She falls in slow motion, but I still can’t do anything to stop it. The sound of the glass shattering precedes her sharp cry as she lands on top of it. By the time I reach her, she’s cradling her hand and I can see blood pouring down her arm, and dripping onto the ground beside her.

I drop to my knees next to her, trying to appear calm, even though panic is surging inside of me. She’s struggling to push herself up, using only one arm, but can’t get enough of a hold on the chair to do it. I lift her up and place her on the chair so I can take a look at her hand.

My stomach turns and blood runs cold. There is a huge piece of glass sticking out of her palm. She looks down at it, her eyes wide with shock. I touch the arm she’s cradling and she winces and looks up at me, her eyes are full of tears and her chin wobbles.

“Luc, does your arm hurt besides the cut?” I ask her gently.

She whimpers in response and I spring into action, running inside to grab a towel from the kitchen.

I sit on the side of her body where she appears least injured. I scoop her into my lap. I want to wrap her hand in the towel, but as I start to, she snatches her hand back and says, “You’re pushing the glass deeper.”

Shit, I need to get her to the ER. I wrap the towel around her forearm to catch some of the blood that’s dripping down and she moans. Her head falls onto my chest and she starts to cry softly.

Hearing my girl, with the heart of a lion, crying makes me move faster.

When I reach my car, I put her down as gingerly as I can and reach over her to buckle her in. “You need to keep your arm elevated while we’re driving,” I tell her. As soon as I sit down, she reaches out to touch me with her good hand.

I look at her face, her eyes are closed tightly. Her lips are sucked in and I can tell she’s trying to keep herself composed. I pull the hem of my T-shirt up and wipe the blood. She licks her lips but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re going to be fine, Luc,” I say to her as I back up and then turn out on the road.

I hold her hand as I drive, keeping my eyes firmly on the road, aware that every bump must be agony for her. She hasn’t made a peep since we got in the car. All I can think of is getting her to the ER.

When pulled into the hospital’s driveway, I run inside and ask for a wheelchair and help. A man dressed in scrubs follows me back to the car. I lift her out and put her in the chair. “We’ve got her, sir. You can go and park. I’ll take her to the Emergency Room. You can meet us there.” I’m confused, and look up at the sign and see that I’ve brought us to the general entrance. I glance at Lucía; her eyes are still closed. I just nod at him and hop back into my car and go park.

Five minutes later, I find Lucía, in her wheelchair, sitting by herself in the waiting area. There are no other patients waiting and I look around, confused as to why she’s been left there.

I walk up to her wheelchair. Her eyes are closed and she’s clutching her arm, trying hard to stay sitting up. Her pale face is drawn I can see she’s in a lot of pain.

“Luc, I’m here.”

She’s sweating, and gives a minute nod in response.

“I’ll be right back.” I brush a kiss on her forehead and stalk to the reception desk. The man sitting behind it doesn’t notice me approach. His head is bent and he’s doing something on his phone.

“Excuse me,” I say trying to keep my tone down and my anger in check. “There’s a critically injured woman waiting to be seen and you’re busy texting.”

He looks up at me. The bored expression on his face almost sends me over the edge.

“Sir, do you need help?” he asks like he clearly doesn’t care whether or not I answer.

“Yes. I do. My girlfriend is sitting there in a wheelchair, bleeding. And no one is doing anything to help her,” I grit out, so angry I see red.

He his eyes widen in surprise and then he looks around me to survey the waiting room. His eyes come back to me and he looks disinterested again. “Sir, the only person in the waiting room is that woman.” He points at Lucía. “Perhaps they’ve already taken your girlfriend back.”

I look at him incredulously.

“That is my girlfriend.”

His widen again and then he jumps up. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. They told me she didn’t have any papers and was uninsured when she came in. They must have made a mistake. I’ll just go and get her insurance and get her taken back.” He stands up and starts to move toward her.

“I have no idea if she has insurance, but why should that matter? You’re required to treat everyone equally when they come in regardless of their insured status.”

He stops walking, and addresses me. His voice is clipped, his eyes are flashing.

“Sir, there are three other hospitals within a mile of here. When people come in without insurance, if they’re not in critical condition, we wait a few minutes to make sure no insured emergencies come in behind them. We’re a small ER, if we make insured patients wait, they’ll just leave and go try their luck somewhere else.”

I stop, stunned. “You cannot be serious.”

He stops too, and crosses his arms across his chest. “This hospital’s a business. We get paid for insured patients, so we prioritize them. If you don’t like it, take it up with hospital’s management. I’m just doing my job.” He starts walking again and reaches Lucía before I do.

“Ma’am do you have insurance?” he’s asking her as I reach them.

She doesn’t open her eyes, but shakes her head in the negative. He looks back at me.

“Are you going to be financially responsible for her? If so, we’ll take her back right now,” he says as he starts to wheel her back to the desk.

“Of course I’ll be,” I say in exasperation. “Just get her a doctor.” I can’t believe any of this.

“Fine, we just need you to sign the form that assigns you financial responsibility.”

