Page 126 of Ward Willing
The very last place I ever expected to be going with her this weekend.
I help her get dressed into the pajamas that she packed, and I soon follow suit, slipping black joggers and a T-shirt over my head before I’m grabbing my wallet and keys. Zoe’s still cradling her injured wrist, and I use the walk to the car to text Orion.
I know it’s opening night, but I need your help.
Orion answers almost immediately, so it’s likely that he’s no longer behind the bar.
Orion
Of course. Anything. You guys okay?
Zoe’s wrist… I’m not sure what happened, but we’re headed to the emergency room at Crestwood Hospital. Would you mind please grabbing her medical records? They’re in the bottom drawer of my desk, in a folder labeled “Zoe.”
Orion
I’ll meet you there in an hour.
After helping Zoe into the Jeep and buckling her in, she reaches for my shirt and pulls me in for a slow, sensual kiss.
“This wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” she asks, whispering the words against my lips. “Once they wrap this thing up, maybe we can resume?—”
“Zoe.” I sigh, closing my eyes as my lips brush against hers. “Let’s get you checked out, okay?” I pull away and walk to my side of the car, and that heavy weight inside of me from earlier only intensifies.
What I don’t tell her is that no matter how much she says this isn’t my fault, I know better. I’m the one who bought the harness, the one who tightened it. She had to usered, for fuck’s sake. We hadn’t usedyellow.Had she ever had to use a safe word with any of her other Doms? Did theyknowhow not to hurt her?
You’re a monster.
You’re a monster.
You’re a monster.
Carolina’s words roll around in my mind during the entire ten-minute drive to the hospital—so much so, that my fingers are nearly white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Once I park, I carefully lean over and open Zoe’s door. She doesn’t move, though, instead, she takes my hand with her good hand.
“This isn’t your fault,” she murmurs, her honey-brown eyes boring into mine. “I could feel you stewing the entire drive over here,” she adds, smirking.
I don’t have it in me to smile, so instead I push away from her and exit the car on my side. After helping her out, I put an arm around her shoulder, and we walk into the lobby of the hospital. Zoe checks herself in while I find us two seats, though it’s pretty crowded, so it might be a long night.
When Zoe walks over to me in her flannel pajamas, I can’t help but berate myself.
“I’m having Orion bring your medical records,” I say slowly.
Her head rears back. “Why? I know my own medical history.”
“You fell down the stairs of your house when you were two. Fractured your wrist.”
Her eyes shutter. “I did?”
I nod. “Figured it would be useful for the doctor to have, in case it’s the same wrist.”
“That makes sense,” she answers quietly.
The receptionist calls Zoe forward and hands her paperwork to fill out. I try to contain my smirk as her brows furrow, glancing down at the insurance forms. She’s so adamant about doing everything herself, and yet she has no idea that I’ve been taking care of her in so many ways for years.
“Umm…”
I reach over for the forms, and Zoe hands them over with reddened cheeks. The thing is, I’ve been filling out so many of these forms for her—for us—that I have everything memorized. Her social security number. Her date and city of birth. Her medical conditions and surgery history, such as when she had to have her appendix out at sixteen, or that she’s allergic to certain types of antibiotics. After I complete the insurance portion, I hand the form back to her, and she fills out the rest—luckily with her uninjured right hand.
When she finishes, she walks the paperwork to the reception desk, and it’s then that I see Orion walking toward us, carrying the manila folder.
