The curtain swishes open and Dr. Kincaid steps inside.
Wow. Like really…wow.
Capital W. Capital O. Capital W.
I mean, I saw him earlier. Obviously. But something about the lighting now? Or maybe it’s the way he moves? Or the fact that he’s the only person not looking at me like I might break in half?
Tall. Broad shoulders. Tousled brown hair with a bit of curl. Square jaw. Serious eyes. Older than me—but he wears it like a compliment, not a concession. Earlier, his confidence made him seem like a jerk. Now? Something about it makes me feel safe.
I blink. Might be the meds, but for a second, I forget where I am. He looks like someone from a movie. Or a dream. Or one of those stories where the girl gets rescued and doesn’t mind one bit.
“You, sir,” I murmur, “are stupidly handsome.”
And this is why I’m a “hugs before drugs” kinda gal.
High Lucy has no filter.
I should be mortified, but I’m not. Another problem for Future Lucy to untangle.
Dr. Kincaid freezes mid-step. One brow lifts. “That’s probably the meds talking.”
It’s definitely the meds talking, but that doesn’t change what’s objectively true.
“You have the jawline of a Greek god.”
His mouth twitches. “And that confirms it.”
“Best hallucination ever.”
This is fine. Totally fine. Why not ask him to marry you while you’re at it, Lu?
Something flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can name it. Probably for the best… seeing as I’d probably name it out loud.
“Do you have anyone coming to get you?” he asks, dragging a hand down his face with a sigh.
“Stella and Gabby,” I say cheerfully. “They’ll be here soon.”
“Good. I’m not sure it’s safe to release you to the world in this state.”
I wave a hand. “I grew up in this state, thank you very much. I was too much for it then, and I’ll be too much for it now.”
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head at the floor. I can’t tell if he’s amused or bracing himself for more. Probably both.
“Not the state of Florida,” he mutters, then holds uphis hands in surrender. “You know what? Never mind. We have good news and bad news.”
I brace myself.
“The good… There’s no sign of a brain bleed. You do have a concussion, but it’s mild.”
Relief washes through me. Okay. That’s manageable.
“And the bad?”
“Your ankle isn’t fractured.”
“How is that bad?”
“Because you’ve got a grade three sprain. Torn ligaments. Severe swelling. It’s going to take longer than a break to heal, and a lot more effort.”
