Page 13 of Wire
“On our way,” he grunts.
Our nearest hospital is several towns over and way too far. I just hope he’s not badly hurt.
Reaching him, I leap out of the truck and run over to him.
Thank God he was wearing a helmet.
I lift the visor up as I know better than to remove the helmet.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
My hands run all over to see if I can feel anything that shouldn’t feel like that.
It’s all quiet, and I’m starting to worry when a pain-filled groan comes from his beautiful lips.
“Jesus fuck, that hurt.”
I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Are you okay? Where do you hurt?” I ask, almost frantic.
I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting up before he’s had a second to take stock of his body.
“Lie still a minute and tell me where it actually hurts,” I tell him.
He stops trying to get up and lays down, relaxing a little.
“My left leg, ribs, and my left arm,” he says after a few minutes.
“What about your back, neck, and head?” I ask, checking for head and back injuries.
“No, they feel fine.”
Oh, thank God.
“Okay, do you think we can take your helmet off?” I ask.
Slowly he unbuckles it and pulls it off with a little help from me. Only I manage to bump him on the head with the helmet as I’m placing it down.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I say in horror.
“It’s okay, darlin’, I have a hard head.” He chuckles.
“My brothers are on their way; they should be here any minute. We will get you back to the ranch so we can help you,” I tell him, deciding in light of the whole hitting him with his own helmet, I should definitely wait for my brothers before moving him.
We don’t have to wait long before my brothers pull up.
“You okay, man?” Carter asks as they all walk to us.
“Yeah, just my left leg, arm, and my ribs hurt. Think I had a lucky escape,” he says, sitting up. I get behind him in case he falls backward.
“We’ll get you into Calamity’s truck and put your bike in the back of ours. We have a workshop back at the ranch. I’m sure we can get your beauty running again,” Weston says.
I stand back while they help no name biker because I still haven’t thought to ask him his name in the back of my truck. Once he’s as comfy as possible. I jump into the driver’s seat.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t asked your name,” I say, turning in my seat to look at him, accidentally crushing his fingers, which were on the back of my seat with my arm.
I quickly turn forward and hit my head on the steering wheel. This guy is going to want to get as far away from me as possible.
