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“What happened?” Ryan wanted to know.
Wes stared off into nothing for a long moment and then slowly shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked, feeling the heat of Jamie’s eyes on the back of my head.
“Being at the diner with everyone.”
“Anything else?” Jamie asked casually.
My teeth slammed together, and I rotated to pin him with a hard stare.
Wes made a sound, and I forgot all about Jamie. His brow was furrowed like he was concentrating hard, and then he reached up, rubbing at his temple. “I have a headache.”
I moved closer to his side. “What else hurts?”
His hand pressed against his stomach. “Nauseous.”
“Maybe we should get the doctor.” Madison worried.
As if her words conjured him up, there was a sharp rap on the door, and then it opened as a man wearing blue scrubs waltzed in, followed by a nurse dressed a lot like him and carrying an iPad.
“Wesley Sinclair?” the doctor said, eyes widening when he took in the room. “Packed house tonight.”
“How’s Wes?” I demanded, not bothering with stupid pleasantries.
After taking the iPad from the nurse, the doctor stopped at the foot of his bed. “Concussion. Sprained ankle. Stitches. Minor contusions,” he read off like it was his grocery list.
Eyes lifting to Wes, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.”
The doctor nodded once. “I’m gonna need you to come with me.” He signaled to the nurse. “Put the rail up.”
She started forward, but I stepped in her path, blocking her from Wes.
“He’s not going anywhere.”
5
Wes
I was forgetting something.
Probably more like several somethings.
The last few hours of my life were nothing but a blur. Underneath the headache and grogginess persisted a nagging sensation telling me there was something I needed to remember.
But how could I concentrate on remembering when Max was planted in front of my hospital bed like a guard dog on a chain with the strength to snap it if anyone stepped any closer?
God, he was such an overbearing, growly asshole.
And I fucking loved it.
Even knowing it was unhealthy as fuck, my eyes stayed plastered to his back and the way his shoulders rippled beneath the thin white tank molded to his upper body and long torso. I was a swimmer, so even though my body was slim and sleek by nature, it was also cut and honed from spending hours each day in the water and then even more time in the weight room on campus.
Where I was sinew, Max was rugged, the power in his body honed by experience and survival. His shoulders were broader than mine. The muscle easily carried the weight of the leather jacket he barely took off.
I watched him shift, reeking of masculinity as he wrapped his bare arms over his chest. Even though his back faced me, memory supplied the way his biceps bulged in that position and how a thick vein roped across the left one.
