Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Chapter 3
Yvette
Waking up in a hospital room feels like someone hit the pause button on my life. Pulses of light thrum softly against my closed eyelids, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of an antiseptic smell that clings to the air.
My head swims as memories of disjointed scenes of my poor mangled red car, screeching metal, and a black SUV with a very pissed-off driver, all flash through my muddled brain.
Then my mind snags on one particular detail, a hunky fireman whose grip on my hand was the only thing anchoring me amid the chaos. It hardly seems real now, more a figment conjured in the midst of fear and adrenaline.
But when I blink my eyes open, the muted hues of the hospital room swirl into focus, and I'm relieved to find I’m pretty much still in one piece. To my left, the soft murmur of familiar voices reaches me.
Turning my head slowly, I see Romi and her husband, Sullivan, nestled in uncomfortable looking chairs. They’re whispering to each other, likely arguing over who gets to obsess over my health more. Romi, with her long black hair tied hastily in a bun, clasps her hands together anxiously, while Sullivan rests an arm around her shoulders in a subtle sign of support.
As I watch them without actually announcing my return to the world of the living, their voices mingle into some sort of ambient background noise.
Deciding to explore the rest of my surroundings, I shift my gaze lazily to the right. My train of thought derails when I spot him, the fireman, and the world comes sharply into focus. I blink, half-convinced this particular reality was somehow transposed from my imagination.
He’s sitting beside my hospital bed like he belongs there. Dark brown hair, tousled and adorably disheveled, crowns an obscenely handsome face. Dark eyes that seem capable of reading minds beneath a serious brow, a square jaw dusted with a day's worth of stubble. And the muscles… holy cow, his muscles. He’s like a living Michelangelo sculpture, only with clothes on.
Before I can stop myself, the word “Adonis” flits through my mind. The amusing thought coaxes a smile from me.
He notices me stirring and his gaze meets mine. A spark of recognition flares in his eyes, the kind that makes the imaginary fireman suddenly, wrenchingly real. He shifts a bit, leaning forward as if to confirm that I’m really, truly awake, and there’s more than just polite concern painting his expression.
“Hey, knockout,” he greets softly, his voice a low rumble that somehow soothes the sharp edges of my consciousness. “Welcome back.”
I attempt a verbal response, something witty or charming or, honestly, anything more coherent than a raspy grunt. But that’s exactly what leaves my mouth. The dry, gravelly murmur barely qualifies as a sound.
“Water,” he offers, reaching for a cup like he’s done this a million times. I attempt a nod, which sends shards of pain tearing through my head. I wince as he lifts the cup to my lips with care, and I sip the cool liquid gratefully, feeling it soothe and restore my vocal abilities.
Once I’m fractionally less croaky, I manage, “You’re… you’re real?”
He grins, and it’s the sort of grin that could probably light up an entire hospital, never mind a single room. “Last time I checked. I’m Banks, by the way.”
“Banks,” I repeat, rolling his name over my tongue like it might hold hidden secrets or some kind of magic. And maybe it does because there’s something undeniably mesmerizing about this man.
As I study him, trying to piece together how this fits in the grand tapestry of ‘Today In Yvette’s Crazy Life,’ I notice Romi’s attention swivel toward us. She lifts a surprised and curious brow, the unspoken question visible in the tilt of her head. “Thank God, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, literally,” I reply dryly, gathering my wit like a frayed yarn ball.
Sullivan offers a sympathetic wince-turned-smile. “We came as soon as we heard. You gave us all quite the scare.”
I muster a reassuring look, though I’m not fooling anyone entirely. “I'm fine. Or, at least, I will be. Thanks for being here.”
As Romi reshuffles the blanket over me with sisterly fuss, I glance back at Banks, feeling an inexplicable pull. “Thank you for… everything,” I tell him, sincere but still bewildered by what ‘everything’ actually means.
He shakes his head, dismissing the thanks casually. “It’s nothing, really. I’m going to take care of you, knockout.”
And somehow, through a tangled mess of IV lines and unfamiliar medical decor, through pain meds and residual shock, warmth blossoms. A sense of rightness I can’t explain. And I’m not going to even try.
The beeping machines and clinical setting fade into a distant buzz.
When Sullivan insists on getting a coffee and drags an unwilling Banks with him, my sister moves closer to my side. “So,” she says brightly, shaking me from my musings as if declaring today’s main event has come to light. “How exactly did you meet Mr. Arm Candy over there?”