Page 76 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

I’ll transfer this to her official file later because I’m technically working, and Mr. Peltz expects meticulous documentation on all patients, but especially high-profile ones like Hannah.

My phone buzzes in my hand before I can pocket it, and my sister’s name lights up the screen.

Bri: New article about Dad. He made it in the Emergency Medicine Journal. (Link) Call him.

My thumb hovers over the link, temptation warring with responsibility. Pride swells in my chest. My father is an incredible emergency doctor, finally getting the recognition he deserves for his hard work. God knows I’m proud of him, proud to be his son.

But I pocket the phone without clicking it.

With my career teetering on the edge, I can’t afford to be caught with my eyes on anything other than Hannah. Dain already watches me like he’s saving it. And if he’s reporting back to Peltz, if he hears that I was on my phone while his patient was on set, that’s all it takes. One wrong move, one perceived lack of dedication, and I’m done. Dad would understand that better than anyone. I’ll read it tonight.

That’s one of the reasons I’m here in Pulse Point, thirty minutes away from my family. I needed to become a doctor on my own merit, not riding on my father’s name. Not being introduced as “Dwight Sterling’s son” before anyone learns my first name is Zac.

“Let’s cut for lunch and meet back in one hour,” Dain calls out across the set, already turning away dismissively before the words completely leave his mouth, his luxury sunglasses catching the light as he walks toward the craft services tent without a backward glance.

I walk straight to Hannah, who’s still on set, weaving between crew members coiling cables and moving equipment. Fighting the overwhelming urge to scoop her up and carry her back to the trailer, I watch the strain etched across her delicate features. The tightness around those expressive blue eyes, and the slight tremor in her hands gripping the scooter.

“I’ll get you something for the pain in the trailer,” I whisper.

I expect her to argue. She can be stubborn, but she surprises me.

“That actually sounds good, but I need to eat first.” She’s missing her usual spark; her façade is cracking.

I nod, understanding flooding through me. After what happened recently when she took prescription pain medication on an empty stomach and was violently ill, I know she’s hesitant about taking pills without food in her system first. I’m glad she’s following orders.

“We’ll get you fed first,” I assure her, and something in her shoulders relaxes.

She moves toward the trailer area so much slower than this morning, each push of her good foot deliberate. Her energy is completely gone.

Is it from the pain radiating up her leg? From Dain’s comments, the way he corrected her in front of everyone? I don’t know, but she stops and turns her blue eyes on me, and I see the utter exhaustion.

I scan the area quickly, doctor mode and the gentleman inside me warring with professional boundaries. Only Karyn, Jaina, and Mia are following us, their makeup kits and styling bags in hand. They’ve already seen me carry her this morning. So, I don’t give it a second thought as I bend down and scoop her up into my arms.

Her whole body immediately slumps against me, all pretense of being fine evaporating. She even lays her head on my shoulder, her soft hair tickling my neck, her breath warm against my collarbone. A possessiveness clenches my chest. But I bury it before it can take over.

I can already see the makeup smudging where her face presses against my shirt. Jaina will definitely have to fix that before she heads back on set.

Carrying her inside the air-conditioned trailer, I head straight past the small kitchenette and seating area toward the bed in the back.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks in a relaxed tone.

“Somewhere you can elevate your leg.”

I lower her gently onto the bed, careful not to bump her ankle, mindful of every movement. The mattress dips under her weight. Grabbing a spare pillow from the corner, I tuck it under her ankle. The swelling is worse than it was this morning. If she pushes through the afternoon on this without proper rest now, we’re looking at inflammation that could set her recovery back by days.

“You need to rest it if you plan on being out there this afternoon. We need to reduce some of the swelling.”

She sighs and eases into the pillows, her hair fanning out behind her. Her eyes are already starting to close.

“What time will filming wrap up today?” I’m trying to plan her post-shoot treatment.

“There’s only one more scene left after lunch. If I can nail that in one take, maybe one hour total.”

“And if it’s not one take?” I press, knowing her tendency to downplay things, to push through when she should stop. I’ve watched Dain redirect her three times this morning on things that looked fine to me, but I’m not a director.

“Could be two hours if we need multiple angles, or if Dain decides to override my choices again.” She shrugs one shoulder.

I nod, already planning to have her home, ankle iced and elevated, pain medication on a full stomach. I’m picturing it… picturing her, and I’m looking forward to it more than I should be.