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A sleeve of black tattoos on his right arm stopped just above the wrist, and the one covering the outside of his left shoulder was likely popping with tension. The sleeve rose all the way to his shoulder, but instead of stopping abruptly, the abstract designs started to fade out like smoke blown in the wind, the design stretching and blurring across the back of his shoulder, the black ink fading into an ashen color as it curled up toward his neck, not quite making it that far.
Despite his obvious ire and aggression, I reclined lazily beneath the reassuring weight and scent of his jacket. My body ached, and tendrils of panic floated around like ghosts in a haunted house, waiting for the haze protecting my mind to disappear so it could take over.
He said something, but I paid no attention to the words, listening instead to the rumbly quality of his voice as my eyes traveled down his back to his tight ass and strong thighs showcased in black jeans.
Straddling a Harley does a body good.
My eyes and attention finally found focus when Max’s tone took on less rumble and more alarm. “What kind of tests?” His arms fell limp at his sides. “Is there something wrong with him?”
Something about those words and his tone sent me spiraling back. My stomach dropped as not so much memories but emotions from the past engulfed me. The overwhelming sensation of fear and worry. Loss.
“Max.” My voice was a mere whisper.
He backed up until the outside of his leg hit the side of the mattress, and his hand reached around. I surrendered mine instantly, and he squeezed my fingers, only relenting a little when he felt the IV in the back of my hand.
“The tests are just a precaution,” the doctor whose name I couldn’t remember replied, his voice steady and unworried. “When a patient loses consciousness, vomits, has lapses in memory, and appears slightly dazed”—the doctor glanced to me—“it’s standard to or—”
Max spun around, our hands unlinking as both of his hit the mattress on either side of my hips so he could lean in. His eyes seemed even blacker than normal, and I realized it was because his face was pale.
“You lost consciousness?”
I nodded once. “I think so, but not for long. I woke up in the ambulance.” Then I frowned and gazed around at the doctor. “I didn’t throw up.”
“There was vomit on your clothes when you came in,” he told me.
“Oh.” That explained the nausea.
“Jesus,” Max whispered, shifting all his weight onto one hand so he could reach up and lightly graze the edge of the bandage covering my head.
Doc cleared his throat. “I’ve ordered a CT so we can rule out any fractures or bleeding in the brain.”
The force of Max’s swallow was so loud it echoed in my ears. Anguish flooded his eyes, but he slammed them shut before spinning back to the room. “You think he has a brain bleed.”
“It’s just a precaution. I don’t think there is cause for concern.”
Max nodded once. “Do it.”
The doctor paused, then asked, “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
Max made a rude sound. That meant he was ready to say something in fluent asshole, so my tongue nearly tripped trying to speak first.
“He’s my brother.”
Max stiffened, those tight shoulders shooting halfway up to his ears.
“And the rest of you?” The doctor spoke, glancing at my four friends.
I was a little embarrassed I’d forgotten they were here.
“Family,” Ryan said.
“If you aren’t blood relatives—” The nurse started.
Ryan cut her a sharp look, and she stopped talking. “We’re waiting until the results come back. We won’t get in the way,” he said.
The doctor nodded once. “Fine, but I’ll ask you to remain in this room.”
They all nodded. All of them but Max. “I’m coming with him.”
