Page 19 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
I shake my head, but before I can respond, I hear footsteps approaching. I look up to find Nicole standing in front of me, patiently waiting for me to hang up. My stomach drops, and I’m not sure whether it’s worry for my mother or the sheer gravity of being back in Nicole’s orbit.
My grip tightens on the phone. “Sasha,” I mutter, “I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, yeah. Take care of Ma.”
I end the call and pocket my phone, giving Nicole my full attention. She studies me, eyes sweeping my face as though she’s wrestling with something unspoken. It unsettles me, and makes me desperately wish I could read her thoughts. Then, she shifts her weight and speaks in a professional, clipped voice.
“Your mother is stable, and we’ve completed all the tests. You can see her now.”
I nod once, but neither of us moves or looks away. The tension between us is electric, palpable. For a moment, we’re not in a hospital waiting room, but we’re back at that alley behind the restaurant, a breath away from touching.
But the chaotic hospital sounds snap me back to the present, and the moment turns painfully awkward. I should thank her for taking care of my mother, for keeping her safe, for doing her job when I was too fucking paralyzed with fear to do anything but stand there and watch. Yet I struggle to form a single word.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at me, her expression loaded. “Sergei.”
She says my name casually, but I’m suddenly remembering how she screamed it, how her whole body reacted when she did. I’m already half-hard just thinking about it. I step forward, closing the space between us slightly.
“Malyshka,” I whisper, absentmindedly reaching for her.
Her breath hitches and I know she’s remembering that night too. A heated current swirls between us, a magnetic force drawing us closer. Then she steps back, blinking rapidly as though trying to shake it off.
“I need to get back to work,” she says quickly, looking back toward the nurses’ station.
I nod, but she hesitates. When she finally turns to leave, I reach out, my fingers just barely brushing her wrist. She freezes. For a second, neither of us moves.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, though what I really want to suggest is finding an on-call room for an encore.
Her lips part slightly, her shoulders tensing. I don’t expect a response, and I don’t get one. Instead, she exhales softly, then pulls away, disappearing down the hall.
And I let her go.
For now.
An hour later, I’m sitting by Mom’s bedside, praying to some unknown entity that she’ll wake up. Every time she shows the slightest movement, I hold my breath, hoping she’ll open her eyes and tell me everything is okay.
She’s so small and vulnerable in this bed, nothing like the powerhouse I know her to be. It’s like all of her personality has been drained out of her, and I’m terrified she’ll never get it back.
I’ve seen what strokes can do to people. I know that she’s lucky enough to even be alive, but when she wakes up, her quality of life can be greatly impacted. She might not be able to speak again or walk again. Until she wakes up, we really can’t know the extent of the damage.
Nurses bustle in and out, but no one really speaks to me. Any time I ask, they say I should wait for the doctor, but of course the doctor is so damn busy he never shows his face. I’m about to ask someone to page him when Nicole slips in, wary eyes flicking to me as she checks on my mother.
“How’s she been?” she asks, not looking at me.
“A ball of sunshine,” I mutter, immediately hating the bite in my tone. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long night, and I still haven’t seen the doctor.”
“I’ll page him for you,” she says kindly, no hint of irritation in her voice. “But it may take a while. We had a multi-car crash come in after her, and he’s slammed right now.”
“Sure,” I mutter, my frustration rising.
I can’t control any of it, I know. I can’t make any of this go away or get better, even if I threw money at it.
An insane idea slams into me.
“Nicole?” I stand and circle the bed until we’re toe-to-toe.
“What?” The word slips out on a breath.
“My mother needs full-time care,” I explain. “I’ve seen how you work tonight, and you’re the only person in this damn place who’s even bothered to speak to me. I want you to be the one to look after her while she recovers.”
