There's a pause, and I can see him hesitate before adding, "If it's okay with you, I might even drop in to check on you occasionally.”

My heart somersaults. The thought of seeing Shep regularly during my recovery sends a flutter through my stomach. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I try to keep my voice steady and reply as matter-of-factly and professionally as possible, "That would be nice. Thank you."

He smiles at me, and I’m struck by his devastating handsomeness, strong jawline, and thick, dark hair. He’s always been good-looking, but it’s like he’s grown into his face. The years have only added to his appeal, and I find myself cursing internally. Why does he have to be so hot? It's not fair.

“Sure. Alright, I think the nurses will take it from here. Don’t forget, you got this!”

"I appreciate everything you're doing for me, Shep," I say sincerely, pushing away my conflicting emotions.

He nods, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that catches my breath. "You're welcome, Elle. I'm just glad I can help.”

Monday, July 8

8:11 am

The morning light filters through the hospital room window as I stir from a very unrestful sleep. In the one place you’re supposed to get rest for healing, I probably got the worst sleep I’ve had in as long as I can remember.

A cheerful voice breaks the silence.

"Good morning, Ms. Klass! I'm Tanya, your day nurse."

I blink groggily, forcing a smile. "Hi, Tanya."

She bustles around, checking my vitals. "You must have friends in high places. You've scored a bed in our new rehab facility next door. It's state-of-the-art, and spots are hard to come by."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Really? That's... unexpected."

"Insurance approved it," Tanya continues. "We're just waiting on one last thing, then we'll wheel you over to your new home for the foreseeable future."

The word 'home' hits me like a punch to the gut. This isn't home. This is a sterile room in a city I don't know—and that, frankly, I hate because of its association with my heartbreak—far from everything familiar.

"That's great," I manage, my voice hollow. "Thanks for letting me know."

Tanya pats my arm. "You're in good hands, sweetie. I'll check on you later."

As she leaves, I sink back into my pillows, a wave of depression washing over me. How did I end up here? A simple party decoration gone wrong, and now I'm facing weeks of rehab in a strange city?

Before I can wallow further, there's a knock at the door. Wentworth III’s smug face appears, and I have to stifle a groan.

"Elle, darling! How are you feeling?" he asks, sauntering in.

I paste on a smile. "I'm okay, Wentworth. Thanks for stopping by."

He perches on the edge of my bed, uninvited. “Did surgery go well yesterday? I knew you would be exhausted, so I decided not to bother you.”

We go through the same song and dance as the other night, only this time he isn’t intoxicated. I give him as brief answers as I can without coming across as a total jerk. But I try to make it clear that there is nothing between us, not even friendship.

He lingers, oblivious to my hints. Finally, he stands. "Well, I guess I better let you get some rest. May I call you sometime?"

"Oh, you know, I'll be so busy with therapy and work. Maybe I’ll get up here in the not-too-distant future, and we will run into each other,” I reply, waving my good hand dismissively, trying to be as pleasant as possible but also saying in so many words, “Beat it.”

Being stuck to this bed takes away all my ability to control the flow of my interactions—interactions with the likes of Wentworth and Shep. Only with Shep, my practical brain wants to hate him, but I kind of like his visits. The same can’t be said for my visits with Wentworth, III.

As he finally leaves, I exhale in relief. I close my eyes, trying to summon the strength for whatever comes next.

12:41 pm

I settle into my new room at the rehab facility, still trying to digest all of this and take it in stride. The space is more homey than the hospital, with soft lighting and a large window overlooking a courtyard, but it still feels alien.