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“Autumn,” he warns, wanting nothing more than for me to back up so he can beat the living shit out of Dr. Harding without putting me in danger.
“Please,” I cry, tears springing to my eyes. “You have to stop. It’s not worth losing your career over this dickhead. Please, we’ll fuck him up in a courtroom and take everything from him, but not at the risk of hurting yourself. Stop. You’ve worked too hard.”
Thorne pulls against my hold once more until a heavy sigh finally has him pulling back. He looks back at me, his gaze sweeping over my tear-streaked face. Devastation shines in his eyes, and within an instant, Harding is forgotten on the ground and Thorne wraps his arms around my body, crushing my face into his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You’re right.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” I tell him. “I’d like nothing more than to watch him bleed out, but you’re so much more important.”
Thorne’s head rests on top of mine for a brief moment, and I listen as he takes slow calming breaths before taking my shoulders and pushing me back. “Are you hurt?” he asks, his eyes roaming over my body.
“He pushed me into the fridge and the back of my ribs hit a shelf, but I don’t know if it’s done any damage. Maybe it’s bruised.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, his hands soothingly running up and down my arms. “We’ll get you checked out. Suzi will take care of you.”
“What about you?” I ask, taking his hands from my arms and looking down at his split knuckles.
He shakes off my concern. “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re a surgeon. You can’t have split knuckles. You need to get this looked at and cleaned up,” I tell him, looking over at one of the nurses, more than ready to look after my man. “Go and find someone who can fix him up, and not just anyone. Dr. Mayson deserves the best.”
The nurse nods and practically runs from the room as Suzi steps into my side and indicates to my shirt. “May I?” she asks, using a tone that is usually reserved for patients who have fallen victim to a horrific crime, though I guess that’s me now.
I nod and grab the hem of my shirt before cringing as I try to raise it over my head. Thorne captures my hands to stop my movement before Suzi takes over and raises my shirt just high enough to see the back of my ribs.
She sucks in a breath as Thorne leans around me to get a good look. “Is it bad?” I ask, fearing his response.
He looks to Suzi as my shirt is lowered back into place. “I want an X-ray done just to make sure.”
She nods. “I’ll book it right away,” she tells him before scurrying out the door, just as another four people come barging in, one of them being Patricia who gasps at the unconscious man laying on the break room floor.
“What on earth happened in here?” she demands.
I see red.
“What happened,” I spit, stepping out from Thorne’s arms. “Is that you so carelessly have told every single person who crosses your path that I’ve been whoring myself out for grades and now dickheads like this,” I say, kicking at his leg. “Think that gives them the right to come and demand sexual favors out of me and when I tell them no, believe that gives them the right to just take what they want.”
“I … I …. No, I—”
“Enough,” Thorne says, holding his hand up and stopping whatever bullshit was about to come out of Patricia’s mouth. “We can deal with this bullshit later. For now, someone needs to get this bastard off my ward and in a private room with a guard at the door. Mark my words, he will be going down, and for that to happen, we will be doing everything by the book. Have him thoroughly taken care of, and do not leave him unsupervised for even one second. Is that understood?” The two midwives standing by the door nod as Thorne focuses his stare on Patricia. “As for you, go and fetch incident reports. I want everyone who was involved here today to write a thorough report, even if they were just passing by.”
“Yes, Dr. Mayson,” she says, nodding her head and refusing to meet his eyes.
Just like that, the room turns into a flurry of activity, and not two seconds later, a male nurse is brought in and helps remove Dr. Harding from the room. Suzi returns a moment later with a wheelchair and prompts me to take a seat. Thorne all but grabs me and puts me in the chair before taking over for Suzi and pushing me out of the room.
Half an hour later, I sit with Thorne in an examination room as the head of plastic surgery stitches up his hand. He stares at the X-rays of my ribs, going over them again and again. Even though every doctor who has come and gone from this room has confirmed with him that my ribs aren’t broken, just bruised. I can’t say I blame him though, I’ve been watching over Thorne’s split knuckles, making sure that the doctor doesn’t miss a single stitch, despite being the best in his field. Some may call it being an overprotective douche, but I call it looking out for your own.
