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Me: So we are absolutely clear, she’s not my patient. This is the woman I love. Show some respect
Steve: Sorry, Harry. Never doubted you.
Andy: srsly, just banter, mate.
Me: this chat is over. Shutting it down.
I closed the app down and a text came through almost immediately.
Andy: hey, I’m sorry. I just wanted to let you know about the photos. I’ll call later, k?
I left Andy on read status, shoving my phone in my back pocket and heading downstairs, wracking my brain to remember Patient AT—Stacey—from med school. Shit, Anastasia Turner: AT.
I had no memories. Nothing at all. How on earth did Steve and Andy remember her but I didn’t? My mind was completely blank.
I hadn’t failed any of my units either. I’d come close on a couple but I’d passed everything in med school.
I called Stacey. By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, my call went through to her voicemail.
I swore again and hit redial. Voicemail again.
“Stacey. Anastasia.” I closed my eyes, taking another deep breath. “Please call me. I just want to know you’re safe and to talk. I care about you. I love you.” My voice shuddered. “So much, and—” Voicemail cut me off.
I stormed out of the pub. People milled about on the footpath. Some were having a smoke. Others talked, waiting for their lifts to arrive.
No sign of Stacey.
I swore out loud and marched back inside when I realised there was someone who’d know for sure where Stacey was right now.
I strode through the dining room and the public bar to the beer garden and found him behind the bar helping to serve drinks for party guests.
Ryan fucking Turner.
Over the music and general din, I called out his name. Ryan’s head snapped up from the beer he was pouring.
I pushed through the crowd to him, my teeth grinding. Ryan handed the beer over to a guest and then faced me, a tea towel slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t surprised about my presence. Nor was he happy.
“Stacey.” My voice was somewhere between a demand and a snarl.
He narrowed his eyes. “She’s okay.”
I braced myself against the bar with both hands, facing him off.
I was sparring for a fight.
“She’s okay?” I parroted. “What’s that supposed to mean? Where is she? Is she safe?”
Ryan scowled deeper, refusing to answer.
Several punters watched our exchange. “You do know where she is.”
“Yes,” he grunted.
“Let me update you, buddy. She is not okay. I am very worried about her and I need to see her.”
I could have sworn he wavered for a second, but his scowl grew deeper. “She said you didn’t do anything. She also doesn’t want to see you.”
But the look on his face. I was done.
