Page 77 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“I’ll grab the medication and find some lunch…” But the words die on my tongue when I turn around. Karyn, Jaina, and Mia are crowding into the small space, arms filled with an impressive assortment of food and drinks. Sandwiches and wraps in clear plastic containers, colorful salads with separate dressing cups, bottles of water and juice, even cookies and fruit salad.

“Looks like they’ve got the food covered.”

“Yeah… they always do...” Hannah trails off, her eyes already scanning the options they’re laying out on the small counter.

Knowing she’s being looked after, I head to the outside bathroom quickly to read my dad’s article.

Dr. Dwight Sterling: Redefining Emergency Medicine Protocol.

It’s good. Of course it is. My father doesn’t do anything bad.

I close the tab without finishing it.

I should call him. That’s what a normal son would do.

Except nothing with my father is simple or easy, and I’ve never quite worked out how to separate the work I respect from the man I have complicated feelings about. So I do what I always do. I pocket the phone and tell myself I’ll deal with it later.

My mom’s been texting. Not about the article specifically, but I know that’s what’s underneath it. Have you talked to your father? Did you see the news? She’s been doing this my whole life—holding the middle ground between us, nudging without pushing, hoping eventually we’ll figure it out on our own.

We haven’t yet.

I wash my hands and head back out.

Exiting, I nearly collide with Dain in the narrow bathroom doorway. My muscles tense automatically. I want to tell him exactly how I feel about the way he treats Hannah. I want to grab him by his pretentious clothes and spell out that she’s worth ten of him, that her instincts are better, her rapport with people is genuine, her work ethic unmatched. But I bite my tongue. I can’t risk Hannah’s job. She’s worked too hard to get here; I won’t be the reason she loses this opportunity. And Mr. Peltz personally set up this deal with Dain, so if I blow it by fighting the director, what would that mean for my position? For the senior role I’ve worked so hard at?

I don’t want to think about it.

So, I dip my head in curt acknowledgement and stride past him.

I head back to the trailer, grabbing the medication from my briefcase that should help the inflammation without risking drowsiness or nausea, and relief washes over me when I find her still lying in the position I left her, though someone has propped her up a little more with extra pillows, creating a proper backrest. There’s a tray of food balanced on her lap, and she’s taking small bites of what looks like a turkey sandwich.

“Have you eaten enough to take something?” I ask, moving closer to assess her.

She swallows her current bite before answering. “Yes. Half a sandwich and some fruit.”

I hand her the water bottle, and she immediately lifts her other hand out, palm up, waiting for the pills.

“How much pain are you in on a scale of one to ten? One being nothing, ten being the worst you’ve ever felt.”

“A four.” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine, focused on the pills in my hand.

I want to laugh because everything about her body language screams a six or seven. The eagerness for medication, the winces I caught, the way she’s holding herself stiffly even now, the slight tremor in her fingers on her scooter. Does she think I haven’t noticed any of that?

“You’re a bad liar, Hannah.” Unable to keep the amusement off my face, I sit on the edge of the bed, bringing us closer to eye level.

“Oh,” she gasps, pressing her hand to her chest in mock offense, her blue eyes widening dramatically. But I catch the humor dancing in them. She knows I can see straight through her, and she doesn’t mind being called out.

There’s something refreshing about her transparency, even when she’s trying to hide things. No games. Just herself.

“Come and grab something to eat,” Karyn says from directly behind me.

“Thanks, Karyn.” I push to my feet, forcing her hand to drop. Then walk to the small kitchenette area, putting physical distance between us. “I’ll grab a bite while I write some notes.”

The girls gather their plates and napkins. “Take our spot. We need to get the makeup station ready for touch-ups,” Jaina says, she and Mia vacating the little built-in table with bench seats.

I nod my thanks, grabbing a plate and take a turkey and salad wrap, and put on my glasses as I settle at the table with my laptop, typing out my observations while I eat.

Ankle swollen, reduced mobility, ankle elevated 30 degrees. Patient continues to under-report pain levels; discrepancy between reported 4/10 and observed 6-7/10. NSAID given after food.