“Honey?” my mom calls softy, pulling my attention from Dillon. Turning my head, I watch her come toward me through the dimly lit room. “You scared me and your dad,” she scolds, stopping at the side of the bed. “We’ve been worried sick.” She bends over the rail and engulfs me in a hug that squeezes the oxygen out of my lungs, making me wince in pain.

“Sorry,” I croak out.

“Easy,” Dillon grumbles from my side.

“Where’s Dad?” I breathe into her neck, and she looks over her shoulder then takes a step back.

“Right here,” my dad says, sounding choked up, and I see he’s a mess. His eyes are red and his hair is in disarray. “I’ll always be right here.” He gets close, resting his hand against my cheek then his lips against my forehead before looking down at me.

“I got hit by a car,” I repeat, and his eyes slide closed.

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Dillon cuts in, and I tilt my head to look at him, noticing his jaw ticking. Something I noticed the first time when I mentioned getting hit.

“How are you feeling?” Mom asks, resting her hand over mine, and I turn my head back toward her, wincing from the movement.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a car, I think but don’t say, since that statement seems to make Dillon mad every time I do. “My head hurts a little,” I lie. My head is pounding actually, and my hip is killing me.

“You hit your head pretty hard. You had to get eight stitches,” Dad explains, and I lift my hand toward my head, only to have Dillon grab my wrist, stopping me before I can feel for them.

“Ashlyn,” Dr. Woods says, coming into the room, and I wonder what she’s thinking since she’s the doctor who stitched up my foot weeks ago after Dillon and Jax got into it. “I’m so glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks, looking at me then dropping her eyes to the computer pad in her hand, typing something in while walking toward the bed I’m lying in.

“How long was I out for?” I frown, and she pulls her eyes from the computer to meet my gaze.

“Just about an hour.”

“An hour?” I breathe, feeling Dillon’s hand squeeze mine. I knew I was out of it, but being unconscious for an hour is bad… really bad.

“You’re okay,” she says gently, getting closer, forcing my mom and dad to move away. “But you have suffered a small acute subdural hematoma that we need to keep an eye on.” At her words, my hand holding Dillon’s tightens in distress. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” she continues, not knowing my insides are seizing up with worry.

“Sure,” I whisper, and she smiles softly then looks at a man I didn’t notice before.

“This is Dr. Desmond,” she introduces, and he smiles gently, taking the pad from her as she hands it over. “He’s going to be asking you some questions while I check your wound and vitals.”

“Okay.” I try to relax while Dr. Desmond asks me questions about current events and the people in the room, and Dr. Woods checks my injuries and then my pulse.

“You are going to be okay,” Dr. Woods assures, slipping off a pair of latex gloves and tossing them in a trash bin near the bed a few minutes later. “I’m going to release you to go home.” She smiles as Dr. Desmond says a quiet goodbye and leaves the room.

“Are you sure it’s safe for her to go home?” Dillon asks, cutting her off, and the doctor looks at him.

“I’m sure, but if she becomes nauseous, dizzy, or if her headache continues for more than a few hours, she will need to come back and have a CT scan done.”

“Maybe she should stay, just to be safe,” he suggests, giving my hand a squeeze.

“Dillon,” I sigh. I know he’s worried, but there is no way in hell I want to stay at the hospital if I don’t have to.

“I think Dillon’s right. I think you should stay,” my dad mutters, and I huff, closing my eyes.

“There is really no reason for her to stay. She’s not suffered any memory loss and her vitals are all perfectly normal. If I thought for one moment it would be better for her to stay, I would insist she do so,” Dr. Woods conveys softly, looking between the two overbearing men in my life.

“I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed,” I say, and Dillon looks down at me. I can tell he’s not happy; I can see he’s torn between giving me what I want, and having his way and keeping me here until he feels sure I’m okay.

“Someone will need to wake you every four hours tonight. No driving for a few days, and no drinking either.”

“We’ll take her home with us and make sure to wake her,” Dad interjects, and Dillon’s jaw tightens, along with his hand still holding mine.

“Over my dead body,” he grits out through his teeth, glaring at my dad across the bed from him.

“I can make that happen,” Dad growls back, and I feel tears fill my eyes. Apparently, not even getting hit by a car can make this mess better.

“Stop it now, you two. Look at what you’re doing,” Mom hisses, pointing at me, and both my dad and Dillon’s eyes drop to me in the bed and soften. “Both of you follow me, now,” she barks, stomping toward the door. Shaking his head, my dad leans over, kissing my cheek before following behind her.

“I’ll be right back.” Dillon sighs, bending to kiss my forehead as the tears spill over and fall down my cheeks. “Please stop crying. Everything is okay.”