Page 137 of The Betrayal
“I think you had more to do with that than me,” I wink, his hand slipping between my thighs and giving my skin a gentle squeeze.
“Innocent until proven,” his voice is slow, sleepiness still thick in his tone. Yawning, he turns his blinker on as we pull down the side road towards the carpark for the hospital.
“Hmm,” I hum, leaning forward to grab my bag when Keaton slams on the brake pedal and I hit my head on the dash. Hard.
“Fuck,” Keaton shrieks, putting the handbrake on and unbuckling himself.
“I’m fine,” I lie. I’m not fine. My head feels like it’s split in two, throbbing pain at the base of my neck, head is pounding, temples ache.
“You’re bleeding,” I can hear the panic in his voice as I brush my fingertips up round my hairline and feel the wet stickiness coat them.
My intake of breath feels short.
“I’m fine,” I reassure him, turning to face him and his face is drawn, eyes hollow.
“Baby, I’m…”
“Keaton,” I place my hand on his cheek, trying to pull his eyes to mine. “It was an accident, please don’t worry about me.”
Thing is, he probably does need to be worried. I can feel how deep the cut is. Annoying when there is nothing to cause it, maybe it was just the force.
“Let’s get parked, I can get checked out while here,” I reassure him once more and he just nods, silent.
He pushes into drive, and within minutes, we’re parked up and he is throwing coins into the meter.
Walking around to my side of the car, he opens the door and takes my hand in his, grabbing my bag from the footwell.
He looks horrified.
I take his hand, linking my fingers through his as we walk towards the hospital, bypassing reception and heading for the labor ward. I can feel eyes on me, a few hushed words and I know the blood is trickling down the side of my face. Tugging the sleeve of my sweater over my hand, I press it to my small wound and keep moving forward.
“I am so fucking sorry,” his grip tightens on mine, “I think I dozed off,” and I see how the guilt suffocates him in that instant.
“I shouldn’t have made you drive; we should have got a taxi.”
“It could have been so much worse,” he whispers, and I know what he means. We could have crashed. One of us could have died. I shouldn't have made him drive. The blame for that one was on me.
“I'm okay,” I stretch my fingers out beside me, desperate to have his link with mine but he pulls away, hand rubbing over his tired face. Guilt consumes me.
We reach the labor ward and my dad steps out of the side room and seeks us out instantly, happiness soon turning to worry when he sees my bloodstained sleeve, eyes instantly narrowed on the man beside me. His best friend.
“What the fuck happened?” my dad roars, and he is toe to toe with Keaton.
“Dad, I'm fine.” I step in between the two men I love most in the world and press my hands against my dad's chest, ignoring the stained blood on my hands and I feel the trickle once more.
“You're clearly not,” his brows pinch when he looks at the gash on my head.
“I'll get checked out, but please can you just....” I exhale heavily, dropping my head.
“Fine,” his tone is clipped, and I can feel the way Keaton's chest vibrates against my back, the low rumble of a growl present.
“Thank you,” I whisper, sleeve back against my head. “Is Amora okay?”
“Yes,” he sighs, his own head bowing for a moment, “slow labor, but she is bossing it. Just waiting on Xavier and Royal,” he pauses, his head lifting just as Xavier walks through the door. “Talk of the devil and he shall appear,” his voice is a low grumble and I nibble the inside of my lip.
“Titty, where is my daughter?” Xavier says as he owns the room, shoulders back, head high, back straight.
“Come, I’ll take you.”