The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(61)

I drop my phone. It falls somewhere on the floor between my feet. Making a very illegal U-turn, I speed back in the opposite direction toward the hospital.

My brain keeps repeating two words over and over again.

Salem.

Accident.

Salem.

Accident.

I’m fucking hyperventilating by the time I get to the hospital and park my truck, rushing inside through the emergency entrance.

The lady at the front desk is startled by my sudden appearance.

“Salem Matthews. Was she brought in?”

Fuck, they could’ve taken her to the city. Life-flighted her. What if it was really bad? What if she’s in surgery? What if she’s—

No. I won’t fucking go there. I won’t think that. She’s not. She can’t be. I would know if she were dead. I’d feel it. I have to believe that.

“Who’s asking?” She sounds peeved, and I guess that’s my fault for coming in here acting like a mad man.

“Her fiancé,” I lie, but it does the trick.

“Security will take you there.” She nods her head at the guy in a black and white uniform.

He hands me a sticker and I quickly slap it on my shirt.

He walks as slow as fucking possible through the emergency section. I count the seconds. All two-hundred and sixty-three of them so I don’t fucking murder the man and never find her in this maze of sectioned off rooms.

“Salem Matthews. Right here.” He taps on a door.

I don’t say thank you. I push past the man and into the room. “Salem?” I shove aside an ugly blue curtain, preparing myself for the worst.

She sits on the end of the bed in a gown. There’s a gash beside her eye that looks like it’ll need stitches and she cradles her arm tenderly.

Her eyes widen with shock when she sees me standing there. “Thayer? How did you get here? How did you know?”

“Your sister and Michael. I rushed right here.”

The adrenaline flees my body and I drop to my knees in front of her. I don’t even feel the pain of my kneecaps hitting the hard surface of the floor, because I’m so fucking relieved she’s okay. I thought … well, I thought the worst. I didn’t want to believe she was gone, but my brain couldn’t help going to the worst-case scenario.

Her fingers delve into my hair, and she leans her body over mine. “Don’t cry,” she begs.

I didn’t even realize I was, but she’s right. I’m shaking with the sobs.

The fear that I might lose her just when I got her back was overwhelming.

But she’s here. She’s alive. Breathing. Sitting up. Not seriously injured.

My feelings are raw, though. Nothing makes you feel more helpless than someone you love being hurt and knowing you can’t do anything about it.

“Shh,” she croons. “I’m okay. I’m sore. And I think my arm is broken. But I’m okay.”

She keeps saying it over and over—that she’s okay.

I manage to pull myself up off the floor, gently taking her face in my hands. She lets me look her over, appraise her for more bumps and bruises. After I’ve finished a thorough inspection she arches a brow, fighting a smile.

“What’s the verdict, Dr. Holmes?”

“The verdict,” I brace my hands on the bed, bending so I’m eye-level with her, “is that you tried to give me a heart attack, Ms. Matthews. I’m an old man now, you can’t do that to me.”

“You’re not even forty yet.” She rolls her eyes. It makes me want to spank her. She’s in the fucking hospital after a car accident and she’s rolling her eyes at me? The nerve. “And forty isn’t even old so cut the shit.”

“Are you okay?” I ask her. “Not just physically, but mentally.”

She exhales shakily and I place my hand on her knee, trying to instill some warmth and comfort into her body.

“Shaken up,” she admits. “It happened so fast, and I blacked out when I hit my head.” She points to the side of her face where the cut is. There’s a lump on her skull as well. “My arm is killing me though.”

Her left arm is already swollen and there’s a purplish bruise near the elbow.

“Have they X-rayed yet?”

“No.” She shakes her head tiredly. “That’s what I’m waiting for. Poor Georgia, she wanted me here to help with her labor and now this happened.”

“Don’t stress about it, Sunshine,” I beg. I don’t like seeing her like this.

“I’m just upset.” Her bottom lip wobbles with the threat of tears. “It seems like it’s always something and I can’t catch a break. I’m just exhausted from life.” She sniffles and I grab a tissue from the box by the bed, handing it to her. She smiles gratefully, wiping beneath her eyes. “I’m being dramatic. I know I’m so blessed and lucky in so many ways—”

“Don’t degrade your feelings.” I cup her cheek in my palm. “A car accident is traumatic for anyone. Don’t feel guilty for being upset. You’ve been dealing with a lot already.”

She nods, swiping the tissue beneath her nose. “You’re right.”

“Ms. Matthews? I’m here to take you to our X-ray department.”

A nurse enters the room pushing a wheelchair. I glance from it to Salem. “Why do you need a wheelchair? Are your legs—”