Page 84 of Whatever Lola Wants

“What are you doing here?”

Michael’s gaze flickered over Simon’s face. Confusion, but no hostility. Whatever was the matter, he wasn’t displeased to find her here, merely baffled as to why.

The blonde—Ginger—sucked in a breath. “Lola’s been in an accident.”

Simon all but leapt forward. “What do you mean, an accident? Is she all right? Where is she?”

Ginger shook her head. “She was in a ride share, coming here, and this truck—he ran the red light.” She swallowed, her throat flexing. “She didn’t have her seatbelt on, and she was bleeding, but she was talking. She knew who I was, and she was conscious at first. Then she kept going in and out. She told the EMTs to tell me to find you.”

Simon’s face had gone ashen. “Where is she?”

“They said they were taking her to the ER. Northwestern.”

Lola woke up in the ER with some sadistic prick with ‘doctor’ in front of his name shining a light in her eyes. He said he considered her muttered “fuck off” to be entirely appropriate and a good sign that her sense of humor was intact.

After that, it just went downhill.

She was examined, poked, prodded, x-rayed, sent for a CT scan, and examined again. They determined she didn’t have a neck or spine injury, so she’d thankfully been able to shed the protective collar. But after her injuries had been determined to be non-life threatening, the medical personal had moved on to their next customer and left her on a gurney behind a hastily drawn curtain to await further assessment.

And since they’d cut off her clothes and given her a single thin blanket, she was freezing. And her head fucking hurt.

The curtain twitched open with a metallic zing and Doctor Bright Lights stepped in with a smile.

“Well, Ms. Wright. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been in a car accident,” she replied.

“Funny,” He snapped on a pair of gloves and placed gentle fingers on her head. “Your head CT came back normal,” he said and carefully pried up the temporary dressing covering the cut on her forehead.

She tried to concentrate over the throbbing in her skull. “That’s good, right?”

“Mmm.” He poked at the edges of the cut. “However, you did lose consciousness for several minutes, and the EMTs said you vomited in the ambulance.”

She grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Combined with the fuzzy vision you’ve been experiencing?—”

“It’s better,” she interjected.

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “—we’re concerned about a concussion. We’d like to keep you overnight, just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, but I don’t want?—”

She broke off at the sound of footsteps. The curtain whipped back, and Simon stepped in.

“Simon,” she managed, so happy to see him she nearly burst into tears, and held out a shaking hand.

He grabbed it and stepped to the side of the bed, his eyes fierce as they took her in. “Jesus. You look like you’ve been in a knife fight.”

She didn’t have the energy to laugh. “That’s what Ginger said.”

He pressed his lips to her palm. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, shifting his attention to the doctor who, until this point, he’d ignored. “Is she okay?”

The doc beamed his sunshine smile. “She will be. Her x-rays are clear, and except for the cut on her head and a bruise on her thigh that looks like it’ll be a beaut, everything’s minor.”

Simon nodded, brushing a careful hand over her hair, his eyes trained on her face. “Concussion?” he asked, and the doctor nodded.

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