Chapter 9
“She’s coming around.” An unfamiliar male voice spoke from what sounded like a tunnel.
“Em, can you hear me?” Travis’s voice had me trying desperately to open my eyes despite the screaming pain in my head.
My eyelashes fluttered, letting in bursts of light that immediately hurt my head. I let out a soft groan, unable to quell the pain.
“What hurts, baby?” Travis’s voice was full of concern.
“My head.” I groaned as I managed to open my eyes, catching sight of Travis hovering anxiously over me, accompanied by a paramedic and two police officers.
I looked at the unfamiliar men, suddenly anxious and overwhelmed. “Eyes on me, Em,” Travis commanded softly.
My gaze slid to his, and I immediately felt a sense of security calm me. His gorgeous mouth broke into a sad smile. “There’s my girl.” His eyes swept over my face and body before returning to meet my eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Just my neck.” I winced. “I want to sit up.” I felt so vulnerable sprawled out on the floor.
After a beat, his large hand moved to cup the back of my neck carefully, helping me sit up.
Bile immediately rose in my throat. “I’m going to be sick,” I managed, gesturing frantically for the wastebasket.
Travis grabbed it, sliding it next to me a second before I lost the contents of my stomach into it. He held my hair back as I retched, and I was far too mortified to appreciate how sweet the gesture was.
Just what I’d always dreamed of, throwing up in front of an audience of unfamiliar men and Travis.
“Concussed,” I heard one of them validate grimly. “We need to take her in, check her out.”
“I’m fine,” I protested weakly, my forehead pressed to the rim of the wastebasket.
Travis’s hand stroked my back soothingly. “Babe. You need to be checked out. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“We need to get her statement, McAllister,” one of the police officers cut in.
“You’ll get it once she’s been checked out,” Travis growled protectively. “You think you’re done?” he asked me gently.
“I think so,” I rasped, sitting up. “Sorry,” I apologized, mortified.
Travis looked at me with a mixture of tenderness and regret. “Don’t be sorry, Em. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you faster,” he lamented as one the paramedics handed me a glass of water.
I accepted it gratefully, drinking it and hoping like hell that was the only time I’d be tossing my cookies. Or ice cream, as it was.
“You ready to move?” Travis asked quietly, eyeing me.
I nodded, reaching for his hand to help me up. I felt like a newborn fawn on shaking legs. Without delay, Travis scooped me up bridal style.
I let out a little squeak of surprise. “I don’t want to get sick on you,” I protested weakly.
“I have a change of clothes.” He shrugged as though it was no big deal. He carried me down the stairs, the police and paramedics following closely.
“Let’s get her in the bus,” the paramedic said.
“No,” I protested, looking at Travis with wide eyes. “My insurance won’t cover it.”
I’d heard horror stories of how much just a short ride in an ambulance could cost.
“I can pay it, Em,” he assured me.
“Travis, please. That could cost thousands of dollars. This is just a precaution,” I argued. Indecision flashed in his eyes. “I hit my head and my neck hurts, that’s it. Please.”