The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(69)

In a shot, I was at her side, pulling her to me and inspecting her forehead while she coughed up water. My hands threaded in her wet hair, tilting her head to study the cut.

“Bumped my head on the bottom,” she gasped. Her hand rested on her board, smearing another streak of red.

It wasn’t too deep. “Did you lose consciousness?”

She shook her head and I studied her eyes. When our gazes locked, my heart jumped into my throat. Her eyes were wide but her pupils looked normal.

I grabbed her hand. Her palm glowed with bright red scrapes, leaking blood.

Rage rocked my veins. Fuck. She was hurt and it was my fault. I never should have let her do this. She wasn’t ready. I pushed her too hard and now she was hurt. She might have a concussion.

Another wave approached.

“We have to get out of this area. Get on your board, baby. I’ll tow you.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay, Wyatt. I can swim.”

My jaw tightened. “Get. On. Your. Board. Now.” My voice was harsh and demanding and her eyes widened before she hoisted herself onto her board with one hand, keeping the scraped hand out of the water.

When we got to shore, my heart was still pounding.

“Leave the boards here,” I told her, my hand wrapped around her arm and pulling her towards the surf shack with urgency.

She was hurt. She could have internal bleeding. She could have fractured something in her forehead or cracked a rib. Even if her pupils looked normal, she might have a concussion. She needed to go to the hospital.

“Wyatt, I’m fine, really.” She laughed lightly. “It barely hurt.”

I ignored her protests and pulled her all the way to the surf shop. Thank fuck my truck was here today. I yanked the passenger door open and pushed her in, taking care with her hand.

“Where are we going?” She laughed in disbelief when I reached across to buckle her seatbelt. “Can I take my wetsuit off, please?”

“You can take it off when we get there.” I checked she was fully inside before I slammed the door and hurried to the driver’s side.

“Get where?” she asked when I got in and started the engine. I backed out and threw the car in drive.

“The ER.”

Her head fell back with a huff. “What? Wyatt, no, I don’t need to go to the ER. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You hit your head.” It took everything in me not to press the gas pedal to the floor. Get her there in one piece, I reminded myself. I’d already done enough damage to her. My gaze snagged on the red gash on her forehead. It was about an inch long and didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

She rolled her eyes and gave me a beseeching expression, reaching across and putting a hand on my knee with a little smile. “I’m okay. Really. I’m fine.”

I turned back to the road and didn’t say another word the rest of the way. My knee shook up and down, my heart raced, and my lungs were tight. When a family with small children crossed the street at a leisurely pace, I laid on the horn.

“Wyatt!” Hannah slapped my arm. “It’s a red light.”

The parents shot me a dirty look. I made a hurry up motion.

I pulled the truck up to the hospital doors, ignored the no-parking signs, and rushed around to Hannah’s door, wrenching it open and hauling her into the ER.

The waiting room was quiet when we entered. The nurse at the front desk took one look at us, wetsuits dripping water on the floor, and neither of us wearing shoes. “Surfing accident?”

“She has a concussion. She needs to see a doctor right now.”

The nurse rolled her eyes and rage rattled through me. Out of the corner of my eye, Hannah gave her an apologetic look. I didn’t care. I knew I was being an asshole, but I didn’t care. Hannah was hurt. That was all I could think about. My Hannah was hurt and it was my fault.

Pain streaked through my chest. I’d deal with that later. Right now, I had to make sure Hannah was okay.

“Hannah?” Beck appeared at the reception desk, holding a clipboard.

My jaw clenched. This fucking guy again.

He frowned, studying her forehead. “What happened?” Then he glanced down at her wetsuit and at me. He reared back when our eyes met but he covered it up. “Surfing?”

Hannah nodded, wincing. “I’m fine.”

“She’s not fine. She hit her head. And her hand.” I grabbed her hand to show him. “She has a concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head hard,” she told Beck.

I shook my head. “You don’t know. You could have lost consciousness.”

Hannah blew out a frustrated breath through her nose and gave a tight smile to Beck, who placed his clipboard down and gestured for Hannah to follow him. I took a step but the nurse put her arm out to stop me.

“You stay right there,” she ordered. “Need you to fill out some forms.”

Hannah shot me a reassuring smile over her shoulder before following him down the hallway. I swallowed with a thick throat.

“Is your wife pregnant?”

I turned back to the nurse with my mouth hanging open. “Huh?”

She repeated the question, slower.

Something woke up in my brain.

“Um.” I blinked.

Wife. Pregnant.

My brain moved slow, like wading through water. I swallowed.