Adam slid one arm under her legs and another around her back before carefully lifting her from the ground. He cradled her to his warm chest as he carried her through the crowd. To where, she didn’t know. All she knew for certain was that she needed someone in that moment, and Adam was the only one there for her.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Adam hurried toward the emergency medical unit that had been on standby as a precaution since the start of the event.

Two medical personnel saw him coming toward them with a barely conscious woman in his arms, and they opened the back of the ambulance. One of them instructed him to lay her on the gurney inside and started asking him questions—most of which he couldn’t answer—and then ushered him back outside.

He didn’t want to leave her again, but they insisted that he would only be in the way. So he did as they asked, frowning when they closed the doors behind him. He hoped it was to keep the cool air in rather than to keep from having an audience if she flatlined on them.

Oh God. Terrifying images of her fighting for her life flooded his brain. Was she that bad off? No. She couldn’t be. The thought of never seeing her smiling face again scared the hell out of him. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her. She had to be okay. Just had to.

As he waited for news about her condition, Adam stayed just outside the ambulance, wearing an oval track in the dirt beneath his feet. He was still pacing when his brother found him.

“Adam?” Michael emerged through the crowd, heading in his direction with a bottle of water in hand. “Hey, is Preslee all right?”

“She collapsed,” Adam said, his tone uneven and tinged with panic.

“I know. I heard a commotion while I was waiting in line for the water. I came right back, but you had disappeared. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for an update.” He gazed at the back of the ambulance and then back to his brother. “Do you think you can pull the whole doctor act so we can get them to give us any information?”

Michael squinted at him. “It’s not an act, moron. I am a doctor.”

Adam sighed. “You know what I mean.”

Before Michael could respond, the doors of the ambulance opened, and one of the medics helped Preslee out. Adam rushed forward, grabbing her hand to help her down the last step. She still looked dreadful, with mud-caked hair, sunburned skin, and a bandage on her arm, but at least some of the color had returned to her face.

“Preslee?” Adam asked, concern evident in his tone. “How are you, sweetheart? You okay?”