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“You said he’s alert?” Win asked.
I grunted. “Yeah.” Then I thought about how his hazy eyes looked at me, how, even unfocused, he focused on me, how he smiled and tugged at my eyebrow ring.
Down the hall, the elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a familiar hospital bed.
“He’s here,” I said into the line as I moved toward the bed.
Wes was lying down, face turned to the side. Exhaustion clung to him and so did a faint air of pain. My hackles rose immediately, and I forced myself to the side of the bed, taking the nurse’s place at the rail.
“Wes,” I demanded, leaning over to study his face.
Dark lashes fluttered on his cheeks, and he looked at me. “Hey.”
“Why does he look like that?” I roared, shooting an accusatory glare at the man who was not the doctor on the other side of the bed. “Who the hell are you?”
In my ear, Win was calling my name, wanting answers, asking me what was going on. How the fuck was I supposed to pay attention to him when Wes was small and shivering in this pathetic excuse for a bed?
“Where is his shirt? Where’s my jacket?” I questioned.
The orderly pointed to the end of the bed.
“I had to take it off for the scan,” Wes explained.
“This way,” the nurse called to the orderly, and he started pushing the bed.
“Where’s the doctor?” I wanted to know.
“He’s going over the scan. He’ll be back,” Wes replied.
All my anger deflated, replaced by heavy worry. “You okay? How you feeling?”
“Navarro!” Win howled in my ear, and I winced.
“Is that my brother?” Wes asked.
“Put Wes on the phone right now,” Win ordered.
I handed him the cell and used my free hand to help push the bed.
“Hey, Win,” Wes said, voice cute as hell.
This little shit. Always trying to play us to get out of trouble.
Wes grimaced, eyes sliding to me. I smirked. No amount of cuteness was going to get him out of this.
“I’m fine. Seems like it went okay. Just a sprain.” Pause. “I-I’m not sure.”
Win’s voice was a rumble on the other line. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, just that he was talking.
We pushed the bed back into the room, and Rory, Ryan, Madison, and Jamie all stood up from the chairs they must have found while we were gone.
“Wes!” Madison called. “How is he?”
“I will. Yeah, I know.” With every word, Wes wilted back into the mattress. “I’m sorry, Win. I know. I’m sorry.”
Growling, I snatched the phone from his grasp, smashing it to my ear. “Don’t you make him apologize, asshole. This isn’t his fault!”
“I know that,” Win said, but his voice was contrite.
