“Fuck!” Napkins rain down around me as I lie on the slightly sticky wood floor. Of course the customers are watching all of this happen, and I can only be grateful that I’m lying behind the bar now, so most of them can’t see me trying to catch my breath.
Everett appears instantly, like he materialized out of thin air somehow. I muscle myself up onto my elbows so I can watch his face as he crouches and touches my ankle with surprisingly gentle hands.
Even the light touch makes me wince with pain, and it’s already starting to swell.
“It’s not broken,” he says softly. “But it is a pretty bad sprain at the very least.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ll put some ice on it and then get back to work.”
He gives me a stern look, and I stare him down a bit. “Harper, no. You can’t walk on this. You rolled your fucking ankle.”
“It’s not that bad. Just let me get up and try to put some weight on it?—”
“No.” He cuts me off, his voice hard. His quiet authority shuts me up immediately, but it’s the concern blazing in his dark eyes that makes my breath catch. “You’re not going back to work. And you’re not putting weight on it.”
He scoops me up off the floor like I weigh nothing, and I flail a little in surprise before settling in his arms.
“Everett, everybody is watching,” I hiss, cheeks burning. “Do we have to do this in front of the whole fucking bar?”
He looks down at me but doesn’t say anything, just walking for the door, careful not to jostle my ankle more than he has to.
“You’re impossible. You could have just helped me walk.”
He carries me to his truck, settling me in the passenger seat before going around to get behind the wheel. It’s a silent drive to the clinic, and by the time we get there, my ankle is throbbing with pain. The swelling looks worse, and when I try to get out of the truck before Everett can carry me again, the pain of it makes me breathless for a second.
So I don’t complain too much when he gives me a look and carries me inside.
“Sheriff Kane!” a pretty young woman says as we enter. “We don’t see you here often, are you—” She takes one look at me in his arms, and I try not to flush with embarrassment.
“She rolled her ankle,” Everett says. “I didn’t feel a break, but I can’t be sure.”
The receptionist nods. “I’ll get the doctor.”
There’s an hour or so of examination and x-rays and the local doctor asking me about what happened. I answer him as best I can, trying not to wince as he pokes and prods at me. Through it all, Everett never leaves my side.
He clearly knows the doctor, but there’s something protective about the way he hovers, never leaving me alone for a second. Whenever I show any sign of pain, he tenses, sharp eyes cutting to the doctor before he relaxes again.
It’s a heady thing, watching this powerful Alpha fuss over a sprained ankle, and my stomach flutters at the closeness. His scent is soothing in its own way, and I have to admit that I’m glad he’s here.
“You’re a good boss, you know,” I tell him when we’re alone, waiting for the doctor to come back and declare me fit to gohome. “Most bosses wouldn’t do this for an employee. Probably they’d be more worried about making sure I can’t sue them for an unsafe work environment or something.”
It’s supposed to be half a joke, but Everett’s face never loses any of that seriousness. “You’re not just an employee,” he says in that deep voice.
I have no idea how to respond to that, so I look away from his intense stare. Luckily, the doctor comes back in a minute or so later, giving Everett the all clear to take me home.
“Try to rest it as much as possible,” the doctor says. “No full weight on it for at least a couple of days. If it feels worse or the swelling doesn’t go down with ice and elevation, we can see about transferring you to the hospital in the city.”
“Thank you,” Everett says for me, and the doctor smiles and rushes off to tend to whoever came in after us.
“Can you not carry me out of here like a sack of potatoes?” I ask Everett as we prepare to head out. “I know you’re being helpful, but you can’t carry me around until this is better.”
He gives me a look, but instead of just picking me up again, he helps me walk this time. It’s slow going, with me limping and he supporting most of my weight, but it feels better to get to the truck without being carried.
At the same time, I’m hyper aware of the body beside mine. Everett is solid and warm, and his scent is everywhere. I know it’s going to be clinging to me by the time this is over. I should be railing against him treating me like an invalid and getting so close, but all I can feel is safe with him touching me.
He lifts me into the truck, and I settle in with a sigh.
The drive home is quiet, and it feels weird to just not talk after all that.