As I pulled a sandwich bag from the drawer, a loud scream rent the air, followed by a loud thud, then Lottie’s cry. Fuck. I dropped the paper wrapper and raced out of the kitchen to the large study area just off the hallway. My heart stumbled in my chest. Lottie lay on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes while she cradled her arm.
The chair that I’d just moments ago told her to stop swinging on lay on the oak floorboards beneath her.
I dropped to her side, eyeing her face while trying to take in her limbs and figuring out where she was hurt and how badly. The thud had been loud. Whether that was simply the chair or her head smacking on the hard wood, I had no idea.
“Baby, where are you hurt?”
With her legs still draped over the chair, she looked fragile and so small. Add in her snotty tears, and it took everything in me not to simply scoop her up.
“Baby,” I repeated. She sobbed, her breath stuttering as she stared up at me. “Your arm, is it hurt?”
“Yeah.” She barely got the word out between her tears.
“Anywhere else?”
“My h-h-head.”
I carefully moved aside the strands of hair latched onto her wet cheeks. “Shh… it’s okay, baby.” I glanced at her legs. “What about your legs?”
“Th-They’re okay.” A shuddered breath tore from her, and her tears settled.
I bobbed my head and refocused on her arm. “You think you can stand up if we go super slowly and I help you?”
Her face looked stricken. “Okay.”
I moved to the other side of what I thought was her injured arm and helped her up. She cried out, and fuck if my heart didn’t break. This kid of mine was having a shit run of it. “You’re being so brave, Lottie. We need to get you in the car and to the hospital, though.”
That she didn’t frown or cry that the hospital was the last place she wanted to go clued me in to just how much pain she was in.
We made our way slowly to the car, figuring her slow steps caused less jostling than if I swooped her up and carried her. I couldn’t see any blood or cut on the back of her head, nor did I want to start prodding around.
My focus was getting her safely to the hospital. I’d seen enough injuries in my years of pro sports to recognize a break when I saw one. I just hoped it was clean and didn’t require surgery. Two of the damn things in six weeks was a shitshow I didn’t want for my girl.
Once I’d settled her in the car, wincing at her small sob when I had to strap her in, I hurried back into the house to swipe up my car keys, my wallet, and my phone. A press of a button once I was strapped in opened my garage door, then my mission was getting to the emergency room.
As I drove, I murmured words of encouragement. She’d since settled down, only the occasional shuddering breath drawing out of her.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah. It really hurts, but I’m okay.”
I stole a glance in the rearview mirror and my shoulders relaxed a fraction when she attempted a watery smile. “You’re a regular badass, kid. You know that?”
“I try.”
A laugh huffed out of me as I returned my attention back to my route. I sighed at the ridiculous amount of traffic. “Come on.” I tapped at the wheel, wishing the cars in front would magically drift apart so I could race on through. Gritting my teeth when I had to brake for the fiftieth time, I wondered if it made sense to get off this route and work my way around.
A flash of color, a ribbon on a car, caught my eye, and my heart plummeted.
The game.
Pearce.
Holy shit, we were going to miss the game.
The car in front edged forward. I put my foot on the gas, hoping this time we’d get some movement. With my gut churning, my worry for Lottie slammed hard and fast with the ache in my gut for letting Pearce down.
It didn’t matter that he’d understand. Tonight’s game was make or break time. And what would I do if I couldn’t get hold of him? How the fuck would he react when he took to the court and spotted our two empty seats? Our courtside tickets would leave an aching gap.
