CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Harrison
I’ve tried not to crowd her even though that’s all I’ve wanted to do since I helped her get off the floor.
She wavered slightly as she did. That pushed me right back into panic mode.
I wanted to take her to the hospital, but she insisted she was fine.
There’s nothing I want to believe more, but she’s so quiet that I can’t tell if it’s because of what she’s feeling or the large lump on the side of her head.
Her hands move quickly to tie the sash on the robe I handed her.
It’s one of mine.
It’s white, plush, and much too large for Ava’s small body, but I rolled up the sleeves before I handed it to her after she put on her bra and panties.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry again.”
I zip up my jeans as I shake my head. “No, Ava. Please don’t apologize.”
She nods. “You’re probably wondering why I…”
“You’ll tell me if and when you’re ready to,” I interrupt.
A small sigh escapes her. “Yes.”
I want to know what the hell happened to her and who the fuck is responsible for it so I can wrap both hands around his neck.
Clearly, a man violated her.
Whoever he is, I hope to fuck he’s somewhere suffering at this moment.
Feeling as though she wants out of this bedroom, I scoop up a T-shirt and tug it over my head. “Are you hungry, London?”
Her fingers thread through her hair, stopping to feel the spot where her head hit the bedside table. “I feel a bit nauseous.”
Fuck.
“Ava.” I step closer to her. “Please let me take you to the hospital. Your head smashed into that table. You could have a concussion. I know that may seem minor, but I’ve had a couple. It’s not something you can mess around with.”
Her hand drops. “It’s just a bump, Harry. I’d rather stay here with you for a little while before I go home.”
I’d rather she stay here with me forever because I want to protect her, but that’s not possible.
“I have a friend,” I say, offering a compromise that will satisfy both of us. “He’s a doctor. If he has time to swing by, will you let him check you out?”
Her gaze catches mine. “It’s important to you, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Very.”
“Okay,” she acquiesces. “I’ll let him look at my head.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her forehead, grateful that she lets out a small sigh when I do. “Until he gets here, I’ll grab you a glass of water and some fruit in case you feel like eating something.”
When I pull back, I see the hint of a smile on her lips. “He’ll say I’m fine.”
He likely will, but after what I witnessed tonight, she’s not fine. She’s strong, and resilient, but she’s been through something that forever changed her, and right now, more than anything, I want her to trust me enough to share that with me.
“I came as soon as I could.” Dr. Ben Foster steps into the foyer of my home carrying a leather doctor’s bag in his hand.
He’s several years older than me. We met at the hospital when I was there being checked out after a nasty fall while I was showing off on a skateboard a few years ago. It was an immature thing to do, but I had challenged Sean to a duel since we did that back at boarding school.
I may have lost the challenge, but I gained a friend and a remarkable medical mind in the process. Ben has helped me through some of the most difficult days of my life with his sage advice and compassionate beside manner.
“I’ll make a donation to the foundation,” I say. “As a thank you for this.”
Ben is the brainchild of The Foster Foundation. He and his twin brother, Noah, founded it several years ago in honor of their late mother. Their mission is straightforward. They help fund medical care for those who can’t afford it.
“Thank you, Harrison.” He pats my shoulder as his brown eyes search my face. “What’s happening? I take it you’re experiencing symptoms.”
“Not really, no.” I lower my voice because Ava is in the kitchen. “I had a muscle spasm in my leg the other day. Other than that, I’ve been great. I’m feeling well.”
“Well enough to still be headed to Hawaii next month on that solo surfing trip?”
I glance over my shoulder. “I postponed that. I met someone. She’s in New York temporarily, and I don’t want to…well, I’d rather not leave the city while she’s here. She’s actually the reason I called. She fell and hit her head about an hour ago.”
His gaze trails over my face. “She’s obviously conscious, or you would have called 9-1-1.”
“Conscious and responsive,” I begin on a deep breath. “She mentioned feeling nauseous. She also seems tired, but that could be attributed to what we were doing before she fell off the bed.”