Page 73 of Smitten with the Single Dad

“I like the grape better than the bubble gum,” Griff said, slurping his back.

Justine made Wyatt sit down, and she checked his neck for any signs of swelling. Then she checked his mobility in his neck and arms, and finally, his eyes to make sure he still didn’t have a concussion. “This goes without saying,” she started, “but no work today. I’d say at least for the next couple of days.”

“Good luck,” Jake said not at all under his breath.

Wyatt shot his kid a look.

Jake was unfazed.

“I mean it,” Justine said. “Just because you were extremely lucky and didn’t break any bones, or get a concussion, doesn’t mean your body didn’t just undergo extreme trauma. You need to rest and recuperate. Working on your feet will put undue stress on your brain and body and could jeopardize recovery.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave,” Vica said.

“Me too,” Griff piped up. “I’ll tie him to the couch.”

There was another knock at the door, but before Wyatt could get up, Bennett came in. “How are the patients?” he asked, joining everyone in the kitchen.

“Seem to be in good spirits and taking care of themselves,” Justine said. “I’ve warned him to stay home and not go into work for at least a few days.”

Bennett scoffed much like Jake did. “Good luck.”

Wyatt glared at his brother. “You’re one to talk.”

“I heard from Myla and so far, nobody has seen a vehicle with front-end damage that matches what happened last night.”

“It’s still early in the morning,” Wyatt said. “Any news on the paint color? Ithad to have rubbed off onto my truck.”

“Yeah,” Bennett said, his expression grim, “gray.”

Vica’s eyes went wide. “So it was probably the same car that tried to drive me off the road the other day.”

Bennett nodded. “Most likely. But CCTV footage from the terminal going back to even before Vica was attacked the first night, doesn’t show any car matching that description with the license plate she memorized.”

That didn’t make any sense.

“So wait, either the plates were swapped once the car was on the island, or the car has been here a lot longer and we’re dealing with a local?” Wyatt scratched his head. “What local would have it out for Vica?”

Even though he’d just taken more ibuprofen, a headache was starting to rap repeatedly at the front of his skull, making his vision blurry and his gut spin.

“You don’t look so well,” Justine said, pressing the back of her hand to his head. “You feel clammy.”

“A headache just came on out of nowhere,” he said, swallowing down the rush of saliva to his mouth from the sudden nausea.

Jake and Griffon eyed him with mirror-image worried expressions.

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said, standing up, “but I think I need to go lay down.”

Everyone nodded and Justine helped him upstairs where he collapsed onto the bed, curled up into the fetal position, and closed his eyes as tight as he could.

“You’ve been lying about how much it hurts, haven’t you?” she said, sitting on edge of the bed and taking his pulse again.

“No.”

“Bull.”

“It hasn’t hurt that bad. Just achy. But as soon as Bennett mentioned that someone from the island might be after Vica, it was like the pain in my body just exploded.”

“Trauma response.”

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