Keegan wanted to do just that if for no other reason than to get answers about why he was in this position in the first place.
It was too much. He couldn’t get any part of his body to obey his commands. The voices faded.
Melinda’s lovely tone slipped away, her fingers still wrapped around his, her other hand stroking his brow.
God, how he wanted to see her.
Why was her voice growing so faint?
Too hard…
•●•
Keegan bolted awake as though he’d had a nightmare. One second he was in the middle of a sensuous dream starring his naked mate straddling his middle while his other mate leaned over her shoulder, a look of pure lust on both their faces. The next second he was wide awake.
His heart pounded. He was too hot. His body was heavy.
Keegan widened his eyes and scanned the room. A hospital. He remembered someone mentioning that earlier.
Melinda still had a hold on his hand, but her head was resting against his shoulder, her eyes closed, the deep breaths of sleep slipping past her lips.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful. And then his gaze landed on Trace across the room. He must have been resting also, his body slumped in a moss-green leather chair. As Keegan stared, Trace jumped up, his mouth spreading in a huge grin. “Dude, you scared the fuck out of us. Welcome back.”
Melinda jerked awake at the sound of Trace’s voice. “Oh my God.” Her face beamed. She cupped Keegan’s cheek. “You’re awake.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice was deep, gravelly, and his throat hurt as if he hadn’t had anything to drink for days.
Melinda giggled. “It’s you. It’s really you?”
“Who did you expect?” He furrowed his brow, which sent pain radiating across his forehead. He groaned and lifted his right arm to touch his face. “What happened?”
Trace leaned his hip on the bed. “Do you remember the scaffolding collapsing under you at the casino site?”
Keegan shook his head, regretting the move instantly. “Fuck. My head hurts.”
Melinda smiled. “You have a concussion.”
“Why on earth did you bring me to a hospital?”
“You were buried in the rubble for a long time. You were unconscious and unresponsive.”
Right. That made sense. For one thing, an ambulance would have simply taken him to the hospital without the paramedics having any idea he was a shifter. And for another thing, being a shifter was only useful as long as the person was conscious. There was no way for an unconscious wolf to shift.
“Get me out of here,” he mumbled. Pain tore through his left arm as he tried to lift it. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, it’s broken,” Trace said.
“And they didn’t put a cast on it?”
Melinda leaned down and kissed his cheek. “It was your lucky day. The doctor in the ER was a shifter. And he’s gonna get us out of here too.” She grinned.
As if on cue, the door to the room opened, and a man in a lab coat walked in. He beamed when he saw Keegan. “Ah, good, you’re awake. Your mates were starting to drive me crazy.” He winked as he grabbed Keegan’s chart and flipped through the top pages. “I’m Dr. Bernard, by the way. You ready to spring this joint?”
“Two minutes ago.” Keegan moaned as he tried to sit up. “What’s the damage?”
“Two ribs, humerus, concussion, a few facial lacerations. Nothing you can’t fix at home.” He set the chart down and nodded toward the door. “I’ll have an understanding nurse bring you a wheel chair. Try not to moan and wince as she gets you out the door. Call me if you have any concerns.” Bernard handed Trace a card.
And then he was gone.
It was that easy. But only because the man knew what Keegan needed most—to shift as soon as possible and sleep for two days at home.
He struggled to sit up. Trace grabbed his arm to assist. “How many people know the extent of the damage?” he asked as he swung around on the bed, his legs dangling over the side, his hand grasping Melinda’s shoulder.
“Your parents were here until late last night. When the CT scan came back, indicating you hadn’t suffered any significant brain damage, they finally went home,” Melinda said. “They’re lovely people.” She smiled.
“I mean at work. How badly do I have to pretend to be injured when I return?”
“Probably just the arm. Everyone saw that compound fracture. You were limp and unresponsive though, so no one would be able to suspect anything else.” Trace rounded the bed. “I’d milk the concussion for as long as possible, however.” He chuckled.
“Sounds great, but what about the construction site. Was the scaffolding issue considered a random accident?”