Page 88 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

“Actually,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady, “I believe you have to do the explaining.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

I stride up to the man, trying to keep my voice steady. “What were you discussing with Emma?”

“Emma?” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s her name. Thanks, I didn’t catch it earlier. Now I know her name for the next time we meet.”

A flare goes up in my head. “You wouldn’t be meeting again.”

“Why?” He snorts. “Isn't she allowed to talk to other guys?”

“Not if she's my girlfriend,” I reply, the words leaving my mouth before I can think twice.

Greg raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Girlfriend, huh? That’s nice and all, but I didn’t see a ring on it, huh? That means she’s a single woman.”

His words hit a raw nerve, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to take a swing at him. Just as I’m about to retort, a booming voice cuts through the air.

“Time for the photos, everyone!” the MC bellows, herding the groomsmen and bridesmaids toward a designated corner.

I spare Greg a final glare before joining the group, my frustration mounting. The picture-taking session is a blur of forced smiles, staged poses, and awkward small talk. All the while, my eyes scan the crowd, searching for Emma. I hear a voice announce the throwing of the bouquet, and then, out of nowhere, I hear something whizzing through the air toward me. I snatch it out of reflex and realize it’s the bouquet.

The noise and applause around me make it clear that I’ve caught it. My eyes meet Emma’s, and I see her start to walk off. I run after her, weaving through the crowd.

“Emma, can we talk?” I call out, but she keeps walking, her pace quickening.

“No,” she says firmly, not looking back.

I follow her, pushing through the throng of people, my heart hammering in my chest. As soon as we’re out of the crowd, she whips around to face me.

“Leave me alone.”

I open my mouth to speak, and then she stumbles back, her face contorted in pain, a hand pressed to her stomach.

“Emma?” I stammer, “Are you okay?”

“Yes—”

Her face contorts in more pain, and I reach out. But before I can touch her, her knees buckle, and she begins to fall. Adrenaline surges through me. Without a second thought, I toss the forgotten bouquet aside and launch myself across the room. Reaching her just before she hits the ground, I scoop her up into my arms, her weight unexpectedly light in my hold.

“Emma!” I yell, panic clawing at my throat. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes flutter open, a dazed look in them. She tries to speak, but only a weak moan escapes her lips then her eyes close again. Fear grips me as I see a sheen of sweat break out on her forehead.

“Someone call 911!” I roar, my voice sounding desperate even to my own ears. People stare at us, a stunned silence blanketing the room.

Suddenly, June pushes through the crowd, her face etched with worry. “It's Emma!” she shrieks. “She's not feeling well!”

With a newfound sense of urgency, I hold Emma close, her head lolling against my shoulder. The world seems to shrink to this single moment—the warmth of her body against mine, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the terrifying silence that has replaced the wedding music.

The seconds stretch into an eternity, each tick of the clock an agonizing reminder of the precariousness of the situation. Then, amid the growing panic, I hear the blessed blare of sirens cutting through the commotion.

Relief washes over me in waves, so intense it almost makes my knees buckle. Help is on the way, but as I look down at Emma, her face pale and drawn, the fear refuses to completely relinquish its hold on me.

What has happened? What is wrong with her? The questions swirl in my head, unanswered and terrifying. All I can do is hold her close, pray for the ambulance to arrive quickly, and hope that whatever is ailing her won’t steal the light from her beautiful eyes.

I hold her close, my heart pounding. Everything else fades away—the noise, the guests, the celebration. All that matters is Emma, and the fear that I might lose her.

The wail of the approaching sirens becomes louder, and the sound of help rips through the suffocating panic. Cradling Emma in my arms, I sprint toward the venue's exit, the weight of her seemingly negligible form a stark contrast to the frantic energy coursing through me.

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