Though the act of poking around in someone else’s kitchen is a little nerve-racking, I look through the cabinets until I find a plate for my toast. I also locate a coffee pot and get it going. The coffee mugs are on the very top shelf, and even on my tiptoes, I can barely reach. I glance around for a stepladder and almost laugh out loud.
Of course there isn’t a stepladder around. When would Deklan ever need one?
There are two barstools pushed up against the kitchen island. Without another viable option, I pull one of the stools next to the counter. The top spins slightly as I try to steady it so I can stand and reach the top cabinet. It still swivels, and I have to grab the cabinet door to keep my balance.
I should have realized how stupid my actions were before I ever started.
Just as I get my fingers wrapped around a mug, the top of the barstool spins to the left, and I lose my balance completely. In a fraction of a second, I’m horrified that I might drop the coffee cup or pull the cabinet door off its hinges, breaking the first things I’ve touched in Deklan’s apartment. It doesn’t occur to me at first that I’m about to hit the floor.
I scream. At least, I think I scream. I wave my hands around in the air, trying to keep a hold of
the cup, but I lose track of it completely as my legs fly out from under me, and the cold linoleum floor is abruptly next to my face.
Blue and white sparks dance around in my vision, and my head throbs painfully. I reach back to touch the spot on my head, and there’s already a good-sized goose-egg forming. I moan—partially from pain, partially from my own stupidity—and roll to my side. I get up on my knees, and everything swims as I fall back to the floor.
Chapter 8
“Kera? Kera!” Deklan appears from the bedroom, still naked. He’s crouched at my side a second later, cradling my head in his hand and holding it up off the floor. “Don’t try to move.”
“I’m okay,” I mumble¸ more embarrassed now than hurt. “Did the cup break?”
“Fuck the cup,” Deklan says with a growl. “You hit your head.”
He lays my head down gently and uses a flashlight from the kitchen drawer to look into my eyes one at a time as I try to assure him I’m fine. He’s not having any of that though.
“We need to get you checked out,” Deklan says. “You probably have a concussion.”
“I’m okay, really.”
“We’re going to the hospital.”
Arguing is obviously pointless. A few minutes later, Deklan has me dressed in a pair of his sweatpants, and we’re in his sports car on our way to the emergency room. I look ridiculous in the way-too-big pants and T-shirt. I feel ridiculous, too.
In the ER, the receptionist is giving me the side-eye. I’m pretty sure everyone is looking at me funny as I sit in the waiting room with a bag of ice against my head and Deklan glaring at anyone who looks in our direction. Thankfully, we don’t wait long.
Deklan fills out some paperwork for me. He has to lean over a couple of times to whisper into my ear to get my health history. The nurse is staring at me, and I don’t like the look on her face. Deklan tells her we don’t have insurance but that he’ll pay in cash.
The last name he puts down on the form isn’t Kearney. I swallow hard and say nothing when he pulls out a driver’s license with the name Kera Malone on it. The birthday is wrong, and the address is not one I recognize.
Once we’re in an exam room, the nurse tries to get rid of Deklan.
“We’ll need to see the patient on her own,” she tells him.
Deklan stands up straight, towering over the poor woman.
“That’s my wife,” he says with a snarl. “She isn’t going anywhere without me.”
“It’s standard procedure to—”
“Fuck your procedures!” he yells. “She’s my wife!”
“It’s okay!” I step in between them and place a hand on Deklan’s arm. “I want him to stay with me. Please.”
The nurse glares at Deklan, and he glares back. Finally, she relents and walks away.
Deklan calms immediately, taking my hand and helping me sit on the exam table. When the doctor checks me out, he says I’ll be all right—no concussion—and just to watch me for a few hours. As long as I don’t experience vision problems or start to vomit, there is no real concern.
“How did this happen?” he asks.