Page 94 of One Life to Loathe

“Baby, look at me,” he pleaded as I tried to get my bearings. “What hurts?”

Technically, everything hurt. Reasonably, I knew that wasn’t true. I wasn’t dying or anything. I was definitely off my game, though. When I tried to talk, a weird sound came out of my mouth. It wasn’t words.

“Somebody call an ambulance right now!” Leo roared.

“The medical team is here,” a familiar voice said. I recognized the face it belonged to, but I had to search for the name.Miles!Things were slowly coming back to me. “Let them look at her.”

“No.” Leo clutched me tighter against his chest. “I want a real doctor. I don’t want your fifteen-dollar-an-hour workers.”

“Technically, I make forty bucks an hour,” a chipper man with a nice smile said as he hunkered down next to me. I didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. I hadn’t had a need for the medical staff since arriving in Salem. “Hey, sweetheart.” He beamed a smile at me. “How are you?”

This time when I tried to form words it came easily enough. “I think I’m okay,” I said.

“She’s not,” Leo countered. “She hit her head. She probably has a concussion. She could have internal bleeding for all we know. We need to get her to the hospital for a CAT scan.”

The medic indulgently smiled at Leo. “Let me check her out before we ruin her entire day, huh?”

“I don’t care about ruining her day,” Leo spat. “I don’t want her dying of some undiagnosed brain trauma.”

“Wow.” The medic shook his head. “And they say actors are dramatic.” His smile never faltered. “I’m Walt. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.” He was doing his job—and I wanted to be sure—but I was feeling much better. Clearly, it had been a momentary lapse.

“What’s your name?”

“Samantha Summers. Everybody calls me Sam, though.”

Walt’s grin never diminished. “What’s your friend’s name?” He gestured toward Leo.

“Leo Powell.”

“Is that his full name?”

“Leonard Duncan Powell,” I replied, not missing a beat. “I thought his name was Leonardo for the longest time—doesn’t he look like a Leonardo?—but it’s Leonard. He doesn’t look like a Leonard.”

“How do you know that?” Leo demanded.

“I googled you.” Multiple times actually. Ever since I’d broken with my determination not to dig into his past, I’d found myself sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I like the photos they dug up when you were ten. The one from the Easter egg hunt.”

He looked pained. “I hate that photo.”

“You were adorable.” I tapped his chin.

“He’s still adorable,” Walt said. “He seems a little worried, though, so I need you to focus on me. Did you hit your head?”

I didn’t have to think about it. “Yeah, but I saw it coming and kind of managed to brace for it.”

“Where did you hit?”

I gestured toward the side of my head and waited as he tenderly touched the spot.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Just when you push on it.”

“Don’t push on it,” Leo hissed. “I don’t want her in pain.”

If Walt was put off by Leo’s growly nature, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was simply used to people being jerks in similar situations. “Do you feel any pressure inside of your head?”

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