Page 120 of Theirs for the Holidays

I stumble hardwhen Rhett shoves me up onto the grass, almost slipping back into the road. I have just enough time to whip my head around before there’s the sickening sound of metal hitting something.

The something is Rhett, the car plowing right into him. He’s knocked off his feet and lands hard in the road, just a few feet away, but I see it when his head bounces off the pavement.

“Rhett!” I scream, the cry leaving my throat raw.

“Fuck,” Sawyer bursts out, and we all go running toward him.

Lennox moves into the center of the road, holding up his hands to keep any cars from coming that way, and Sawyer and I go to Rhett’s side. I’m down on my knees in a second, hands coming up to his face. His eyes are closed, and there’s a cut bleeding profusely on his forehead.

“Rhett.” I pat his face gently. “Rhett, please. You have to wake up.”

There’s the sound of a door slamming, and the driver who hit him comes running over to us.

“Oh my god,” he bursts out. “I’m so sorry. Holy shit. I was trying to get out of the way, but I couldn’t get any traction. I’m so fucking sorry? Is he okay?”

None of us really respond to him, focused on Rhett.

“Come on, man,” Sawyer says, shaking his brother lightly. “Wake up.”

I can feel tears gathering in my eyes, and I look at Sawyer. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s breathing,” Sawyer replies. “So you know, that’s the good news. But if he doesn’t wake up, we’re going to have to get him out of the road.”

“And to a hospital,” Lennox says, coming over. “We can’t do this here.”

A sob builds in my throat, and I clench my hands in Rhett’s sweater. My stomach cramps with worry, my heart pounding. He has to be okay. He just has to be.

Then Rhett groans softly, and my eyes snap back to his face. “Rhett?”

“What… what’s happening?” he asks, words slurring together.

“Thank fuck,” Sawyer exhales.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Lennox tells Rhett.

He shakes his head and then winces. “No. No hospital. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you sound totally fine,” Sawyer says.

“Leave it, Len,” Rhett says, and Sawyer snorts.

“I’m Sawyer, idiot. We’re taking you in.”

Between the two of them, they get Rhett up out of the road and back to where we parked.

There’s already a crowd of onlookers gathering, people from the diner and people who were walking by or parking their cars, and we move quickly through them, waving away offers of help.

I pull the door to the backseat of the jeep open, but when Lennox and Sawyer go to help him inside, it jostles his arm, and Rhett curses, low and deep.

“What hurts?” I ask, immediately worried.

“My arm,” he hisses. “Feels like it’s sprained.”

“Or fucking broken,” Sawyer mutters. “You hit the ground hard.”

“And there’s blood all over his face,” I add, still so concerned.

“They’ll patch him up at the hospital,” Lennox says. “We just have to get him there.”