Page 18 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

I was just… someone she could see. And now, I can’t stop thinking about her.

I drag a hand through my hair, pushing a piece away from my forehead. But it falls right back into the same place. My glasses slip down my nose, and I shove them up with my index finger. I’m frustrated with myself for looking at a patient, feeling something that I have no right to feel.

“Dr. Sterling?” Roslyn’s voice pulls me back. She’s watching me with a curious expression. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I roll my shoulders back, returning to my professional and detached manner. “I’ll be in OR 1. Have her prepped and ready in thirty minutes.”

“Will do.”

I grab the clipboard and turn away from the nurses before anyone can see the tension written all over me. I need to get out of here fast. Fix the fracture, get her stable, send her on her way.

As I push through the double doors toward the surgical wing, I finally feel back in control. This is where nothing else matters except the precision of my hands and the steadiness of my focus. I can do this. I have to do this. And then she’ll be someone else’s problem.

Chapter 8

Hannah

I close my eyes as I deliver the news to my mom over the phone, my other hand gripping the stiff hospital bedrail. “Mom, don’t freak out, but I’m in the hospital.”

She gasps in my ear, the sound high-pitched enough to make me wince. “Why? What happened?”

“I was on set today, and I fell up some metal steps.”

“Did you cut yourself?” Her voice comes out calmer now, shifting into problem-solving mode.

“I grazed it, but I broke my ankle.”

“Oh no! What are they doing for you? Plastering it and putting you in a moon boot?”

She remembers from when she played volleyball. But that was for a sprain. This is worse… not that I want to tell her that. I need to tell her some of it, but not the details that will make her panic. She’ll insist on coming. She’ll want me to stay, to rest, to prioritize recovery over everything else. I can’t let that happen. I’m an adult. I’ve got this. Am I scared? A little about the surgery, yes. But I know I can handle anything.

“The X-rays showed there’s a fracture, and the best treatment is to operate on it.”

Another gasp. “Hannah, you need me. I’ll be on the first flight.”

I smile at her concern, warmth spreading through my chest despite the sterile cold of the hospital room. God, I love my mom. “I promise I’m okay, and I’ll be back to work so fast you’ll barely see me.”

“When are you having the operation?”

“Very soon.”

I keep the exact time out of it. If she knows it’s in less than an hour, she’ll try harder to get here, to be in the waiting room. And it’ll spiral into this huge thing when my broken ankle becomes a family crisis instead of a minor setback I can overcome. I need her to stay in LA. I need to do this alone.

Me: (Sends a photo of my swollen, bruised foot to Brooke) Day one on set adventure.

Brooke: No way. Are you okay?

Me: I don’t have time to call and explain. I’ll call you ASAP, but I need surgery.

Brooke: Surgery. OMG, Hannah. Do you want me to come down there?

Me: No. Thanks for the offer, but I just need minor surgery. By the time you get down here, I’ll be back to work and won’t be able to spend much time with you.

I have no idea if it’s minor, but these pain medications are making me feel great. Because I’m telling myself that I’ll be back to normal in no time.

Brooke: Did they say you can go back to work?

Me: Not yet. The surgeon is a grump. But on the positive side, they gave me a quiet, big room.