He added her employer, looked up Renegades’ office information on his phone, filled in her position. When he’d gone as far as he could go, he looked at her. “Where do you live, anyway?”
“At Jax and Lexi’s.” She looked distracted and nervous, darting glances around the room and through the glass to the hive of activity around the nurses’ station.
“In Hollywood?”
“No, Malibu.”
“That fuckin’ mansion?” He’d never seen it, but he’d heard about it.
“It’s not a mansion. It’s just a big, fancy house. And I live on the lower level. Jax and Lexi are in Hollywood during the week, so I take care of things at the house. Look, I’m fine. I’ll do whatever they say and head home for the rest of the day, even if I don’t need to, okay? Why don’t you get back to the set?”
“Fuck that. I told you I’m sticking.” She’d already tried to get rid of him half a dozen different times. “I know you, and I know you’ll sweet-talk the doctor into letting you back on the set.”
“That’s because I belong on the set. I’ve had injuries way worse than this and kept working.”
“That.” He used the pen to point at her. “That right there is why I’m staying.”
She closed her eyes, swiveled on the gurney, and lay down with a frustrated “Oh my God.”
He let silence linger between them, let his gaze wander through the glass panels to the activity outside the room. All while replaying the accident in his head. All while imagining how much worse it could have been.
“Please stop, Chase.”
He looked at her. She had one knee up and her forearm across her eyes.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she told him.
“The hell it wasn’t. You were distracted. By Lila. By me. By the stress I cause you. And you’ve been sick. I didn’t give you time to go through your pre-check. I rushed you into the stunt—”
“Stop.” She swung her legs off the gurney and sat up. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I should have slowed everything down and double-checked. Forgetting the tether was my fault. I’m the stunt person.”
Before he could argue with her again, a middle-aged woman wearing a lab coat walked in. “Hello,” she said, looking down at what must have been the intake sheets since Chase hadn’t finished with Zahara’s forms. “I’m Catherine Shift.” She looked up and smiled. “I’m a physician’s assistant here in the ER. Our doctors are tied up with a multi-victim trauma that came in by ambulance a few minutes ago. I’m going to take some preliminary information to get the ball rolling. You are Zahara?” When Zahara nodded, the PA glanced at Chase. “Are you her husband?”
“Uh, no.” Though the title wasn’t completely unwelcome. He liked the security of it. The way it cemented him in her life. “Her—”
“Friend,” Zahara cut in.
“I see you took a fall.” The PA set down the file and approached Zahara. “Left shoulder, huh? Do you think we could get your shirt off?”
“Can you hold my sleeve?” Zahara asked, then pulled her good arm from the sleeve, lifted it over her head, and slid it down her bad arm.
Chase was admiring all that gorgeous skin—until the T-shirt cleared her body, exposing armor strapped around her waist.
“What’s this?” the PA asked before Chase could.
“Just protection.” She reached for the strap, and the rip of Velcro filled the space. She pulled it off with a sigh and set it on the gurney.
“Too bad that wasn’t on your arm,” the PA said.
Chase found the protection around her waist an odd choice for the stunt they’d been performing, but the bruises marring her beautiful skin distracted him.
The PA laid her hands on Zahara’s shoulder. “This may be uncomfortable. I’m just going to feel around a little, see if I find anything obvious.” Her hands palpated Zahara shoulder to elbow, then shoulder to neck. The PA asked Zahara how she’d been injured, then they talked a little about stunt work and Zahara’s general health. Of course, she didn’t mention anything about the fatigue or mood swings, but Chase kept his mouth shut.
The PA asked Zahara to perform several tasks with the injured arm, testing her mobility. Zahara’s jaw muscles jumped, and her dark eyes hazed with pain. Chase found himself clenching his hands hard around the clipboard.
“Tell me if anything here hurts.” The PA palpated Zahara’s ribs, starting at the top and moving down. Chase watched Zahara’s expression for signs of pain, but found none.
Within five minutes, the woman stepped back, picked up the file, and started writing. “Well, I think you’re pretty lucky, all things considered.”