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He shot me a harassed glance. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
“Oh my God.” I shot my hands in the air, losing my cool. But strangling Wick’s best friend when I really needed him right now would serve nothing. So I drew in a deep breath and tried again. “Cannon,” I said, using the name Wick said he preferred. “Please pick him up now and let’s go.”
“Fuck,” he muttered as if realizing he needed to listen to me and obey. When he tried to scoop Wick into his arms, however, it didn’t go so smoothly. A second later, he grunted and stumbled backward, pulling Wick’s torso from the bed with him as he went, while his legs dragged along behind. “Shit. He weighs more than he seems. Boy eats his Wheaties.”
“Should I call Bear too?” I asked, hurrying forward to lift Wick’s legs so Cannon and I could both take on some of his weight.
“No,” Cannon panted, sweat streaming down his face. “No time. We can get this.”
I think sheer force of will helped us lug Wick out to my car. After I opened the back door and shimmied inside, Cannon helped push Wick’s prone body to me. I situated us so that I was cradling his head in my lap before I glanced up. “Can you drive?”
Cannon held out his hand. “Keys?”
I fished them from my purse and tossed them over. He caught them and climbed behind the wheel.
Thankfully, we reached the hospital in minutes. Cannon pulled right up to the front doors of the emergency room and leaped from the driver’s seat of my still-running car before disappearing inside.
It took him forever to return. When he did, a harassed
-looking nurse trailed along behind him with a hospital bed.
All three of us had to finagle Wick from the car and onto the bed. As she listened to Cannon and me explain his concussion, she shook her head and mumbled something about a hematoma.
Hearing a word attributed to his inability to wake up, I started to cry. My hands shook and I hugged myself, trying not to fall apart. When the nurse who took Wick away directed us to the check-in station to fill out some paperwork, Cannon had to nudge my arm to get my attention.
“Haven?” he said in a somewhat soft voice.
I focused on him and swallowed, nodding myself back on track. “Right,” I said, sniffing back the tears and heading to the counter to do what I needed to do while he went back out to park the car.
As I sat and filled out as much as I could on Wick’s forms—learning he had a January birthday from his driver’s license—Cannon paced in front of me, texting God-knew-who.
I was in the middle of transcribing numbers from Wick’s insurance card when my cell phone rang.
Seeing my parents’ names on the screen, I answered immediately. “We’re at the hospital now,” I reported. “He’s still not awake. And the only nurse we talked to said something about it possibly being a hematoma.” My voice broke over that dreaded word.
“Baby,” Mom said calmly. “You know a hematoma is only a bruise, right?”
I blinked. “It is?”
“Yes. A hematoma doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad. He could just have a bruise on his head.”
“Oh.” I blew out a relieved breath and nodded. “Okay. Good.”
“Yes. Don’t get too upset yet. He could be perfectly fine.”
“I hope so,” I said, beginning to cry anyway. “I wish you were here.”
“Do you want us to come?” Dad asked.
I shook my head and wiped my eyes. “No. You’re too far away. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not even alone. His friend is here. He came over and helped get Wick to the hospital.”
“Alright, baby. But if you need us, we’ll be there.”
They would too. They’d drop everything, even though both of them had jobs they should be at in mere hours, and they’d come for me, if only to sit in a hospital beside me and hold my hands.
I legit had the best parents ever.
“Thank you,” I told them, not just for the offer but for being them as well. “I’ll let you know when I get more news.”
