Ijolt up fromthe bed, my eyes wide and my heart racing as I turn to the newcomer.
Anger pulses through me, hot and bitter. Who the hell does she think she is? My eyes slide down her body, and unfortunately, her white lab coat means I want her here despiteher condescending tone. Gritting my teeth, I turn back to Hunter, pressing a kiss to his shocked face before carefully sliding from the bed.
Rolling my shoulders back, I adjust my dress.
Well, at least she made her entrance with information I’d been unable to get from anyone else so far. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but something inside of me is urging me to pretend, to fake it. That I’ll get more information if I don’t out myself as a fraud right off the bat.
So, keeping my back to the woman, I squeeze Hunter’s hand, drawing his attention. His wide, confused eyes snap up to mine, and I give him a discreet head shake before mouthing,play along.
His brows crash together, and his jaw tenses, but he gives a tiny nod right back. I squeeze his hand once more, then slowly turn to face the doctor, who’s eyeing us with questions written all over her stern face.
Stepping forward, I extend my hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet…” I let my words hang, cocking a brow, channeling Gage’s power ego.
She straightens, clasping my palm firmly. “Doctor Leclerc, Ms. Moreau, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”
I barely stifle my flinch and slowly slide my hand from hers. Why the fuck do people keep calling me that? I thought Madeline’s last name was Vega. Well, Vega-Torres, if she hyphenated. Or, I guess she could have dropped Vega when she met Robert—
No. Wait.
I shake my head.
Get it together, Ella.
Stop talking to yourself.
Be professional.
Get answers.
No.
Stop. Talking. To. Your. Self.
Every word is accentuated with an internal clap in my head, and it finally shakes me from my thoughts, but not before the doctor notices. The doctor who, like almost everyone else I’ve met here, has a French accent to some extent. Everyone except Oliver.
I smile to myself as I think of the sweet, little goofball who’d led me here the second Evelyn said Hunter was okay. She’d had to go back to Madeline to prepare for the debrief, and Oliver had been kind enough to bring me to the MedBay.
Or, maybe I half-dragged him.
You’re doing it again, Ella.
Stop talking to yourself.
Fuck, I’m spiraling.
With a fake as fuck smile, I step back toward Hunter and grab his hand, hoping he can keep me tethered to the present. “How is he?” I ask, my hand shaking but my voice steady.
Hunter gives me a weird look but squeezes my hand.
She closes the distance between us, her eyes idly scanning Hunter but mostly me. “Are you okay, Ms. Mo—”
I hold a hand up. “I am not your patient.” I don’t know who these people think I am, but clearly, they think I’m important. I hate it. “He is.” I point to Hunter. “What the hell happened? Is he okay? Will he make a full recovery?”
I hadn’t even bothered to talk to the doctors when I got here. I merely sobbed out Hunter’s name to the first scrub-wearing person I found, and they pointed me to the third door on the right, their face a mask of pure shock. I honestly don’t even know if it was a woman or a man. I didn’t-don’t-care.
I flew into the room, fell to my knees the second I saw his sleeping, pale face, and cried myself to sleep.
Now, I’m awake, I’m piecing myself back together, and I need answers. So many answers, I want to scream my head off.
