Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
I took a step to the side and watched him answer more of the woman’s questions then fill something out on a tablet. I learned as I stood there that Amos’s name was Amos Warner-Rhodes. He was fifteen, and his emergency contact was his father even though, for some reason, his uncle had a medical power of attorney. I backed up right after that information dump and headed over to sit beside Amos, who was back in the same position I had found him: groaning and sweating, pale and terrible.
I wanted to pat his back but kept my hands to myself.
“Hey, your uncle is here. They should be coming to get you in a second,” I told him quietly.
His “okay” sounded like it came from some deep, dark place.
“Do you want your phone back?”
He tipped his head farther toward his knees and groaned.
It was right then that someone in scrubs came out with a wheelchair. I was still holding Amos’s phone when they wheeled him out of the waiting area, his uncle following after him.
Should I . . . leave?
It might be hours until they knew for sure what was wrong, but . . . I’d brought him here. I wanted to make sure he was fine; otherwise, I’d stay up all night worrying. I remembered to move my car before it got towed, then sat down to wait.
An hour passed with no sight of Amos’s uncle or his dad. When I went to ask the employee at the front desk if I could have an update, she narrowed her eyes and asked if I was family, and I had to back away feeling like a stalker. But I could wait. I would.
I had just come out of the bathroom nearly two hours after getting to the ER and was heading to my seat when the doors leading outside opened and a big mass of a man came storming in.
The second thing I noticed was the uniform he had on, which seemed poured over a whole lot of impressive muscles and bones. His belt was tight around his waist. Someone deserved a catcall.
What it was about a man in uniform, I had no idea, but I was pretty sure my mouth watered there for a second.
Mr. Rhodes’s shoulders seemed broader, his arms beefier under the bright white hospital lights than they had under the warm yellow of the garage apartment. His scowl made him look even more ferocious. He really was a big, old hunk of a man. My God.
I swallowed.
And that was enough to have his gaze flick toward me. Recognition crossed his features. “Hi, Mr. Rhodes,” I stated as those legs that were just as long as I remembered started moving.
“Where is he?” the man I’d spoken to twice demanded, sounding just as pleasant as he had before. And by pleasant, I meant not pleasant at all. But this time, his son was in the hospital, so I couldn’t blame him.
“He’s in the back,” I told him instantly, letting his tone and words slide down my back. “His uncle is here. Johnny? He’s in the back with him—”
One big, booted foot brought him closer to me. His thick, dark eyebrows knit together, faint lines crossing his broad forehead. The brackets along his mouth were deep with a scowl that might have burned the hair off my eyebrows if I wasn’t so used to my uncle making faces every time someone aggravated him. “What did you do?” he demanded in that bossy, level voice.
Excuse me? “What did I do? I drove him here like I said in my voice mail . . .”
Another big, booted foot stepped forward. Jesus, he really was tall. I was five-six, and he towered over me. “I specifically told you not to talk to my son, didn’t I?”
Was he kidding me? “Are you joking?” He had to be.
That handsome face dipped closer, his scowl plain mean. “I gave you two rules—”
It was my turn to raise my eyebrows at him, indignation flaring up in my chest. Even my heart started beating faster at what he was trying to imply.
Okay, I didn’t know what he was trying to imply, but he was giving me shit for driving his kid to the hospital? Really? And had he tried to make it seem like I’d done something to make his kid end up here?
“Hey!” an unfamiliar voice called out.
We both turned to where it was coming from, and it was the Johnny man standing by the elevator bank, one hand on the top of his head.
“Why the hell aren’t you answering the phone? They think he has appendicitis but are waiting for the scan results to come back,” he explained quickly. “They’re treating his pain. Come on.”
Tobias Rhodes didn’t even look at me again before he quickly walked toward Johnny. Amos’s uncle, though, nodded at me once before leading the other man toward the elevators. They were talking quietly.