Page 2 of I'm Not Yours
“Believe it! You’re going to have to be more careful around horses in future,” Kevin said, chuckling. “Ya gotta get out of their way when those hooves come up and kickin’ . . .”
It had been a horrible summer. Everything, all at once. I was fired from my job after telling my boss exactly what I thought of her, my rougher upbringing coming out in my language. After she threw her Manolo Blahniks at me, I picked them up, waved good-bye, sold them online, and donated the money to a kids’ hospital in her name.
Then I received that phone call which, surprisingly, knocked me over. I decided to sell my condo because I didn’t like it anymore anyhow. I moved. And, once again, I was dealing with the bitter loss and raging anger that I had stomped down hard over the years. Now this.
Jace.
I had to get out of the hospital. This was not going to work. I struggled up, feeling nauseous.
“No, now don’t try to get up, Miss Pelletier. You’re pale as a flying ghost. Here, let me take some of that hay out of your hair.What’s this? You have a couple of branches in there, too. Ah well, all that brown hair ya got, things are bound to get lost in there. I’ll get a cloth for the dirt on your face; you’ll be feeling better in a one, two, three . . .”
I have to get away from Jace.
“You know,” Kevin said, almost to himself, “I’m going to see if I can get Dr. Rios in here pronto. Your eyes seem a bit vague and unfocused. You’re not cooperating real well, either.”
“I’m fine, quite fine. In fact, I think I’ll bandage this up myself.” I pulled on the collar of my light green hospital gown, open at the back. Gall. If I stood up, my white butt would be hanging out the back. And my underwear. Oh, groan. I’d worn my old beigegrandmapair. I think there was a rip on the side . . .
The nurse chuckled. “No, ma’am. You are not going to be able to bandage this up on your own.”
“I’ll duct tape and staple it then.” I envisioned myself sneaking around hospital corners and furtively limping down the hallways. I would drive to another hospital. I could not see Jace now. I could not see Jaceat all.
“Duct tape and staples, ha! Hang on now, I’ll let the good Dr. Rios know we’re ready. Don’t you wiggle on out! Promise me you’ll stay right here? No hopping up on the saddle, if you know what I mean, and galloping back into the country.” His eyes twinkled. “I can’t leave till you give me your word.”
“Sure will. I’ll stay.” I sure as hell wouldnot.The nurse left and as soon as he was gone, I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, the paper crackling beneath my butt and my grandma underwear.
“Holy hell,” I muttered. My head felt fuzzy. My thigh sent up lightning flames of pain. I felt ill with panic and the desire to escape. I lay back down. “Slower, Allie. Take it slow and easy.”
I thought of Jace again, smiling, friendly, his hand in mine, pulling me closer to him, both of us in bathing suits in thelake, his leg between mine . . . then the tears that followed the disaster. That wretched disaster. He didn’t even know about it. I hadn’t told him. The first disaster had led to the second disaster, so nothing needed to be told.
I heard that other voice in my head, the harsh words, the accusation.My fault, my fault, all my fault.
I yanked myself up again, gripping the silver bed rails with both hands, and tried to breathe right. Across the room was a mirror. I gaped at it, my mouth dropping open. “That cannot be me. Itcannot.”
My brown hair, about the color of dark chocolate, was a mess. It had fallen halfway out of the ponytail I’d pulled it into for the usual morning chores on the farm, which I was terrible at. I had hay sticking out in several places. No makeup, of course, and dirt on both cheeks. I had bags under my golden-ish eyes because I was regularly up until two in the morning, often striding through the apple trees my dad left me, hoping to walk myself into exhaustion.
I was too thin. Not because I wanted to be, but because food doesn’t taste good when you’re spiraling into one of life’s pits.
I groaned at my gross face, hopped to the floor on one foot, wobbled, then shakily pulled off the light green hospital gown. I pulled on my jeans, ignoring the blood still zipping down my leg. The duct tape and stapler thing wasn’t going to work. I shoved my feet back into my knee-high black farm boots.
I scrambled into my red push-up bra and oversized plaid shirt. The top button was missing. Too much cleavage showed, but I had not dressed to go to the hospital and seehim; I had dressed to feed horses, chickens, dogs, and cats, none of whom cared about cleavage. I would have worn one of my exercise bras, but both were in the wash. Hence, red lace push-up and a farm shirt.
I took my first step, which was unbalanced. Then I took my second one. More wobble, more pain, screeching pain. I winced, clenching my teeth.Go, Allie, Go! Start sneaking around those corridors!
At the third wobbly movement the curtain opened and there he was.
Yes, Jace Rios.
All six-foot-four inches of muscle. Shoulders like a truck. He still had that head of thick black hair, courtesy of a Mexican grandfather. He wore the white coat well. I felt tears burning my eyes. Yes, he looked good in that white coat. He had become who he was destined to become, who he dreamed of becoming.
Jace Rios. Extraordinary doctor.
His head was down, studying my chart, and I saw him freeze for a second.
I knew he’d seen my name.
His head snapped up. He still had that intense, dark gaze—a man who really looked at you, who was truly interested in what you said and didn’t say. A man who was interested in who you are, way down deep—not the shallow stuff we show the world, but who we are when all the layers are pulled back and only raw honesty is left. I tried to get air in, couldn’t, and squeaked out, with all that I had left, “Hi, Jace. Good to see you again.” Then I passed out.
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