Page 15 of The Curveball

The next fifteen minutes begin a whirlwind as first responders arrive.

I repeatedly tell the officers I don’t need medical attention, but the irksome, sexy man who has taken a keen interest in my wellbeing insists. When the EMTs say they have concerns about my head, Griffin practically helps them toss me in an ambulance.

“Griffin,” I say through my teeth. “I’m not riding in an ambulance. I’m not going to the hospital.”

“You’re either riding with me, or with these guys,” he says back.

“You wrecked your car too.”

“A headlight and a scratch on the bumper. I’m in my beast of a jeep, Birdie. I’ll get you to the ER.”

Tears sting my eyes. It takes all my strength to keep my voice steady as shame floods the back of my throat.

“I don’t have insurance,” I whisper. “I can’t . . . I can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

Griffin’s eyes burn. Not in pity, more determination. A soft smile covers his mouth, and he places a palm to my face again. “Baby, I’ve got you.”

My lips part as he releases me and backs out of the ambulance, leaving me on a gurney like an invalid. Before the doors close on his face, Griffin waves, and gestures his finger between us.

I know what he’s saying. For some reason we seem to communicate non-verbally like we’re pros at charades.

He’s going to follow behind us.

When the doors close me off from him and the ambulance pulls away, I’m not focused on the bill for the unnecessary treatment to come. I’m still stuck on the last thing Griffin Marks said.

Baby, I’ve got you.

CHAPTER6

GRIFFIN

A plastic bagfilled with some of Wren’s belongings swings at my side. Her cell phone, notebooks, the recorder she uses to voice out her thoughts for books, all of it dangles in my hand as I fight to break through the red tape to deliver it to her.

There was so much more—so much—and I intend to have a serious discussion with my Birdie about the state of her car. Right now, though, I need to get beyond this cruel gatekeeper.

Not an immediate family member? Get ready to be treated like a public enemy. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but my body won’t stop twitching, and if I don’t get eyes on her soon, I’m going to lose it.

Accidents can be nothing, but they can also be something. Even the seemingly small ones can bring a maelstrom of damage.

When an alarm buzzes somewhere deep in the ER I jolt. Eyes closed, I count backward from ten. Get it together, Marks. Get it freaking together.

Thankfully, my phone lights up for the hundredth time. Texts of worry, I can handle. And they are coming in droves, enough to distract me from the bustle of these sterile, death-trap hallways.

The police and ambulance drew the crowd fromRocco’sinto the parking lot. They tested my alcohol levels, then finally let me go. It’s still been too long since I had eyes on Wren.

I tap my fingers on the counter of the ER front desk, ignoring the billions of texts from our group. Most are probably from Skye. As I said, the woman doesn’t take lightly a hit to the head.

The second she said I do to Parker, Skye was initiated in the small, intimate group text that is filled with nothing but GIFs and memes.

Except tonight. Now, everyone is demanding information.

Can’t blame them. Skye and the guys saw the ambulance drive away, and I basically told them I ran over Wren before I sped after it in my scratched jeep.

The cops were swift, and I was grateful. I took the full blame, gave them all my info, and now I’m going to split through my skin if this registrar doesn’t let me back there soon.

“Ma’am, please. I just need to get her these things so she cancallher immediate family.”

“Hold on, Mr. Marks,” she says for the tenth time. Her hair reminds me of a beehive, and if she frowns any harder her lips are going to permanently divot her chin. The woman mutters into the black phone once more, flicks her eyes to me, then nods. “Okay. She’s finished with her evaluation. Take this temporary pass here and—”

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