Page 44 of Thicker Than Water

“Yes, Reece. The last time I saw you, she interrupted us and she looked at me like I was playing with her favorite toy.”

He chuckles, and sounds truly amused. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt like he’s making himself comfortable.

I start to pace again, back and forth between the chaises. My empty wine glass swinging between my fingers.

“It’s not funny. I want you to tell me where things are with you. I can overcome a lot, but if you’re unresolved when it comes to her, this is a non-starter.”

When I’m done with this declaration, I expect him to look concerned or thoughtful. Instead, he’s watching me, smiling broadly, his eyes full of mirth.

It startles me so much that I collide into the chaise that’s in front of me. And the next thing I know, the ground is rushing up to meet me. I hear the glass in my hand shatter as it hits the pebble-covered ground and I can’t do anything to stop myself from falling straight onto it.

22

Reece

She falls in slow motion, but I still can’t do anything to stop it. The sound of the glass shattering precedes her sharp cry as she lands on top of it. By the time I reach her, she’s cradling her hand and I can see blood pouring down her arm, and dripping onto the ground beside her.

I drop to my knees next to her, trying to appear calm, even though panic is surging inside of me. She’s struggling to push herself up, using only one arm, but can’t get enough of a hold on the chair to do it. I lift her up and place her on the chair so I can take a look at her hand.

My stomach turns and blood runs cold. There is a huge piece of glass sticking out of her palm. She looks down at it, her eyes wide with shock. I touch the arm she’s cradling and she winces and looks up at me, her eyes are full of tears and her chin wobbles.

“Luc, does your arm hurt besides the cut?” I ask her gently.

She whimpers in response and I spring into action, running inside to grab a towel from the kitchen.

I sit on the side of her body where she appears least injured. I scoop her into my lap. I want to wrap her hand in the towel, but as I start to, she snatches her hand back and says, “You’re pushing the glass deeper.”

Shit, I need to get her to the ER. I wrap the towel around her forearm to catch some of the blood that’s dripping down and she moans. Her head falls onto my chest and she starts to cry softly.

Hearing my girl, with the heart of a lion, crying makes me move faster.

When I reach my car, I put her down as gingerly as I can and reach over her to buckle her in. “You need to keep your arm elevated while we’re driving,” I tell her. As soon as I sit down, she reaches out to touch me with her good hand.

I look at her face, her eyes are closed tightly. Her lips are sucked in and I can tell she’s trying to keep herself composed. I pull the hem of my T-shirt up and wipe the blood. She licks her lips but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re going to be fine, Luc,” I say to her as I back up and then turn out on the road.

I hold her hand as I drive, keeping my eyes firmly on the road, aware that every bump must be agony for her. She hasn’t made a peep since we got in the car. All I can think of is getting her to the ER.

When pulled into the hospital’s driveway, I run inside and ask for a wheelchair and help. A man dressed in scrubs follows me back to the car. I lift her out and put her in the chair. “We’ve got her, sir. You can go and park. I’ll take her to the Emergency Room. You can meet us there.” I’m confused, and look up at the sign and see that I’ve brought us to the general entrance. I glance at Lucía; her eyes are still closed. I just nod at him and hop back into my car and go park.

Five minutes later, I find Lucía, in her wheelchair, sitting by herself in the waiting area. There are no other patients waiting and I look around, confused as to why she’s been left there.

I walk up to her wheelchair. Her eyes are closed and she’s clutching her arm, trying hard to stay sitting up. Her pale face is drawn I can see she’s in a lot of pain.

“Luc, I’m here.”

She’s sweating, and gives a minute nod in response.

“I’ll be right back.” I brush a kiss on her forehead and stalk to the reception desk. The man sitting behind it doesn’t notice me approach. His head is bent and he’s doing something on his phone.

“Excuse me,” I say trying to keep my tone down and my anger in check. “There’s a critically injured woman waiting to

be seen and you’re busy texting.”

He looks up at me. The bored expression on his face almost sends me over the edge.

“Sir, do you need help?” he asks like he clearly doesn’t care whether or not I answer.

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