He walks behind the desk, pulls out some papers attached to a clipboard and shoves them at me. I fill them and he clacks away on his computer while he talks on the phone. He asks someone to come and get Lucía and put her in a room. I look over to her, she’s slumped in her chair. I write faster.

“Is the doctor free to see her now?” I ask him as I push the papers, along with my driver’s license, back in his direction. I look down at Lucía again. Her eyes are still closed, but she has sagged a little in her chair.

I turn to find the attendant looking at me. Recognition lights his eyes. He picks up his phone and dials a number, while smiling at me like I’m the fucking Queen of England. He mumbles some code into the phone and then hangs up. “The doctor’s actually coming for her himself. She’ll be seen to right away. You should have told me who you were.”

He bats his eyelashes at me.

I stare at him in disbelief. I want to knock his ass out. Being recognizable is a double-edged sword. Every time something like this happens, it feels like an invasion of privacy. The last thing I need is for him to call TMZ. So, I force a smile and say, “If I’d known it would have made a difference, I would have.” He grins and starts to respond when the double doors swing open and out comes a man who looks more like he plays a doctor on television than he does like a real one.

“I’m Dr. Maxit, I’ll take,” he looks at the file in his hand and then looks up, “Lucía, back with me.”

He pronounces her name correctly the first time. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. Like she’s a snack instead of a patient.

“Sure, let’s go,” I say, and grab the handles of her wheel chair.

“Sorry, sir. But I’ll need to take her back with me alone. You’re not family, we can’t allow it. I’ll make sure to send someone out to give you updates if the patient asks us to.”

Then he grabs the handles of her wheelchair and rolls off. I don’t have a chance to say more than “I’ll be here,” to her as he walks off with her.

I sit there for an hour feeling like I’m losing my mind. I’ve watched a stream of patients come in. Almost all of them sit and wait before anyone sees to them. None of them insist on being seen right away. Even the woman holding a screaming child with blood all over her clothes doesn’t protest when the man at the desk tells her to wait. I don’t understand why people aren’t more forceful. I’ve had enough of waiting. Not knowing what’s happening to her is torturous.

The reception desk attendant eyes me warily as I approach.

“Can you get me an update on Ms. Vega, please?”

“Of course, Mr. Carras.” His response is coy and it grates on my already-frayed nerves. But I manage to smile stiffly. He speaks quietly into his phone and then hangs up. He smiles brightly up at me.

“Good news. She’s ready to be discharged. They are getting ready to send her out.”

I feel relief wash over me. She’s fine. She can go home.

I thank him, my gratitude sincere this time. Ten minutes later, Lucía and Dr. Fuckface walk out. He’s laughing. She’s smiling up at him, too. As soon she feels my gaze, she looks at me and our eyes meet. Relief and joy war for prominence in her expression. When we reach each other she mumbles, a shy, “Hi.” I take her in. Her left arm is in a sling and her hand has a huge dressing on it. I drop to a crouch so we’re face-to-face.

“You okay?” I ask her. She nods, but her eyes tell me everything I need to know. I’ve missed you. I need you.

I reach up and brush her hair back from her face. Her head sways so that her cheek rests in my palm.

“You scared me,” I whisper. I feel a slight shudder wrack her body

“I know, I’m sorry. I was scared, too.” Her smile is wistful, but her eyes shine as she whispers, “Come closer.”

I lean in so we are an inch shy of being nose to nose.

“Closer,” she says again. I bring my nose to brush the side of hers. We’re so close that our lips are almost touching. My hand combs through her silky hair. I know what’s coming; my need and anticipation reach a fever pitch.

She tilts her head and presses her lips to mine. I sigh in relief at the feel of her mouth, soft and pliant as she kisses me . . . quickly, softly. As soon as my lips start to search for more, she pulls back. Like warmth of the sun covered by an errant cloud, the loss of her lips leaves me cold.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Reece,” she whispers, still close enough for me to feel her breath on my lips.

“That’s not enough,” I say gruffly. Almost reflexively, I start to reach out to bring her closer to me. Then, I hear a cough. I’d forgotten Dr. Fuckface was standing there. I stand up slowly to meet his eyes.

He looks amused and returns my gaze easily. “She has a sprain in her right arm, and a deep cut in her palm on the same side. Luckily, no major muscles or arteries were severed. But she needed several layers of stitches. I used dissolvable stitches, so she won’t need to come back to have them removed. I’ve given her a pain reliever, a very strong one, so she might be a little ‘high’ for a few hours. I’ve written her a prescription for more, you should stop and get it filled on your way home. Otherwise, she’s fine. And she can return to work tomorrow if she feels up to it. She’ll have to rest her hand and arm. So, typing is probably out of the question.” He glances down at Lucía fondly. “She’ll be pretty sore, so try to make her take it easy. I have a feeling that might be difficult.”

Why is he acting like he and Lucía are friends? I start to step around her wheelchair. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. “Thanks, I’ll take it from here.”

He steps aside and moves to stand in front of us.

“I’m sending a nurse to wheel her out and wait while you go and get your car. It’s hospital policy.”

