Page 14 of Daddy in Disguise

I fall to my knees and gather her in my arms, noting the trickle of blood from a cut on her forehead. “What the fuck did you do,” I snarl, glancing up at Thatcher, whose eyes are wide. His mouth hangs open and he steps away. “You better hope she’s okay; otherwise, we’re done.”

9

Sparrow

“What is your fucking problem?” Carter’s voice sounds far away and muffled.

“You know what my problem is,” Thatcher answers. His voice is stifled and distant.

“The Opal House? You’re seriously angry about that? Grow the fuck up, man.”

My eyes start to flutter and the moment I dare to crack one open, light blinds me and pain shoots through my head.

“She might be trying to wake up.” Carter’s voice is clearer and his hand brushes along my forehead. “Sparrow? Can you hear me?”

His voice is louder now, and I groan from the throbbing in my temple. Carter’s hand smooths away the hair from my forehead and I feel the soft brush of his lips against my cheek.

“Take your time,” he whispers.

His voice makes me relax. “What happened,” I murmur.

“You hit your head on the island.”

“Where am I?”

Carter’s hand brushes across my forehead, down my cheek, and along my jaw. “On the couch. You haven’t been out long, just a few minutes.” The cushions under my body shift as Carter moves. “Don’t come any closer,” he growls.

“She’s my sister,” Thatcher tells him, his voice harsh and rough.

“You should have thought about that earlier, before you started treating her like a child.”

“Please stop,” I moan, the throbbing in my head increasing.

“Just let me explain,” Thatcher begs.

“No.” Through my narrowed gaze, I watch Carter stand. His height and broadness make quite the intimidating figure. He turns and slips his hands under my body, lifting me from the couch and into his arms. “If you want to talk to her, you can do it at my house in a few days, when you find a way to get your head out of your ass.”

Carter brushes past my brother, his hold on me firm and steadying. He’s careful not to jostle me as we head outside and toward his car.

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” he informs me.

“You don’t need to do that.”

Even with my eyes half closed, I can sense the heat of his glare. “Don’t argue. My job is to take care of you.”

It’s not worth fighting with him so I nod and let him drive me to the closest emergency room.

“How long is this going to take,” Carter grumbles, shifting in the uncomfortable vinyl chair next to me.

“This was your idea,” I remind him.

“Don’t get smart with me, little bird. You could have a concussion or a brain bleed or something.”

It’s another hour before I’m finally called to be examined. Carter insists on staying with me and doesn’t let the scowling nurses scare him away. When the doctor comes in the exam room to discuss the results of my tests, he asks me about my injury. I hesitate to tell him because I don’t want him, or anyone else, assuming my injury is related to abuse.

“I hit my head on the kitchen island,” I finally tell him.

He glances at me and then his eyes shift toward Carter. “Do you feel safe at home?”