Page 71 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

Chapter 25

Hannah

“How’s your ankle feeling?” Channing asks as we make our way along the path toward the car.

I’m navigating with the crutches, while he carries my bag. It’s still dark because it’s so early, and I catch myself smiling at heading back to work.

Truthfully, I’m getting used to the pain.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, adjusting my grip on the left crutch. “I’m taking less pain relievers now, and the doctor said just a few more weeks until I’m free of these torture devices.”

“That’s great, miss.”

It is.

I climb into the car, more of an awkward slide than a graceful entry, and settle into the seat with a soft exhale. My phone lights up, and I see a message from my ex. He sent it last night.

Billy: I read that you’re injured. Do you need me to come and look after you? Just buy me a ticket, and I’ll be there.

I stare at the words on the screen, snorting. “Buy me a ticket.” Of course. Those four words say everything.

Once again, I’d need to take care of him. He doesn’t want to come here and care for me. He wants to get his face in the papers, his name on TMZ. The concerned ex-boyfriend angle would play well for him.

I should block him. I know I should. But blocking him feels like it still matters, like he’s still worth the effort of a reaction. Leaving him on read is so much more satisfying. Let him wonder. Let him refresh the screen, waiting for a response that’s never coming.

I’m not giving him anything—not a conversation he can twist, not a quote he can sell to the press. No thanks.

The quiet life here, with minimal cameras except the ones on set, is exactly what I need. Yes, there was an article about my injury, but a few tabloid pieces are nothing compared to back home. In LA, cameras followed me daily, shoving lenses in my face outside coffee shops, gyms, my own front door. I’ve spent years living out of suitcases, moving from hotel to hotel with paparazzi tracking my every move.

Here, I’ve actually unpacked. Well, Zac did that for me yesterday, but still.

My heart flutters at the thought. The way he kissed me last night, like he couldn’t help it, and then pulled back, his forehead against mine, his eyes closed like he was battling himself against his own self-control. The way he looked at me when he said he couldn’t, not yet, not like this, as if it was costing him something real to say it.

He’ll be here today, and that alone makes all thoughts of my dickhead ex disappear. I’ve been replaying that kiss since the moment he pulled back from it, the way his forehead dropped to mine like he needed a second to recover too. Like it hurt him to stop. He’s a true gentleman. The man won’t even let me walk past him without insisting on carrying me, his arms steady and sure, his eyes searching mine for any sign of discomfort. And because I’ve been so deprived of real desire, real care, I let him. I fought it once, just once, until I thought, why not? I deserve this.

We pull up at the set, the familiar rows of trailers coming into view. Channing parks and comes around to help me out, his hand firm on my elbow as I manoeuvre the crutches.

“I can stay until—” he starts.

“Dr. Sterling will be here today,” I interrupt gently, and the knowing smile that crosses Channing’s face makes color rush to mine.

“Say no more, miss.” He helps me to the trailer door, then tips his head and walks back to the car.

I step inside, and immediately Jaina, Karyn, and Mia all squeal with excitement, their voices overlapping in a chorus of welcome.

“You look great!” Jaina gushes, pulling me into a careful hug.

“Let her sit first,” Mia says, stepping in close on my left side, her hand grabbing my arm as I tuck the crutches against the wall and lean into her. She guides me toward the makeup chair carefully.

As I lower myself into the chair, Jaina speaks, “I’ve been dying to tell you that I reached out to Nikkita yesterday.”

“What did she say?”

Jaina breaks into a smile. “She wants me to come to LA for a trial.”

“Jaina, that’s amazing.” I grab her hand.

“It’s just a trial. I could fail drastically—”