“Wyatt. What’s wrong with my leg?” He swallows, his rugged features cut with worry. Fear. “Wyatt,” I say again. Louder this time. He touches my face. Cups it in those big rough hands. Forces my gaze to his. “Fallon. Baby. Listen to me.” The seriousness of his tone makes my heart speed up. Panic rises in me. I squeeze my eyes shut, shake my head. “No. No. I don’t want to hear it. Unless you have something good to say, I don’t want to fucking hear it.”
