Love's Paradox

Chapter 11: Throttling Police Officers

"You're certainly lucky, Ms. Zachery," Dr. Peterson says while glancing down at my chart, his voice monotonous.

"Lucky," I mutter. I certainly didn't feel lucky. More like ridiculous, though that's mostly thanks to the accusatory looks the nurses persistently hurl my way. One even mumbled something about a psych evaluation.

Parker stands behind me, rubbing soothing circles on my back. "What's the verdict?"

Dr. Peterson peers up, blinking at Parker as if seeing him for the first time. "No broken bones, no internal bleeding, just some road rash and a couple of scrapes and bruises. One of the nurses will be in here shortly to clean and bandage your leg." He pauses, staring intently at my chin. "And we'll get that cleaned and stitched in no time," he says while pointing to my jaw with the end of his pen. "Then you're good to go."

I gulp. "Stitches?"

Dr. Peterson's eyebrows wing up at my surly tone. "Why yes. Is there a problem?"

"No," I squeak.

The doctor leaves, and Parker squeezes my shoulder. He hasn't left my side since I arrived at the hospital, except when the nurse hauled me off to take x-rays.

"I hate needles," I confess, probably turning green.

"You can jump from a moving truck, but you balk at a needle?"

I shrug and lower my head. "I was scared." I hate admitting it.

He gently tilts my chin, then frowns, face grim. Dark circles ring his eyes. He reaches for my hand and kisses my palm, the caress therapeutic in a way. He brushes my bloody, sticky hair away from my face, studying the wound. "I hate him," he murmurs.

"Me too."

"How'd he find you? I thought you said he didn't know where you lived." Frustration is thick in his tone, edged by the tiniest bit of unease.

"He didn't. Or at least I didn't think he knew," I say, feeling more asinine by the minute. "Maybe he saw me driving and followed me home one day? A better question is: how did you find me?"

"When I showed up at your apartment, your door was wide open. I called your name, but you didn't respond. So I went upstairs. You weren't there, so I called your cell. Your purse was on the bed, and your phone was ringing inside it. I knew something wasn't right, so I looked through your favorites on your phone." He grimaces apologetically. "I called Cherry, and she had a feeling it was Ass Face. She gave me his address. I went looking for you, and on my way over there, I saw you hurt on the side of the road." He pauses, his hand tightening around mine. "You scared me half to death." His voice goes hoarse, and his free hand rubs at his eyes. "And I know it's all my fault because I answered your phone."

I shake my head. "No, it's not your fault; it's Ian's. And thank you for coming after me," I say, internally rebuking myself for juxtaposing him to Ian that morning. "Wait." I spring to my feet. "Cherry knows I'm here?"

Parker chuckles and pulls me back to the bed. "Yes. I thought she should know you were safe." He tugs my cell from his pocket and hands it over.

"Did you tell my parents as well? I don't want them to worry."

"No, but the hospital staff might have if they're your emergency contact."

I scowl, because they are.

"Or Cherry called them," he adds.

And she would.

A nurse bustles in and prepares for the doctor to stitch me up while she pulls on gloves to clean my leg. Dr. Peterson enters and hums as he slaps on gloves then holds up a colossal needle. Of course, that might be my mind blowing it out of proportion.