Page 2 of Texting Dr. Stalker

A fuzzy cloud crept over my mind.

I tried to fight it.

But sleep pulled me under, and the last thing I saw was the ghost of my nana standing at the foot of my bed. Her thick white hair curled perfectly around her chin, the usual pink peony in the top button of her housedress, and a wonderful smile on her gorgeous, wizened face. “Rest, Little Lor. Everything will work out in the end…you’ll see.”

I slipped into darkness.

* * * * *

“Did the scans show any internal bleeding?” A masculine voice that sounded familiar wriggled through my gluey thoughts.

“No, Dr North. She was lucky.”

“Lucky? You call attempted murder lucky?”

“Oh no! Of course not. I just meant…she’ll recover. It’ll take time, but she’ll heal.”

“Give me a rundown.”

“Of course, Dr North. She’s suffered contusions to large areas of her arms and legs, has a hematoma on her hip, multiple abrasions, and a few bruised ribs. Dr Yang did a thorough investigation of her neck and spine, and there doesn’t appear to be any skeletal damage. However, he did recommend she doesn’t try to speak for up to a week while her larynx heals.”

“Thank you, Hayley.”

That ruff-gruff, kind voice. It wasn’t just familiar—it was one I’d heard almost every day for the past two years—ever since I’d moved in with my nana after she lost Pops. I’d also heard that voice change from teenage crackle to deep baritone as we grew up on either side of the fence.

I forced my heavy eyelids to open.

Fuzzy sight revealed a pretty nurse and a handsome doctor.

His shoes scuffed as he shifted to move away from my bedside. “Let me know when she wakes.”

“Will do, Dr—”

“Wait…” I tried to speak. It came out like a smoker’s cough. And wow, ithurt.

Dr North froze. His vibrant green gaze snapped to mine. “Ah, Ms. Rose. Welcome back.”

Ms. Rose?

Since when had he ever called me Ms. Rose?

Then again, the man standing over me wasn’t the boy who’d teased me when I’d stayed for a week or so every few years to visit my grandparents. There was no sign of the neighbourhood kid who stole my nana’s freshly baked cookies and pulled my pigtails.

He was a stranger in a white coat.

He’s the reason Milton tried to kill me…

A full-body adrenaline dump had me scrambling out of bed.

I couldn’t be around him.

I had to leave.

Now.

Milton can’t see me talking to him. He’ll—

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay.” Dr North grabbed my shoulder and elbow and eased me back down. His touch was gentle, but every place he connected, my body ached with a million bruises.

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