Page 138 of The Wrong Groom

The ache in my chest doesn’t fade, and it isn’t helped by the racing of my heart. Too much has happened in such a short time, too much for me to process. Gabriel takes a step toward me, and something inside me snaps.

I pound my balled-up fists against his chest. He doesn’t even react. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?” I yell. “Why did you do this to me? You… you pushed me away…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his expression pained. “I shouldn’t have done it like I did. I know that now. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

My heart is racing so fast it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. Patches of gray dance at the edges of my vision. “I—I⁠—”

“Alexis?” There’s worry in his tone now. He reaches for me, but I pull back, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

“D-don’t⁠—”

The world around me tilts. My knees buckle beneath me, and before I can even react, the ground rushes up to meet me.

For a moment, everything goes dark. When I do regain awareness, I’m disoriented, every sound muffled as though I’m submerged in water. The only thing that tethers me to the present is Gabriel’s arm pressed against my back, the tinny sound of his voice as he repeats my name. His face swims in front of me, his brow furrowed with worry.

I’m vaguely aware as he says something to me, something I can’t make out. Then his arm is a solid weight against my back, steadying me as I float somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. The pressure tightens, and the ground falls away as he lifts me. My body feels weightless, like I’m floating.

For the next few minutes, everything comes in flashes.

The faint scent of his cologne mixing with the leather of his car.

The rough tug of a seatbelt sliding across my chest.

The world outside, reduced to smears of light and color as we speed through the city.

The car jerks as he takes it around a corner, and my body sways with the movement, making everything feel even less solid. I want to tell him I’m okay, to halt his panic, but I can’t seem to make my mouth work.

His voice is there too, urgent, rough, terrified. I don’t like hearing him so afraid. Even after everything we’ve been through, everything he put me through, I don’t like that he’s upset.

The car stops, the sudden jerk pulling me back to some semblance of awareness. Through the passenger window, I can see sliding glass doors stenciled with red letters. EMERGENCY ROOM.

Gabriel is out of the car in an instant. The door swings open, and before I can even attempt to move, his hands are on me again—strong, but trembling slightly as he unbuckles my seatbelt.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice tight. My head spins as he lifts me against his chest. His body is warm, his scent grounding.

Gabriel carries me through the sliding doors. The fluorescent lights of the waiting room are harsh and bright, emitting a constant buzz that amplifies my headache. The hum of conversation, the distant beeping of monitors, the hurried footsteps of nurses… it’s all a blur of noise, rough and grating against my hard-won consciousness. But none of it drowns out Gabriel.

“She needs a doctor! Now!”

I hear the rustling of papers, the startled intake of breath from the receptionist. “Sir, sit down and we’ll be⁠—”

“No—no, we’re not waiting! She passed out! She can’t even stand. Get someone now!” His voice cracks on the last word, and I feel his arms tighten around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

There’s a beat of silence, then hurried footsteps, the clatter of a chair scraping back. A shapeless mass of pink appears in my line of sight, a nurse’s scrubs, and a woman’s voice says, “Follow me.”

Gabriel doesn’t hesitate. He’s still carrying me, as though I don’t weigh anything, and I doubt he would put me down even if I asked him to. I’m still dizzy as we move down the hospital’s corridor, but my vision is returning, my senses coming back into focus.

“Gabriel,” I murmur, trying to calm him. He glances down at me, but doesn’t stop or slow his pace.

The nurse brings us to an exam room, where Gabriel sets me down gently on the examination table, his hands lingering as if he’s reluctant to let me go. The moment his arms withdraw, I feel the loss acutely, my skin cold where his touch had warmed it.

A doctor enters the room, a clipboard in hand. I force myself into a sitting position, squinting against the harsh light as she approaches. “Miss Beaumont, I’m Dr. Bryant. Can you tell me what happened?”

Gabriel answers before I can. “She passed out.” His voice is clipped with barely-restrained worry.

Dr. Bryant nods, stepping closer to me. “Do you feel any pain?”

“Um…” I still feel too disoriented to answer, like my brain is full of cotton. “I don’t… I don’t think so.”