Page 69 of High Intensity

“I thought it was obvious I have feelings for you.”

That is very direct, and leaves me searching for a response.

“Well…I…uh, I suppose. And I clearly have feelings for you as well, which is why I kinda flew off the handle earlier.”

We’re staring at each other across this small, nondescript hospital room, and the air crackles between us. I’m not sure who makes the first move, but the next moment his hands cup my face and his mouth covers mine in a searing kiss.

“Oh, excuse me…”

The voice belongs to a young man in blue scrubs who pokes his head in the door.

“I’m looking for Lucas Wolff?”

“You found him,” Wolff rumbles, slipping his good arm around my shoulders.

“Ah. I believe you need some stitches. I’m Dr. McDougall.”

He walks in, a nurse behind him wheeling a cart, which she parks beside the bed. The doctor looks young, barely out of his teens, although I’m sure he’d have to be late twenties at least to have finished the required schooling to call himself doctor.

Wolff turns his head to me and mouths,“Doctor?”I swallow a chuckle.

“Why don’t you hop on the bed? We’ll get this done and have you out of here in no time.”

First, he tackles the nasty gash on Wolff’s forehead, which is right at the hairline. It requires twelve tiny stitches the doctor assures him won’t leave much of a scar.

Next is the bullet wound, which is more of a deep groove through the muscle of his upper arm than it is a hole. Work on that takes a little longer, but eventually that wound is closed as well, and we’re sent off with an appointment for Wolff to come back in ten days to remove stitches, and a sheet of care instructions he promptly crumples up and stuffs in his pocket.

A few people gawk at us when we walk through the ER waiting room, and I realize it’s because both of us still have bloodstains on our clothes. Wolff grabs a firm hold of my hand and guides us to the sliding doors.

When we get outside, two sheriff’s cruisers are parked in front.

Sloane and Sheriff Ewing are standing next to them.

“I take it you’re our ride?” Wolff guesses.

“Yeah,” Ewing confirms. “You okay?”

“As okay as you’d expect someone to be with a bullet hole and a couple of dozen stitches in their body,” I snap in a knee-jerk reaction.

Wolff squeezes my hand he is still holding.

“I was lucky. I should heal up fine,” he shares.

Ewing nods, already having dismissed my snarky comment, but Sloane is still looking at me, a smug grin on her face.

Whatever.

Wolff

“We towed the Yukon to the sheriff’s department. We didn’t want to mess with it in the dark on the side of the road,” Ewing volunteers.

“That’s fine. I’ll tell Jonas. It’s his vehicle.”

Fucking hell.

I’m sure he’s going to be glad he decided to lend the Yukon out to me. Hopefully, the only damage is to the driver’s side window. I didn’t really look that closely; I’d been too busy making sure the threat was neutralized and Jillian was safe.

“And my dogs?”

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