Page 186 of Fighting the Pull


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“Rest back. Deep breathe,” he instructed. “Paramedics will be here soon. These don’t look too bad. But you’ll need stitches.”

“Okay,” I said, and it sounded choked.

Hudson looked at me. “You’re not breathing.”

I concentrated on breathing.

The door opened and Hale was there.

His eyes took me in and all the oxygen on the planet vanished for an unnaturally long second before he whispered, “The fuck?”

“Hey, honey,” I called.

He strode in, his long legs bringing him to me in the flash of an eye.

He put his hands where Hudson’s were and warned low, “You need to be away from me.”

“Understood,” Hudson grunted, then he disappeared.

“I’m okay,” I told him.

He lifted the paper towel on my arm to look at my cut.

“She had a knife,” I explained.

He looked at me.

At his enraged expression, I decided to shut up.

I then watched him close his eyes, so tightly, they were scrunched, lines emanating out the sides, his forehead creasing.

The way he did that, the agony behind it, I decided not to stay quiet.

“I’m fine. They caught her. She’s next door.”

He opened his eyes. “Okay, baby. Shh. Just relax.”

The door opened, I looked that way and Tom was there.

He was at Hale’s side in a flash (he had long legs too). Only then did I notice a hotel staff member was with him. She stared at me with wide eyes.

“You need to let me take over,” Tom said to Hale.

Hale didn’t move.

Tom took the first aid kit the woman was carrying and ordered, “Hale, son, I need you to let me see to Elsa.”

Oh.

Right.

I forgot.

Tom wasn’t only a retired tennis star, he was a doctor.

No underachievers in this crowd.

Hale moved.

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