His smile has a little bit of a challenge, but I’m not sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. He puts a hand on her shoulder and smiles at her.

“Take care of yourself, Lucía.”

“Thank you, Dr. Maxit,” she returns

“It’s Gael. It was a pleasure to meet you,” he says and with a curt nod at me, he walks away as the nurse approaches.

“I’m Sue, Ms. Vega, I’m going to wheel you out.” the tall, redheaded woman wearing nurse’s scrubs says to Lucía. She grabs the handles of the wheelchair before she addresses me. “Can you go bring your car around, Mr. Carras? I’ll wait with the patient in the pick-up lane outside.”

I stoop to look at Lucía and give her a reassuring smile before looking at the nurse. “Yeah, sure.” I push Lucía’s hair out of her face and tell her, “I’ll be right back.”

When I pull up, I can see the nurse laughing at something Lucía’s saying and I’m relieved she feels well enough to speak.

As soon as I stop the car, the nurse opens the door and then helps Lucía out of the chair. By the time I’m around to their side of the car, Lucía’s already in the passenger’s seat. “Drive safely. She has her discharge instructions.” And she starts to turn away.

She stops and then looks back at me, an expression on her face that I recognize. She wants to ask for a picture or an autograph. I don’t say anything, but hope her better judgment will win out. It does and she keeps walking.

I lean over her to buckle Lucía in and I want to press a kiss to her mouth as I stand back up, but I don’t dare. Not with the way I’m feeling. If I start to kiss her, I might never stop.

We’re on the road, heading to her house before I speak.

“So, you and that doctor were friendly,” I say to her. Trying to keep my tone light, but I can hear the accusation in it.

“Excuse me?” she says, her affront clear. She jerks her head to the side to look at me.

“I’m just making an observation.” But I already feel like fool. How could that be the first thing I say to her after this ordeal.

She sighs but her voice is tender when she speaks. “Reece, what’s wrong? Why would you ask a question like that?”

“I’m sorry. I’m tired. A lot has happened in the last few days. It was a stupid thing to say,” I grind out. I feel uncomfortable with the feeling of shame that’s starting to creep into my conscience. She doesn’t say anything and I can feel her watching me.

“You’ve got me wide open, Lucía. I feel . . . exposed.” I almost choke on the word. I hate feeling that way. I hate admitting it even more. “So yeah. I’m jealous of anyone who looks at you. I want to be able to tell him to fuck off because you’re my girl.” Her eyes widen at that, and I amend my last sentence. “You feel like my girl.”

Her eyes grow even wider, and just as she starts to speak, a yawn escapes her mouth and she winces slightly.

I’m such an asshole. She’s tired and in a lot of pain. Lack of sleep and stress have made me crazy.

“Shit, Luc. I’m sorry. Let’s get you home.”

She only nods, but doesn’t respond. The car is quiet except for “Hallelujah” by Pentatonix playing on the radio. She starts to sing at the lines

“Maybe there’s a God above

All I’ve ever learned from love

Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…”

Her voice is soft and haunting. She hums the chorus and then trails off as the song ends. The next song starts and she reaches for the volume knob on the console and turns the volume down. My hand is on the gear shift and she covers it with her own.

“You shouldn’t feel jealous, Reece. I know we’ve got things to sort out, but what I feel for you isn’t something that could be threatened by a good looking ER doctor. I feel like your girl, too.”

My heart lightens at her admission. That’s a step in the right direction. It’s so tempting to keep pushing. To get her to say what I need to hear; to try to just move past this. To pick up where that kiss left off.

I know we can’t. I know we have some hurdles to surmount, but this is definitely progress.

Her rich, husky voice breaks the silence that fills the car. “You were great tonight, baby.” She’s sleepy and her words are a little slurred. She’s never called me anything but Reece before and despite what a shitty night it’s been, I smile. I join our hands, link our fingers. The thread of the pulse that beats at the base of her palm is in sync with my own. Our connection feels like a live wire; volatile, but strong.

After a few minutes, her voice cuts through the silence in the car. “Thank you for getting them to take me back so fast. I’ve never been seen to so quickly before. I’ve gone in with more severe injuries than what I had going on tonight. You know that scar on my side?”

I nod.

“It started as a small scratch from a fence I was climbing. My parents didn’t take me to the ER until it got infected. And even then they made as little fuss as possible. By that point, the infection was so bad they had to cut away pieces of skin.” She lets go of my hand and rubs the scar through her shirt.

I feel a surge of anger at this. I can’t believe anyone is treated like that.

“So, you don’t have insurance?” I ask

“Nope. Undocumented immigrants are prevented from participating in the health care exchanges. If I had an employer, I could get it through them, but I’m self-employed,” she says tiredly. “Thanks to the book and now the screenplay, I have money to pay for things like this.”

We ride in silence for about five minutes before she says, “And tomorrow, when I’m less groggy and hopefully not in so much pain, we’re going to finish talking. I want this shit out of the way so I can start kissing you whenever I want to.”

I see a smile tugging at the side of her face.

I’m not a praying man, but I say a silent “thank you” as I speed down Melrose Avenue toward Los Feliz.