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The woman hung on to him the entire time he was being treated, sobbing over and over again how sorry she was. How he was her baby. It made Reagan incredibly uncomfortable.
It also reminded Reagan that true love was a bunch of bullshit.
But the end of her shift was nigh. She was literally counting down the minutes, trying to keep herself occupied until it was finally time to go. Hoping like crazy no major accident happened between now and when her shift was done so she wouldn’t be kept working overtime. Not that she didn’t love those overtime checks, but man, she was exhausted.
She just wanted to go home and collapse into bed.
Where she might yet again dream about Declan Carter. Not that she wanted to. She was sort of over him. Over his seeming rejection of her because oh, did it hurt to admit that he’d most definitely rejected her. Five weeks came and went and that was time for her to have a reality check. She’d waited anxiously by the phone at first, hoping against hope he’d send her a text message. He sent her nothing. Not even a one-word text, which she took as a bad sign. Lord knew she wasn’t going to send him one. She refused to be the first to call, even though they did exchange numbers.
She just couldn’t force herself to do it.
So she threw herself into her work even more than usual, if that was possible. Better to overload on work and make extra money than cry over being rejected by Declan. She took on extra shifts, worked herself to the bone so she couldn’t think of anything else but finding some much-needed sleep.
Despite the extra workload, she still dreamed of his sexy ass. He always came to her, sweet and convincing. Arrogant yet humble, commanding and determined to show her a good time. She’d woken up more than once from a particularly delicious dream about Declan with her body throbbing, her mind awhirl with lusty thoughts and a sweet ache blooming low in her belly. It was frustrating and wonderful, all at once.
But the dreams, they only made her madder the more time went on and she didn’t hear from him. Well, not necessarily mad. More like disappointed. She should’ve known better than to believe something could really work between them. It was impossible. He was a superstar and she was—not. They moved in different worlds and it was silly to think they could’ve been more.
Her friends…she didn’t know what was going on with them. They all worked at different hospitals, and since the Las Vegas trip, she hadn’t seen them much. She figured they were doing the same thing she was—throwing themselves into their work. Or they were seeing the men they met in Vegas and didn’t want to rub it in her face.
She could appreciate the gesture and silently thanked them for it.
Glancing at the clock, she saw she now had less than fifteen minutes until her shift was over. She started straightening up, going through files, cleaning up the desk. She went back to the last examination room she’d worked in, picking up what she could, keeping herself busy so her mind wouldn’t wander.
“Hey, Reagan.” She turned to find one of her coworkers standing there with an odd look on his face. “Someone’s here to see you.”
She frowned. “Who?”
“A patient. Said he won’t see anyone else but you. He’s in room three waiting for you.”
Huh. Well, there was Mr. Decker, who showed up earlier tonight complaining of back pain. He came in at least once a week, sometimes more, moaning about some new ailment. Everyone on staff figured the poor old man was lonely, and since he usually came in during the less busy times, they tended to indulge him. Reagan had always been especially nice to him, so he tended to seek her out above the rest.
Headed for the small examination room where the patient was waiting for her, she yanked back the curtain that closed off the space. “How can I help…” Her voice died off when she saw who stood before her.
Declan Carter. In the flesh.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked when she found her voice. Oh my, did he look good. Better than any man should have a right to. His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him and a little untamed, which was a good look for him. He wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt that molded to his chest and showed off every bit of muscle and sinew, including those amazing biceps.
And the look on his face…he was watching her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen. His gaze roamed over the entire length of her in a long, assured scan of her body until he finally met her gaze, his lips curved in a tantalizing smile that she firmly believed she’d never see again.
“Hey.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, seemingly…embarrassed? How odd. “How are you?”
She took a step toward him, shock and disbelief wearing off and being replaced by a hint of anger. And major frustration. “How am I? Um, what are you doing here?”
Oops. She sounded defensive. But damn it, she was sort of mad. And in shock. He couldn’t just pop back up at her work of all places, acting like they’ve been apart for all of a day or so. Though if she was the sort to keep count of days—and she really wasn’t, but she just so happened to know how long they’ve been apart—he’d been gone only five weeks instead of the promised six.
Five long, miserable Declanless weeks. She’d barely survived it. Had become very adept at convincing herself that they could never work out. That she’d been under some sort of magical Vegas spell that wore off quickly once real life intruded.
But here he was, standing in front of her, looking stressed and gorgeous and worried and sweet and it took everything within her not to throw herself at him.
“Yeah, about that. Production went so smoothly we wrapped early, which is unheard of. We worked ’round the clock, and filming was so intense I barely had a moment to myself. I literally finished work on the set two days ago. I needed a solid twenty-four hours to recover.” He flashed her a sheepish grin, running his hand through his hair and mussing it up even more than it already was. He was so adorable she wanted to both hug him and sock him in the gut for making her wait and yearn for him.
“So now you’re here,” she stated flatly. If he really wanted this to happen, he was going to have to work for it. At least a little bit.
“I’m here.” He threw his arms out, stretching them wide. “And I’m sorry. I should’ve called you. But everything was happening so fast and I told myself it would be worth the wait.”
“What if…what if I didn’t think it was worth the wait?” Reagan asked. “Did you ever think of that?”
His arms fell at his sides, his expression crestfallen. “I blew it, didn’t I? Shit. I should’ve called. I’m so sorry, baby. I got so damn wrapped up in everything, something I tend to do, and though it’s probably not right, it’s like I can’t help myself. I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can see that I’m here for you now. I want no one but you. You’re all I’ve thought about for these last five weeks.”
