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She lists left, but Griff’s quick, catching her up before she can fall out of her chair and hit the ground. “Fuck,” he breathes, staring down in dismay at an unconscious Sal in his arms.
For a heartbeat, the entire table sits frozen, and then it erupts.
Luke rips his chair back.
Seth rockets up. The table is jarred as everyone lurches to standing. Chairs screech as they’re roughly shoved away.
“Oh my god!” Emmy Lou cries out, gripping Jace’s shoulder.
Griff, cradling Sal tightly against his chest, passes her to Luke and together they lower her gently to the ground.
Alabama places a hand over her heart, watching with worried eyes.
Everything moves in slow motion. Voices, questions swarm the air around them.
“Is she okay?”
“Did she choke on something?”
“Is it a migraine?”
“Should I get her medication?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Luke says. He doesn’t know anything except the fact that his wife’s out cold and his heart’s in his goddamn throat. Hovering over Sal, he frantically feels for a pulse. Her heartbeat thumps strong beneath his fingers. Letting out a relieved breath, he cups the side of her face. “Sal, darlin’, wake up.”
Griff kneels beside Sal, resting a broad hand across the top of her dark head. He’s had a soft spot for Sal ever since she stepped in and saved Alabama when she was shot taking a bullet meant for Griff. He looks to Luke, his brow drawn in concern. “What do we do, Kincaid?”
“Somethin’ cool,” Luke says tersely. “For her face.”
Emmy Lou runs for the kitchen.
“Fuck,” Seth says, covering his mouth with his palm. “Fuck.”
It’s chaos, commotion, and all Luke can do is worry about Sal. His entire body’s on life support. He needs the green of her eyes, her smile, her voice to keep breathing. “C’mon, Sal,” he says, patting her hard on the cheeks in an effort to rouse her. “Wake up, darlin’. Come back to me.”
There’s motion above Luke. Emmy Lou hurrying back with a cool washrag, passing it down to Griff, who presses it against Sal’s temple.
No response. Still no response.
Fear grabs Luke by the throat. “Sal!” His voice rises, urgent, panicked. “Sal, you gotta wake up.” His hands tremble as he cups her cheek, her face lolling in his palm.
Christ, please, he thinks desperately. Don’t let something be wrong. Her head. Her memory. Her health.
Jace’s urgent voice floats above. “She ain’t wakin’ up, Luke.”
“Lord, what do we do?” Alabama asks.
A harsh exhale blasts from Seth. He’s pacing a hole in the floor. “She’s been out, Luke. Too long.”
Griff, his tawny eyes on Sal’s expressionless face, looks to Luke. In a low voice, he says, “Kincaid, maybe we oughta—”
But Luke’s already ahead of him. He’s hooking one arm beneath the small of her back, the other under her neck, prepared to haul ass to the hospital when Sal moans.
“Oh, thank Christ,” he breathes. He stares, his throat so tight, air can’t get past. He watches as Sal’s eyes flutter, then slowly open. The green of her eyes his salvation.
Griff smiles down at Sal. “Welcome back, sweetheart.”
Sal’s eyes are glassy with confusion as she blinks, takes in the crowd above her. Her beautiful face pulls into a frown. “Luke, what ... ?”
