A shuffle of footsteps to the side have me turning my head to see who’s approaching, but with the movement comes more pain, and I suck in another sharp breath.
Declan’s firm hold never leaves as he applies pressure. “Don’t move, sweetheart,” his deep voice instructs. The nickname sends the butterflies in my stomach into a complete frenzy.
“Is she okay?” a male voice asks from somewhere behind my periphery.
“Someone take Sailor for me,” Declan barks at the men I met earlier, and I realize Sailor is crying.
“Oh, no, Sailor, I’m okay!” I tell her, reaching my hand to her. Her little fingers wrap around mine until someone lifts her into their arms.
More footsteps approach, and a new voice asks, “What happened?”
“I’m okay,” I croak through gritted teeth. My hand wraps around Declan’s wrist and I try to move him, but he holds steady, refusing to move.
“I’m keeping pressure on this cut until the doctor can look at it.”
“Okay,” is all I manage to say before another set of footsteps join us.
“What happened?” This man’s voice is softer, less concerned and more calm and professional. I assume it’s the doctor.
“She hit her head on the corner of this table,” Declan explains. “I haven’t gotten a good look at it, I just started to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.”
“Good call, let’s get her to my office and I’ll take a closer look.”
“Thanks, Liam.”
My hand lifts to my head, and I push on the napkins, trying to get my hand under Declan’s. “I’ll keep pressure on the cut,” I promise.
His eyes search mine and I can see the battle behind them. Reluctantly, he lets go.
The moment his hand pulls away I lose balance, swaying on my feet.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, then in one swift movement I’m lifted into his arms bridal style.
Surprise fills me, and I squirm against his hold. “Put me down! I’m too heavy.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You just worry about applying pressure with those napkins. Gareth, watch Sailor for me?”
“You’ve got it, Coach.” Gareth nods, then Declan carries me off, following the doctor.
“You don’t have to carry me, Declan, I’m fine,” I argue as we cross the field.
“There’s blood dripping from the napkins and you practically fell over just now. You could have a concussion, Hailey. So yeah, I’m going to carry you to make sure you make it to the doctor’s office without passing out, okay?” There’s a finality in his tone, and rather than fight him, I try to relax in his arms.
It’s not a bad place to be, in fact, I’ve been fantasizing about him touching me for weeks. Granted, I’d rather him be touching me in a different capacity, but considering this is the longest I’ve felt his skin against mine, I’ll take it.
Relaxing a bit, I focus on the small details of Declan Lane. The flecks of gold in his irises, and the way there’s hints of copper in his hair from the golden rays of sunshine reflecting against the otherwise dark tendrils. How his body is all hard, solid muscle and even through our layers of clothing I can feel the ridges beneath them and just know he’s chiseled.
My breathing changes at the mental image I’ve created, and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, so I look away and peer out at the barbecue behind us. It appears things have gone back to normal and the initial concern for my well-being has passed—which is completely fine. They don’t need to worry about me, it’s just a cut.
Then why do I feel a little woozy?
With one hand, Declan rips open a door that leads into the stadium. Crossing over the threshold, I realize we’re entering thelocker room, but he takes an immediate left and opens another door.
“You can put her on the examination table,” Doctor Waggoner tells Declan, then he turns to me. “Hi, I’m Liam Waggoner, the team doctor for the Bears. Can you tell me your name?”
“Hailey Shea.” Declan sets me down as softly as possible.
“Nice to meet you, Hailey. How’s your head feeling?” Doctor Waggoner finishes washing his hands in the small sink in his room and then takes his time drying them with paper towels.
