Page 43 of Wilder
“Yeah!” All traces of his earlier tantrum have fled his mind.Typical toddler.I sigh with relief, silently thanking my sister.
After they’ve gone into the house, my gaze bounces among the guys. “What do I need to know?” My chin wobbles as I get an up-close look at the bloody scrapes on Royal’s shoulder, then gently skim my fingers through the hair at his temple. My gaze pings slowly over the rest of his body, from head to toe.
His eyes search mine, and his face contorts. “I feel sick to have to tell you this. The van. The one we saw while we were at the park… it tried to run us down.”
“Well, him, more specifically, I think.” Theo gives me a little wave and a grim smile. “Hi, Speedy.”
My gaze flicks to our former running coach, my lips twitching at the reminder of his nickname for me. Cautiously, I greet him. “Hi, Theo.”
Theo clears his throat. “You haven’t changed a bit. Good to see you.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Yeah, it’s been a long time. If I have changed, I’m still me.”
He smiles, then glances down at his phone. “Shit. Royal, are you okay if I take off?” He raises his phone, gesturing with it. “Apparently, I’ve got a bartender with questions about a shipment that arrived this morning.”
Royal releases a hard exhale. “Yeah, of course. I’m glad you were there when it happened, I guess, even if it scared the shit out of you. Send me that partial plate, would you?”
“No problem.” Theo draws in a breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I had planned to stick around and catch up for a few minutes, but now isn’t the right time for that.” He turns to Wilder, giving him a narrow stare. “He shows any signs he’s not okay, you’ll get his ass to an ER.” It’s not a question, just a simple statement, which Wilder seems to understandandagree with.
His lips twist, eyeing Royal, his assessing nursing student’s gaze already moving over his friend. “Yeah. I don’t mess around.I’ll take a closer look at him in a sec.” With that, Theo nods and takes off.
I release a pent-up breath, stepping close to Royal and winding my arms around his waist. I let myself touch his warm skin, not giving a flying fuck about the sweat or the blood. The need to feel him, to make sure he’s really standing here with me, is intense. When I consider he could have been run down and seriously injured—or worse—it makes me want to vomit. It’s bad enough he probably has a concussion. I tip my chin up to meet Royal’s gaze, then shift to Wilder’s and Beckham’s in turn. I see plainly their desire to hold back all the things they’re thinking. “Don’t you dare try to shield me. You think this is… what? A warning?”
Before any of them say a fucking word, the vibration of a cell phone goes off, but since we’re all huddled in one spot, I have no idea whose it was.
Royal shifts to reach into his pocket. I wince as he pulls it out. The screen is shattered. “My phone is fucked, but that was definitely a text for me.” He hesitantly tries to get it to function, but as I peek at it with him, it’s a spiderweb of cracks, nearly impossible to see what’s on the screen, and even more difficult to get it to function. “Dammit.”
My attention shifts to Wilder for a moment because the way his eyes scan the area has my skin prickling. His scrutiny tells me he’s nervous there could be a part two to this catastrophe. The muscle in his jaw working, he carefully puts a hand on Royal’s uninjured shoulder, fingers gently squeezing to get his attention. He juts his chin toward the house. “What do you all say we get the fuck inside?”
Beckham puts a comforting arm around my shoulders, leaning in to whisper, “You okay, CJ?”
I draw in a shaky breath but nod and put my arm around his waist. “You?”
“I’m good. Just”—he pauses to heave out a breath as he eyes the pair in front of us as we step into the house—“concerned. I’ll feel better once Wilder makes sure he’s really okay.”
I gaze up into his piercing blue eyes. “Me too.”
Royal grumbles as Wilder leads us to the kitchen, “I can’t fucking tell what this says, but it’s from a goddamn unknown number again.” With that, he tosses the phone onto the table as Wilder pats the back of a chair he’s pulled out at the table. Royal sinks onto it with a grimace of pain.
While our resident nursing student washes his hands at the sink, he catches my eye. “You have medical supplies somewhere?”
“Yep. One sec. We keep stuff in the bathroom down here.” I hurry to where we keep it, and, by the time I return, Wilder is looking carefully into Royal’s eyes, while Royal tracks the movement of his finger.
The patient gets pissier the longer the examination goes on, which makes Beckham wince and throw out a hand in frustration. “Let Nurse Wilder look you over, man. You could have a concussion. You’re bleeding from the head, for Christ’s sake.”
“You know, we could have gone to the hospital or an emergi-care type place,” Wilder breathes out, his tone even. He’s obviously a total professional when the need arises.
After several seconds of quiet, Royal rasps, “I didn’t want to go anywhere else. I wanted you,” his chest heaving with the admission. They continue to stare at each other even though Wilder is clearly done checking Royal’s pupils.
It makes my heart flip. My eyes trail over to Beckham, who is also looking on with interest. He’s trying hard to hide it, but to me, his worry for Royal is evident. He’s antsy as hell, watching every move Wilder makes and every subsequent reaction from Royal. The inspection of the abrasion on his scalp is the worst ofit, and I can’t help but suck in a sharp breath. My cheeks flush. “Sorry. What else do you need?”
“I could use some washcloths, if you have them.” He eyes Royal’s shoulder. “And I think we need to move to the sink so I have running water. I’ll irrigate this as best I can to get rid of road debris. Hopefully, we can deal with this on our own.”
Royal bites his lip. “I trust you.”
Wilder nods, humming to himself as we shift closer to the sink. Beckham plants himself on the kitchen island—out of the way but watching—while I set the medical supplies down and step out of the way. I find after a minute or so of pained gasps from Royal and apologies from Wilder that I can’t be right there, so I wander over to the table to sit down.
It’s not long before the temptation of the busted phone grabs my attention. I pick it up, sliding my finger over the screen, half afraid I’m going to slice my finger open. Oh well. We’ve got Wilder here to patch me up if that happens. Tucking the corner of my lip between my teeth, I chew on it absently while I attempt to open it.
