Page 75 of The Chase

The doctor tilted his chin. He was a decent looking, if slight, man. Colt couldn’t help but size him up. Colt was confident he could knock him out cold in one swipe if he had to.

“She’s recovering, in the next room,” the doctor explained. Colt tried to move. Tried to pull himself up further. “Oh no, you’ve got to rest, too. You can see her later, she’s resting anyway-”

“She’s okay?” Colt nagged.

The doctor’s smile turned to a slight frown, which set Colt’s mind whirring away. “She’s recovering, just like you, but she’ll be fine. I’m Doctor Singh, I’m your-”

“When can I see her?”

“When she wakes up, now please don’t be difficult, Mr. Kincade.”

“Colt.”

“Very well, Colt. You had smoke inhalation and a concussion, you passed out at the scene of your accident, do you remember?” the doctor asked, while grabbing his stethoscope, checking Colt’s breathing. The metal plate was cold on Colt’s chest. He indicated for Colt to sit forward and slid the metal plate onto his back.

“Take a deep breath,” Dr. Singh said, listening.

“I don’t remember,” Colt said passively and breathed in and out slowly. The doctor was satisfied with what he heard, and took the stethoscope out of his ears and off Colt’s chest.

“Well, the police are here to talk to you anyway, so save any memories for when you speak to them.”

Colt pursed his lips. Fuck.

“In fact, you’ve got a whole group of visitors waiting to speak to you.”

“I do?”

“Yes.” The doctor leaned in a little and glanced at the door. Colt braced himself, what the fuck was he doing?

“Between you and me, the members of that biker gang and that eyesore of a HQ or whatever it was, is gone now and that is not a bad thing in my book.” The doctor’s face flashed in the ghost of a wink. “Less gunshot wounds in the ER, less overdoses, less DUI incidents... all fine by me. And the rest of the residents of the town, I’m sure.”

Colt licked his lips. He didn’t want to risk saying anything, but gave a subtle chin lift to him.

The doctor stood up and stepped back, clearing his throat.

“Right, well, I’m happy that you’re okay. A few bruises but otherwise… I’d like to just monitor you this morning, get some breakfast in you. Then we’ll take out the IV, and you can be discharged later in the afternoon.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Colt replied.

The doctor nodded and fixed him with a pensive half smile, then turned and marched out the door.

Colt laid back. Mind reeling. Heart flopping like a fish out of water. He closed his eyes. But seconds later there was a knock at his door, and his first visitor came into his room. Colt eyed him up, gaze flicking critically up and down, assessing him.

He was young. That was Colt’s first thought. His uniform was that of a police Sergeant, the most senior police officer in the city’s police force. Which is why Colt had particularly noticed he looked young. He was shorter than Colt. But well-built. He worked out, obviously. He was stocky, sturdy looking, broad shoulders, pecs that hugged the sleeves of his uniform. With a face that no doubt could get him into ladies’ panties. Cute chipmunk features, a smile to melt butter. Eyes like Colt’s own, chocolate brown. Short, dark brown hair, neatly trimmed.

Colt’s gaze flicked to the name badge on his uniform. Rossetti. It rang a bell, sending Colt spiraling down memory lane. Fuck. He felt suddenly dizzy. The pizza place just down the street from the clubhouse. The old clubhouse. Rossetti. The place Colt had scrounged for food when he was a skinny homeless mutt. The place he’d been kicked out of; just before Blue had seen him, invited him into the MC... fucking fate. What were the chances?

Colt cleared his throat. “I didn’t order a bacon pizza,” Colt said calmly, not letting his internal emotions show on his face.

Sergeant Rossetti set a half smile onto his face. Yep, Colt could see women finding that fucking cute.

“I get what you did there. I’m a pig, right, that’s the slang term for the police, anything related to being a pig, like bacon.” He sauntered closer to Colt. “And if you want a pizza, it’s my father’s place you want to hit up... and my brother’s now, too, nothing to do with me.” He frowned. Colt noticed, clearly a point of contention, did the Sergeant secretly want a slice of the pizza place instead? Colt stored that. It might come in handy one day. The Sergeant cleared his throat. “Name’s Carmelo. Carmelo Rossetti.”

Colt looked at Carmelo’s proffered hand. Colt itched. The uniform immediately raised his hackles, he didn’t like it. But he knew slighting the local police wasn’t a smart idea. He hesitated as long as he dared. Carmelo didn’t lower his hand though, he waited. Bold, Colt thought, suitably impressed.

“What happened to old Hughey?” Colt asked Carmelo, finally taking his hand. Both men grasped each other firmly, solid and warm.

Carmelo shrugged. “Got too old. Retired a few years ago.”

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