He held still, and I wondered if I really was going to have to threaten him with mace or handcuffs. Then he shifted his weight and rolled forward to balance squarely on his feet before he walked toward me.
“Check in with me,” I reminded Myra.
“Check in with me,” she replied.
The waiting room was nearly empty, just a mom and dad with a kid who was red-cheeked but otherwise pale. They had a barf bucket beside them, but didn’t look overly worried.
“Delaney?”
A man stood from the shadowed corner of the room and strode our way.
He was tall, fit, dark-skinned and gorgeous, although I didn’t think I’d ever seen him frown like that.
“Hey, Hogan.”
“Is she okay? I heard, Jesus, I heard she was hit by a car? Is she? Delaney, is she all right? No one would tell me anything.”
I reached out immediately and pressed my palm on his arm. I could feel the tremble running through his tense muscles, running through his body. Hogan never seemed to wear anything other than a T-shirt and shorts, even in winter. His skin beneath my hand was cold and clammy.
I was this close to making him sit down so someone could make sure that he wasn’t in shock.
“She’s fine.” I held his searching gaze and tried to project as much comfort as I could. “She jumped out of the way, but was clipped. She landed hard and has a broken arm, sprained ankle, bruised ribs and shoulder. She’s not going to be up and dancing tomorrow, but she’s conscious, no concussion, and on some really good painkillers.”
He swallowed hard, gaze shifting back and forth across my face as if he were waiting for the bad news.
“That’s it. She’s going to stay overnight. Myra’s back there with her now. She’ll be released tomorrow. How about you sit down? Here. Here’s good.” I sort of steered him toward one of the chairs and he didn’t even seem to notice where he was going, just followed blindly.
“Jesus.” He folded down and covered his face with both of his hands.
And then, heartbreakingly, face hidden, wide shoulders hunched, he started to quietly cry.
“Oh, now. It’s okay.” I sat down beside him and wrapped one arm across his back, my other hand on his shoulder closest to me so I could rub comforting circles there. “She’s fine. She’s really, really fine, Hogan. I promise she’s fine.”
His tense, cold body seemed to unwind, loosen, going hot and sweaty. I held on, made soothing sounds and waited for his shaking to ease, his sobs to quiet into measured breaths that finally changed from what sounded labored and focused to something a lot more natural.
I looked around for a tissue and found a box held in front of my face by a werewolf who looked like he could not be bothered to care about this guy’s pain.
“Sympathy,” I suggested.
“She’s alive.” Those two words carried anger, and pain, and a truth that made me want to squirm. And those two words said more. Jean was alive, and being looked after by people who loved her. Ben was lost and alone. We had only the word of a vacationing god and a donut-loving seer to know that he was still breathing.
Jame had every right to be grumpy.
I took the box and offered it to Hogan who finally lifted his face out of his hands. He used several sheets on his face, then eyes, sniffing, and finally, blowing.
Then he just sat there, the wadded up tissues in one hand, his arms lax on his thighs as he sort of stared in the middle distance.
“Can I see her?” His voice was almost even, almost steady.
“Yes. She’s going to be moved to a room. Let me talk to someone and see if we can’t get you to that room to wait for her.”
I walked over to the reception desk to make sure that could happen.
Chapter 7
“I said no.”
I turned off the engine and gave Jame my stern-but-fair cop look. “You have blood on your clothes and need your pain meds, which you left at home. We’re now at your home. I don’t care if you don’t like it. We’re getting changed, medicated and maybe even fed. Let’s go.”
