He looked at Wren’s profile; she was leaning forward, her fingers resting on her lips, her eyes darting from one side of the stage to the other. He caught her small, pleased smile and knew she was happy. He placed a hand on her slim back and waited for her to look at him. When she did, he handed her a coffee. “You did a good job with them, Wren. They are amazing.”
She flushed, pleasure in her eyes and on her cheeks. “Aren’t they? They’ve worked so hard.”
He took the seat beside her, and was about to kiss her when Luna climbed up the bleacher and sat down next to him, her eyes on him rather than the stage in front of them. Dane leaned back, folded his arms, and braced himself for whatever was incoming.
Because, when it came to Luna, something sure as hell was.
“Dr. Morris has had an offer to buy his practice from someone else,” she told him, jumping straight in without a hello.
He doubted that; Luna didn’t have a problem with lying to get her way. Dane didn’t react. “Excellent,” he said. “I wish him, or her, the best of luck.”
He glanced at Wren and saw that her complete focus was on what was happening on the stage and wasn’t listening to their conversation. He could sense Luna staring at him and turned to look at her, his eyebrow lifting.
“Okay, I lied. There hasn’t been an offer,” she admitted.
Nailed it.
“Are you really not going to stay?” she asked, sounding both irritated and plaintive.
The penny was, finally, starting to drop. It had only taken the best part of two months.
“I’m really not staying,” he told her.
“Why would you want to go back to chaos when you could stay here with us?” Luna wailed. When he didn’t answer her, she nudged him with a sharp elbow. “You are the most reticent, stubborn man I’ve ever come across,” she moaned. “And the first to say no to me.”
Dane knew she was more pissed about being thwarted than about him not becoming H-Town’s newest doctor. “I’m a pretty stubborn guy,” he agreed, then frowned as his attention was caught by the kids dancing. They were too close to the edge of the stage, and with one misstep, someone would go tumbling off the edge. He’d barely finished the thought when Tad, who’d moved in place to stand in front of Hadley, overstepped and plummeted to the ground, six feet below.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Tad’s scream, followed by a thud, pierced the still summer air, and Dane’s body moved before his mind caught up. Years of training, of responding to bodies being broken and battered, forced him into action, and his limbs simply took over. He bounded down the bleacher and hit the ground at a flat-out sprint. A few seconds later, he pushed through the crowd of teenagers who’d dropped to the ground, thinking they could help.
“He fell! He fell off the stage!”
Tad—Wren’s cocky dancer—sprawled on the grass beneath the stage. A rock sat next to his temple, and blood seeped into the grass below next to his head. Dane’s eyes travelled over his body, taking in his leg at an angle it shouldn’t be. Behind him, he heard Gina crying, someone retching, the faint slap of footsteps as people ran over to see what had caused the commotion.
He dropped to his knees beside the boy.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice automatically calm. “Hey, Tad, you know who I am, right? I’m Dane, and I’m a doctor. Don’t move, okay?”
He didn’t know if Tad could hear him, but on the off-chance he could, Dane thought the kid needed reassurance.
He checked his breathing first. Steady. Shallow, but steady. Pulse next—it was rapid, but strong. He bent down, getting as close as he could, scanning for airway obstruction, blood in the mouth, any sign of spinal trauma.
“Somebody call nine-one-one,” he said without looking up. “Tell them that I have a head injury and a possible femur fracture. He’s unconscious, breathing, stable for now.”
The words came like clockwork. His voice didn’t waver. His hands weren’t shaking. So far, so good, but he couldn’t think of himself right now. He slid one palm under Tad’s jaw, fingers at his neck, stabilizing the head to prevent movement. With the other, he gently moved his fingers over his skull, feeling for depressions or swelling. There was a small hematoma forming behind the left ear—not good, but not hugely problematic—yet.
He kept his tone low, even, as he worked, talking to himself and Tad. “Pupils reactive … good job, kid.”
Someone knelt beside him; her scent told him it was Wren. He spared a second to look at her, noting her face was chalk-white, and her eyes wider than he’d ever seen them. “Oh God, Dane… He just… He slipped… Is he okay?”
“Wren, stop panicking.” He needed her help, but didn’t need her rattled, so he kept his tone steady and firm. “I need you to grab that rolled-up banner—use it to cushion his neck.”
She instantly obeyed, running to get the banner. When she returned, he saw that her hands trembled, but she seemed steady enough. “Don’t move him, just slide it gently. Good,” he said, then heard her deep breath, the sob she held back. He didn’t pull his eyes off Tad, but knew she needed reassurance, too. “Breathe deeply, in and out. You’re helping.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her jerky nod. Needing to move on, he sat back to look at Tad’s bent leg. The kid wore shorts, which helped. He already had a mid-shaft deformity, and his leg was swelling. Dane whipped off Tad’s trainer and sock and nodded when he saw his pink foot. He gripped it; it was warm, and he easily found a pulse—blood circulation was intact.
