“Okay,” I agree, trying to fight the tears back.
“Good girl, I’ll be right outside the door.”
He kisses me softly then follows my parents out of the room, where I hear my mom shout, “Cash Mayson, if someone ever tried to take me from you when I was injured, you would loose your ever-loving mind, so cut Dillon some slack! And Dillon, Ashlyn is Cash’s daughter. He, of course, is worried about his little girl, so take that into consideration and stop being a dick.”
God, I love my mom.
“You’re a lucky girl to have so many people who love you,” Dr. Woods says, making me jump. I completely forgot she was still here.
“You would think so, except the people I love hate each other,” I mumble, feeling a fresh wave of tears fill my eyes. I hate that my Dad and Dillon are not getting along, and I hate that I’m the cause of the rift between them. They weren’t best friends before, but they at least liked each other.
“We don’t hate each other,” my dad’s voice cuts in, and my heart stops. “We love you and are worried about you.” Wiping my cheeks with my palms, I hear Dr. Woods whisper that she’ll be back with my discharge papers, feeling her squeeze my shoulder before leaving. “I was being hardheaded.” Dad gets close, taking my hand. “I didn’t want to believe my baby was grown up enough to get married. I should have talked to you days ago, but I didn’t know what to say.”
“Dad,” I whimper, and his hand comes to rest against my cheek.
“I love you. You’re my little girl. You will always be my little girl, but I also know you’re a smart woman who has never made a bad decision.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t know how. I knew you would be disappointed in me,” I confess as more tears slide down my cheeks.
“You could never disappoint me.” Sobbing, I lean up, wrapping my arms around him, not caring that it hurts like hell to do so. “Come on, stop crying before your husband really has a conniption,” he says, sounding like he’s smiling. I shake my head as he pulls away enough to look down at me. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I implore, then look at my mom, who is crying with her hand covering her mouth.
Rushing toward us, she wraps me in a careful hug. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I breathe, blinking back the wet in my eyes when I find Dillon’s eyes studying each tear. Clearing my throat, I wipe my face and lay back in bed.
“Was the person who hit me okay?” I ask, and my dad steps back, tucking one hand into the front pocket of his jeans, while wrapping his other arm around my mom, tucking her close to his chest.
“We don’t know who it was,” Dad says quietly, and I study his sudden unease and feel the vibe in the room thicken with tension and anger.
“Didn’t they stop?” It’s not like they didn’t know they hit me. I may be small, but I know they had to feel the impact of their car hitting me.
“The police are looking into it,” Dillon states, in a tone that says he doesn’t want to talk about it any more.
“They don’t know who it was?” I whisper, feeling sick to my stomach. What kind of person hits someone with a car and drives off?
“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Mom cuts in, stepping away from my dad, coming over and pushing down the rail on the side of the bed. “Let’s just focus on getting you better.” She smiles, but I can tell it’s forced. “Jax dropped off some clothes for you to change into, since yours were ruined. I put them in the bathroom for you.”
“Jax didn’t stay?” I frown, and she shakes her head.
“No. He wanted to, but something came up with work.” She shrugs, and I know then that I’m the something that came up with work. I have no doubt he’s searching for the person who hit me right now.
“I’ll help you change,” Dillon mutters, picking me up off the bed while my mom hovers close to us.
“I can help her,” Mom says, and Dillon’s jaw tightens.
“I’ve got her,” he states quietly, and I rest my hand against his tense jaw while he carries me across the room to the bathroom, where he shuts the door before my mom has a chance to follow us in. Setting me to my feet, he steadies me with his hands on my waist then searches my eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay to go home?” he asks cautiously.
“I’m sure.”
“You swear you’ll tell me if we need to come back?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his overprotectiveness, and mumble, “I swear,” while slipping the hospital gown off my shoulders and letting it drop to the floor at my feet.
“Look at you.” His fingers skim softly down my shoulder, which is covered in road rash, then over my black and blue covered hip and thigh.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, seeing the unease in his eyes as they scan me over from head to toe.
“You’re not okay, so stop saying you are,” he growls, looking into my eyes and palming my cheek gently. “You were hit by a car and were unconscious. When we got to the hospital, they thought you were going to need surgery because of the hit you took to the head. No fucking part of that says you’re okay.”
“Please calm down,” I whisper, hating the fear I see in his gaze. “Dr. Woods said I’m okay, and she’s right. I’m sore, but I’m all right, and if that changes, I swear I’ll tell you and let you bring me back here.”