Page 23 of Doctor Second Chance

“I’d love to do that, man. Ari was supposed to pick up Opie by now, but I haven’t heard from her. I’m not sure if she had a flight delay or something. If she gets back before it’s too late, I’ll definitely do that.”

"Come on, when's the last time you had some fun? Call that hot nanny of yours and come meet us.”

“She just left from being here all day. I’m not calling her back over, dickhead. I’m sure Ari will be home soon.”

“Promise me you'll try to make it?”

“Alright, alright. I told you if she gets over before his bedtime, I'll swing by. But no promises.”

SEVEN

Elle

4:59 pm

Christy and I walk back to my room after my fourth therapy session of the day. We didn’t hit our six-session goal, but it was the first day, after all.

Walking into the room, I spot Isabella perched on the chair by the window, flipping through a glossy magazine. My heart leaps at the sight of my best friend.

"Izzy! You got here early! How long have you been here?”

She jumps up, grinning. “I got off a little early and couldn’t wait to get over here to see you! I’ve been looking forward to this time with you all day.”

“You’re the world’s best. How did I get so lucky?”

“I come bearing gifts.” She gestures to an overflowing basket on the side table.

We embrace, and I breathe in her familiar scent of cinnamon and jasmine. God, I've needed her.

“How are you feeling, champ? You look a hundred percent better than you did yesterday. No offense, of course. I was just worried about you.” She pulls back, eyeing me critically.

“I’m getting there. I will say, getting out of the bed and getting out of the hospital has done wonders for me.” I hold my bandaged hand gingerly, “This bad daddy is throbbing. I’ve squeezed a washcloth folded into a tube so much I can still feel the phantom nubs of the terrycloth.”

“Well, I think that calls for a celebration.”

“I’m always up for a little celebrating.”

Isabella's eyes light up. “Good enough for some contraband?” She waggles her eyebrows, pulling out a bottle of wine.

I laugh. “Hell, yes. I owe you that drink from Saturday, don't I?”

“You bet your ass you do.” She pops the cork with practiced ease. “It's been a day, let me tell you.”

We settle in, our plastic cups filled with chilled Rosé. Isabella unpacks the rest of her goodies—fancy cheese, my favorite Milano cookies, and a steamy romance novel.

“Spill,” I demand, sipping my wine. “How was the party?”

Isabella launches into a play-by-play, complete with dramatic reenactments. I find myself laughing, a medicine I desperately need as much as the pain meds they have me on around the clock.

“And then,” she wheezes, wiping tears from her eyes, “Mark’s mom tried to do the Macarena when the band took a break and someone brought out the boom box. I literally almost peed in my panties.”

“No!" I gasp, nearly choking on my wine.

“Yes! It was a sight to behold, let me tell you.”

We dissolve into giggles again. As the laughter fades, I feel a wave of sadness for missing such a memorable night.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there, Iz,” I say softly.

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