Page 92 of Hiding for the Holidays
“You’re cold, that’s good. It’s when you go numb that we really have to worry.”
The cold didn’t feel good, but he was a medic so I take his word for it.
“She’s conscious!” he yells as we move closerto Grant. I watch as he removes his t-shirt, shoes and jeans then starts to make a path in our direction, and within a minute he reaches us.
“I’ve got her,” he says, scooping me into his arms and walking us back towards the shore.
When we get to the snow, the two of them strip me down to just my undies so quickly I barely realize what’s going on. Grant’s dry t-shirt is pulled on me over my wet body before he picks me back up and holds me tight against his chest.
“We’ve got to get her warm.”
“W-w-where’s Asher?” I ask as I shiver against him. Nobody answers and I try to glance back at the bridge but Grant holds my head against him. “He’s fine, don’t worry. He’ll join us soon.”
I whimper in pain and Grant quickly pulse his hand back, noticing the blood on his palm. “Shit, she’s injured!”
“Let me see,” Leo says, stepping up beside me.
“We need to take her to the hospital.”
“Let’s get her home so I can take a look.”
“I’m sleepy,” I say, relaxing my head against Grant’s chest.
“Oh, no you don’t, shortcake. Don’t go to sleep yet, you might have a concussion.”
“Leo…” Grant says in warning.
“Fine, let’s take her to the hospital. Rosie, just try and stay awake, okay?”
“It’s hard,” I mumble against him.
“I know, sweetheart, just try for me. Tell me all the toys that were donated today.”
Slowly, I list each toy I remember seeing as I’m moved into a vehicle. Grant stays holding me the whole time and I start to worry about Asher.
“Are you sure Asher is okay?” I ask again as I’m lifted from the car.
“He’s fine. I promise. He’ll be here soon,” Grant tells me again as we step inside. The lights are bright and I turn my face into him, the brightness hurting my eyes. He holds a hand over my eyes, helping me as I hear Leo speaking to someone about me.
We’re moved around a lot, and there is a lot of talking before I sense the lights being dimmed and Grant’s hand lowers, letting me look around. My vision is a little blurry, but I can make out that we’re in a private room and I’m sitting on a hospital bed with a shirtless Grant.
A man in a white coat crouches a little so we’re eye level. “Hi Rosalie, I’m Doctor Stevens, I’m gonna take a look at you, alright?”
I nod and he clicks on a small penlight.
“Look right at me,” he says, and I do, though the bright beam makes me wince. He flashes it from one eye to the other, watching closely.
“Good. Now follow my finger.” He moves his hand side to side, up and down. My eyes drag after it, though the motion makes my head throb.
“Any nausea? Dizziness?”
“Dizziness,” I admit. “I was nauseous earlier, but it’s passed.”
“Did you throw up?”
“No.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
