneuver herself to her knees, her face deathly pale where it wasn’t blotched with livid pink. Once more, he found himself reaching for her but unable to touch. This time, because she hadn’t given him permission.
“Candy...” He met her red-rimmed gaze. Held it. “Please don’t hurt yourself trying to do it alone. I can help. I want to help.”
Her eyes turned glassy once more, and his gut churned at the sight.
Then she blinked hard, lifted a hand, and accepted his. “Okay. On the count of three. One…two…three.”
Together, they got her kneeling. Her palm was damp against his, her grip firm, the skin-to-skin contact electric in a way he didn’t have the time or inclination to parse.
He put her good arm around his shoulders. In halting movements, she rose to her feet with his assistance, still breathing hard through the pain.
For a few seconds, she remained huddled against him, allowing him to support some of her weight. He bore it gladly.
“Thank you,” she eventually said.
The words were unadorned but decisive. Loud enough to hear easily.
He looked down at the graying crown of her head, wondering when that booming voice had become such a comfort to him. “You’re welcome. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
She moved away from him then, her chin turning pugnacious in an entirely familiar way, and he braced himself for a fight.
After glancing down at her left arm, though, still bent protectively close to her chest, she sighed. “Your keys are in your classroom, you said?”
He let out a slow breath, almost giddy in his relief. “Yes.”
“I’ll gather everything I need and meet you in the hall.” Her throat worked. “Thank you again. I don’t—”
She cut herself off. Gazed up at him, brow creased in seeming confusion.
“Thank you,” she repeated.
He forced himself to turn away from her.
“No problem,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
Only he wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Not for either of them.
“If you drive me back to the school, I can make it home just fine.” Perched on the hospital bed, Candy pointed meaningfully at her left arm. “See? My arm might be broken, but the splint will keep everything stable until the swelling goes down and I can get a cast. And I didn’t take anything but Tylenol, so my head is perfectly clear.”
The doctor had wanted to write a prescription for stronger painkillers, but she’d refused with so much loud adamance, the man had taken an actual step backward, his white coat flapping.
A bit of missing context, Griff presumed. “Yes, but it’s still going to be awkward. I’m happy to help you get settled, if you want.”
“Thank you, but you’ve done enough,” she said, looking down that straight nose at him.
The pronouncement did not invite argument, so he didn’t offer one. Not about that, anyway.
He shoved his hair out of his eyes, recalling the doctor’s instructions. Following