“Sir, you were knocked unconscious for several minutes,” the young medic argued. “You most likely have a concu?—”
“Concussion,” Van grumbled. “Not my first time.”
And I can pretty much guarantee you it won’t be my last.
“Sir, if you’ve suffered from a previous head injury, then that’s all the more reason for you to let us take you to the hospital.”
When the well-meaning man started another attempt to look more closely at the wound, Van stepped out of the guy’s reach with an impatient wave of his hand.
“I said, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because you could be suffering from?—”
He shot the paramedic a fiery glare, effectively bringing the conversation to a close.
“Fine.” The medic’s wary-appearing partner remained silent as she handed the other man a small tablet. “But you’ll need to sign the waiver stating your refusal for further medical treatment before we can leave.”
I’ll sign whatever you want if it means getting you out of my face.
Quickly scribbling his electronic signature across the tablet’s screen, Van handed it back to the medic before turning and walking away.
“Uh…you sure that was a good idea?” Lucky asked as the two headed toward the rest of the team.
“You gonna start in on me, too?” He kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Not starting in on anything, brother. Just trying to look out for you, that’s all.”
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting you’re the invincible Donovan Braddock.” Lucky gave a dramatic roll of his eyes. “You know, as opposed to rest of us mere mortals.”
Returning his focus onto the woman standing with Archer and Chase, Van ignored his friend’s smartass comment as they crossed the pavement separating them and the rest of their team. Chase spotted them first, his concerned gaze instantly locking with Van’s.
“Hey, you okay?” The team’s lead sniper abandoned whatever he’d been in the middle of saying to the others. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the?—”
“Don’t waste your breath.” Lucky cut through the otherman’s intended words. “Superman refuses to go to the hospital and claims he can take care of himself.”
Van glowered at the man beside him, his teeth clenching together as he and Lucky came to a stop with the others.
“The wound in my scalp is small and superficial.” He knew because he’d felt the damn thing himself. “The medic cleaned it up and slapped a couple butterfly strips on there, which is all that was needed.”
“And the concussion?” Lucky continued to press.
“I’m well aware of concussion protocols,” he bit back harshly. Did these guys forget he was the team medic, for fuck’s sake? “If my symptoms worsen, you’ll be the first to know. But right now, we need to be focused on the fact that someone tried to blow us up…again…instead of worrying about my damn headache.”
His head felt like there was a fucking kickdrum pounding on the inside of his skull. But his vision was clear, he was no longer dizzy, and the nausea in his gut had more to do with the fact that someone had sabotaged their plane than the injury he’d sustained in the crash.
“I’m very glad you’re okay.”
The soft sentiment came from Kam, who was staring back at him with what appeared to be genuine concern.
“That goes for all of us, brother.” Archer grabbed one of Van’s shoulders and gave it a squeeze.
Logan joined the group just then, having finished the phone conversation he’d been having off to the side.
“That was Webb,” he announced. “The guy sounded about as pissed off as we feel. Said he’s gonna make some calls to make sure our names stay out of the press, as well as specifics about the flight’s path to help protect our client.”
“I don’t know this Webb person, but how is that possible?” Kam asked. “We’ve already spoken with the police that are here about what happened. Won’t they share the details about what happened with others?”
