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“Where’d you get this stubborn streak from?” Holt bumped my hip. “Get on that side. I’ll go backward.”
We got it to the door when Holt set his end down.
“We have to turn it to get it out.”
“I’m ready.”
We tilted it until the edge hit the carpet. I grabbed a leg and tried to figure out where to best put my other hand in the awkward position.
“Let me get one of the guys.”
“Just give me a sec.” I bent to pick up the end. When I stood, shooting pain raced up my back. I dropped the desk and fell to my knees.
Holt rushed around. “Marlow. Damn it. I told you.”
“Not now,” I said through my teeth, pain radiating from my lower spine.
“Dad. We need help.”
“I’m fine.”
His worried face appeared in the doorway, but he couldn’t get through because of the desk. “Damn it, Marlow.”
“Call an ambulance.”
“I just pulled something in my back. Stop with the theatrics.” It hurt to talk. To breathe.
“What about the baby?” Holt touched my thigh.
“Fine. But do we have to do the whole ambulance thing?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t call Patrick. He’s busy and this is nothing.” I tried to get to my feet.
“Don’t move.” Holt clamped a hand on my shoulder. “What happened? Did you feel a pop or anything?”
“No, doctor. I picked up the desk and there was pain.” I grimaced. “It hurts, okay?”
“I won’t take anything you say personally.” He chucked my chin.
“Thanks.”
“Where is she?”
Patrick’s wild eyes searched the room. His suit was rumpled. Tie askew. Hair stood on end.
“I told them not to call you.”
Our gazes clashed. He rushed to my side, hands gripped the bed railing. “Are you okay?”
I lifted my hand to wave him off and winced as fire shot up my side. “Fine.” Tears clouded my vision. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted him there until just then.
“I’m here, Wicked.” He brushed my hair back from my forehead.
“I’m glad.”
“What happened?”
