Page 51 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“I’m dressed. You can turn now.”

He turns slowly, almost reluctantly, and his eyes drop to the scrub top I’m wearing. His gaze darkens.

“Who gave you that?”

“Cyrall. Why?” I look down at myself, confused by his reaction.

“Nothing.” But his tone suggests it’s definitely something.

“I didn’t want to go outside in the same gross clothes as yesterday. She offered.” I feel defensive, like I need to explain myself.

“It’s fine.” But the muscle in his jaw tics again and it doesn’t seem “fine” at all.

The room feels weird, charged with a tension I don’t understand, and I just want to be at home where I feel comfortable. “Can you come and help me?”

Snapping out of whatever thought he was lost in, he steps closer. He hands me the crutches, and I wince as they dig into the sensitive spots under my arms. I thought it would be better by now, but it’s not. If anything, the bruising feels worse.

“Can you grab my pants?” I ask as soon as I’m positioned at the bathroom doorway, balancing on the crutches.

He does so without a word and brings back the pants. Our eyes hold as he hands them over, and I assume he’s about to offer to help when his hand reaches out slightly, his lips parting to speak, but he looks conflicted, caught between professional duty and something else. I just have to put him out of his misery.

“I’ve got it now. Can you wait outside? I’ll call out when I’m done.”

“Are you sure? I can call Cyrall back?”

“No, I’m good. I’ll just be a minute. I’ll let you know when I need you to open the door.”

He huffs out of frustration or resignation, I’m not sure which, but he leaves, closing the door behind him.

I stand for a second, just soaking in the air that’s full of his wicked aftershave. It gives me goosebumps. Surely, spending every day together, I’ll be immune to it soon… I can’t have this response to him or his scent for the whole time, can I?

I sit on the toilet and then change, taking my time, because there’s no way I’ll risk another accident. I can already imagine the look on his face, that mixture of exasperation and concern that seems to be his default expression around me.

Once I’m changed, I call out, “Done.” The door swings open immediately. I laugh, the sound bursting out before I can stop it.

“What?” He frowns, those dark eyebrows drawing together.

“Were you just standing at the door?” I grin up at him, oddly charmed by the image of him hovering protectively outside.

“Yeah. Why?” he asks, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“This is going to be a long four weeks.” But even as I say it, warmth spreads through my chest.

“Tell me about it.” His tone is dry, but there’s something in his eyes… a flicker of amusement, maybe…that softens the words.

I head back to the bed, hobbling on the crutches, and he shadows my movements like he’s ready to catch me if I stumble.

“So, what do I have to do to get out of here?”

“Sign papers, and then I’ll call the orderly.” He opens my door, holding some paperwork.

“What do we need an orderly for?” I ask as I shift to the edge of the bed.

“A wheelchair to my car. It’s in the staff lot, and I don’t want to be wheeling the chair back here.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

He walks over to me and hands me a pen, his fingers brushing mine briefly. “Sign here.”