“You were yelling at someone. Where are they?”

“There’s no one—”

Matt wasn’t listening. He let her go and ran into her room only to return and duck into the bathroom.

“Matt, no one is here.”

He was back at her side in three strong strides. His hands reached for her face . . . his thumbs wiped at the tears in her eyes. When he brushed her hair back he blew out another round of expletives. “Damn it, Erin. You’re bleeding.”

“What?” She reached for the back of her head and pulled her hand away. Indeed her fingertips were slick with blood. So many memories rushed forward and that’s what made her knees go weak.

Matt caught her and walked her over to her sofa.

“I hit my head under the sink,” she explained.

He moved quickly into her bathroom. The sound of a faucet turning on followed.

Her head spun. Emotions . . . it was adrenaline dumping in her system and emotions that were getting the best of her.

When Matt returned to the room, he positioned himself so he could look at her head.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I barely feel—ouch!”

He dabbed the wet washcloth against whatever was open back there and made her jump.

“You hit it pretty good.” He kept dabbing and moving her hair out of the way. She felt his fingers following the length of her scar. “Looks like you opened an old wound.”

“Do I need stitches?”

He pressed the towel against her head. “I think so.”

“Darn it.”

“Do you have any bandages?”

“There’s a first aid kit in my linen closet.”

He took her hand, brought it up to the back of her head. “Hold this.”

She knew the drill. Reached up with her right hand, winced, and used her left.

He returned and replaced the cloth with a bandage, and by now they had both appeared to have caught their breath.

“What happened? Who were you yelling at?”

She turned her head—yeah, that didn’t feel good—and waved at the kitchen. “I was cleaning under the sink. My phone rang, startling me. I moved too fast, hit my head. That’s it.”

Matt blinked several times and the owl quality in his eyes bore deep. “You’re upset.”

“I hit my head. It hurts.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“A little,” she confessed.

“Did you pass out?” His questions sounded like that of any first responder.

“No.”

“Did you slip on the floor?”

“Yes. Twisted my wrist.”

His gaze narrowed. “Why does it look like a toddler went crazy with the Windex?”

She glanced at the massacre on aisle five on her kitchen floor. “The phone call. It was bad news. I might have taken it out on the closest inanimate objects within reach.”

Her answer gained a partial smile from Matt’s lips. “You were yelling.”

“It was upsetting news, Matt.” Keep it simple and keep it private.

“Wanna share?”

A small shake of her head.

His expression told her he wasn’t surprised. But he didn’t press. “Okay. Let’s get you to the emergency room and get you checked out.”

“I’m sure a simple urgent care will—”

“I know the people in the ER. I’ll make sure you get in and out fast.”

Holding your cool when all you want to do is explode takes some serious fucking effort. And right now, Matt was exercising all kinds of patience.

Erin was not only nauseated, she was light-headed. She blamed it on not eating. Once he positioned her in his truck, he hightailed it across town to the local hospital. Even though he wasn’t a paramedic, he had assisted on enough runs to know many of the veteran staff of the ER.

It was still early enough that the place wasn’t wall-to-wall people.

He parked just outside the ambulance bay and used the code to go through the back door.

“We can go through the normal entry,” Erin told him.

“It’s okay. They know me here.”

Several people turned to watch them walk in. Four staff members were in direct sight. Sadly, he didn’t know any of them. Except one. “Dr. Brown.”

“Hey . . .” From the look on Dr. Brown’s face, he knew he wasn’t placing him.

“Matt Hudson. I come in with 123 quite a bit.”

Recognition followed with a nod. “Right, right.” Dr. Brown’s hand shot out to shake his. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since that nasty one up in Castaic.”

Matt remembered. Way too many cars thinking they were on a ride at the county fair on the interstate resulted in lots of casualties. “That was a hell of a night.”

Dr. Brown nodded, smiled, and looked at Erin. “What happened?”

“My friend here. She hit her head. Nauseous, dizzy—”

“I’m feeling better now.”

Matt looked at Erin briefly, turned to Dr. Brown. “Stubborn. One-inch laceration.”

“Any LOC?” the doctor asked.

Matt started to shake his head when Erin said, “I didn’t lose consciousness.”

Dr. Brown narrowed his eyes. “Are you in the medical field?”

“No,” she told him. “I just know what LOC means.”

“Let’s get you looked at.” Dr. Brown turned to one of the nurses. “Lisa. Can you get her in a room, triage her?”

Lisa was short, thirtyish, and all smiles. “Twelve is open.”

“Great.”

Matt stood back long enough to watch Erin walk with the nurse into the room. He lowered his voice once Erin was out of earshot. “So, ah . . . Erin’s really stubborn. I get the feeling she doesn’t like hospitals or answering truthfully.” Matt felt himself stretching the truth a little himself. But he really wanted to make sure she was a hundred percent okay, and that would require more than a stitch and a tetanus shot.

“You think she passed out and isn’t telling you?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.” Matt felt a little devious, which should have left him infused with guilt. But since Erin was insanely quiet on the way to the hospital, he justified his actions and smiled as he walked into room twelve.

Erin sat on the edge of a gurney and the nurse was taking her vital signs and asking questions. Did she have any known allergies or medical problems . . . asthma, diabetes . . . ? Erin said no to everything.

“What about tetanus? When was your last booster?” Lisa asked.

“February of last year.”

Lisa didn’t blink an eye, but Matt found himself categorizing the date in his head. Most of the time, when people are asked about their tetanus vaccination, they have to think and round to the nearest decade. Or they remember the time they fell off their motorcycle and needed stitches.

Matt took a chair to the side of the gurney and kept quiet.

Lisa pulled off the automatic blood pressure cuff, wrapped it up, and tucked it behind the gurney. “Dr. Brown will be with you in a few minutes. I’ll tell clerical staff you’re here so they can generate a chart.”

“Thank you,” Matt and Erin both said as Lisa left the bedside.