Dr. Nor may be able to redecorate her office after I pay for the serious self-work we’re going to do together. It’s clear I have layers upon layers to unpeel to figure out why I keep picking the wrong men.
He clears his throat. “No more literary fuckboy, then?”
“Among other types of men.” I lock my fuzzy vision on him. Determination causes me to make my spine tall.
This includes him. From here on out, I will no longer let myself be swept up in my Austen-induced fantasies of this modern-day Darcy, as I’ve dubbed him. If I have to wear a rubber band and flick it against my skin each time I think of him until the sting’s memory wards off this stupid crush, I’ll do that. He’s not an appropriate crush. He’s just my brother’s friend.
“I don’t want to sound patronizing, but I’m proud of you. It takes a strong person to deal with their shit,” he says, his tone both gentle and sad.
“Thanks.” Mouth closed, I swipe my tongue over my teeth in an internal debate before I decide to just say it. “If you ever decide to go beyond just telling the bag and deal with your own shit, I have an excellent therapist who can make recommendations.”
“God, you are like a dog with a bone at times.”
“How veryyorkieof me.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I toss him a sassy expression.
“What?” He tilts his head.
“Nothing.” I shrug. “We should head out to get Anker.” I turn to scoop up my purse and grab my luggage.
“Jensen, I…fuck…”
I turn. “What?”
“Sorry. The hospital is calling.” He holds up his phone. “Dr. Marlowe... When was he brought in?”
I stiffen at the undercurrent of worry in Garrett’s typically steady tone.
“Is he conscious?”
“What’s happening?” I say, anxiety pulsing along my nerves.
“We’ll be right there.” His gaze pins me in place. “Anker was hurt. He’s in the ED.”
The scent of disinfectant fills my nostrils as Garrett guides me through the maze of gurneys, carts, and staff shuffling between different emergency department bays. Despite the early morning hour, the emergency department is a flurry of beeping sounds, phones ringing, and staff conversations.
From what the charge nurse who called Garrett had said, Anker had been brought in via ambulance just after six a.m. Outside of the fact that he’d fallen on a pre-dawn jog this morning and is busted up enough to warrant an ambulance, we’re not sure what happened.
“Are you okay?” I rasp, wrapping my arms around Anker, who sits propped up in a gurney.
“Ouch,” he groans. “Easy, She-Hulk, I have broken ribs.”
“Broken ribs!” I gasp, stepping back and tilting my head to take him in with my still intact-ishperipheral vision.
Thanks to the hospital’s fluorescent lighting and my closeness, I’m able to get a visual picture of his state. He’s in a pair of black mesh shorts and a tattered gray T-shirt. Knowing my always put-together brother, that shirt’s rip is related to his fall. His thick hair—the same as mine—is disheveled. A beige colored bandage along his hairline stands out against the contrast of his dark brown hair. Another bandage, this one dark blue, is wrapped around the knee of his right leg that rests on top of a large pillow on the gurney.
“This looks bad. How bad are you hurt? Are you in a lot of pain?” I motion towards him.
“It looks far worse than it is,” someone says, pulling my attention to the other side of the gurney where a tall, lean man in a white lab coat stands. His warm smile is bright against his neat dark beard.
“Sorry…” My cheeks heat. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m Dr. Raymond Deridder. Ray,” he says, his smooth baritone almost winks as if it’s a private joke between us. “You must be Jensen, Anker’s sister. He’s mentioned you a few times.”
“Nice to meet you.” I brush a loose tendril of my hair behind my ear.
“Glad to meet you, too.”
I clear my throat. “So, he’s not hurt too bad.”
