Page 13 of Doctor Second Chance

He puts his hand on my arm. I’m sure he means it to comfort me, but it has all my hackles raised. If he thinks this is some kind of hospital booty call, he has another thing coming.

"So, tell me all about this little mishap," he says, leaning closer, his eyes gleaming with a predatory curiosity. I retreat as far into my pillow as possible, feeling accosted and disgusted by his breath. “How did you manage to mangle your hand so spectacularly?"

I give him the abridged version of what happened. He seems moderately engaged, more so than when I told him what I do as a marine biologist.

“Sophie was telling me about it, and it just sounds so horrific. I'm sorry. I didn't even know that you had been hurt until after the party started, and I wondered where you were. I started asking around, thinking you had ghosted me.”

I want to say I might have ghosted you, given the chance, but I never would have ghosted Izzy. “Well, that's good to hear. I'd rather no one even notice. Especially Isabella.”

“Of course, she noticed. She's worried sick. After I found out, I found her to talk to her about it, and she's beside herself.”

“Well, like I said, I was hoping no one would notice, especially her. So, I guess thanks for pointing that out,” I say with sarcasm. Who says something like that? After just being told that I didn’t want anyone to notice, least of all her?

“No, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Just letting you know that everyone's just so sick with worry that you will be okay.”

I wish he would leave. He's so smug in his tux, the black bowtie undone and hanging around his neck like a limp noodle. I know he's trying to make me feel better, but all he is doing is making me feel worse.

“Is there anything I can get for you? I texted you before I came but didn’t hear back, so I wasn't sure.”

Yeah, if you text someone and they don't text back, especially after midnight, that usually means they don't want to talk to you.

“Oh, that's so nice of you, Wentworth. I didn't realize you had texted. I was settling in to go to sleep.” Hint. Hint.

“No need to apologize. So, can I get you anything? I'm happy to run and get you a coffee. Or a snack. A magazine? Just let me know how I can make it better for you.”

Do you really want to know, Wentworth? The way you can make it better for me is to turn around and walk right back out of the door. And maybe get yourself a coffee to sober yourself up.

“You’re so kind to offer, Wentworth. I'm fine right now. I'm pretty tired, and I would be so much happier for you and everyone if you enjoyed the afterparty. I’m sure there are at least a few still going.”

“I guess I was thinking you might want some company. I don't mind staying with you here, so you’re not alone.”

“Oh heavens no, please. I appreciate the offer. But I am going to be totally fine here alone tonight. It looks like I'm going to be having surgery early tomorrow, so hopefully, I can bust out of this place in the next day or so.”

“Surgery? You have to have surgery?”

Oh God. Why did I open this can of worms? I don't want to go through all this with him.

I give him the abridged version. I’m sure he won’t remember any of this tomorrow, anyway.

As he turns to walk out, I do feel a little guilty for being such a bitch. It’s just that I'm done trying to be friendly and coddle someone if I know he's not The One.

Not only is he not The One, but he also pretty much annoys every nerve in my body. It’s better to cut it off at the pass.

No sooner than he walks out, the nurse comes in to check my vitals. For fuck’s sake, will I ever get any sleep in this place?

My breath catches in my throat when I realize it isn’t the nurse after all. It's Shep, looking as handsome as ever in his blue scrubs, his hair slightly damp, his eyes holding an intensity that makes my heart pound.

"Elle," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. "I'm so sorry to come so late. I saw you were awake, so I wanted to tell you before I take off that I checked your surgery slot tomorrow, and you’re in good hands.”

He trails off, his face etched with what seems like insecurity. I’ve never seen him in any light except for an exuding overwhelming confidence. Maybe it’s the late hour and awkward meeting.

“I walked up to tell you right after I left, but then I saw your boyfriend here. I’m sure he is worried sick. I was heading out when I saw him leave, so I figured I’d pop in to tell you.”

His words sting, but I force a laugh. "Boyfriend?" I echo, shaking my head. "Wentworth, III? That was just a... No, no. He is not my boyfriend, not by a long stretch.” I hear myself sounding like a jabbering idiot, but I can’t stop. Why am I overcompensating about whether or not Wentworth is my boyfriend?

God, I hate myself.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh. Okay.”

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