“He should stay conscious if he can.” The first EMT frowns apologetically. “Just until we know the damage.”
Sinclair smiles at me, though it looks more like a grimace. “I already told you I wasn’t taking my eyes off you, that includes for sleep.”
“We’re almost there.” The second EMT assures me. “He just has to hold on a little longer.”
Of course, when we arrive at the hospital it’s more of the same: Sinclair being impossibly stubborn and overprotective, even though I’m perfectly fine and he’s the one who looks like he’s been put through a meat grinder. Once I can see his back, I understand that the entire broad surface was shredded by the glass of the windshield, and hundreds of tiny shards are still embedded in his skin. The sight is enough to send me into a fresh fit of tears, and I’m
