Crash (Sinners and Saints #1)
1. TESSA
TESSA
Of all the ways to start my day, crashing to the ground and subsequently knocking myself unconscious wasn’t what I had in mind.
But little did I know, that in T-minus five minutes, that physical pain would be nothing compared to the emotional gut punch that was about to saunter back into my life.
All six foot three of him, with his infuriatingly hypnotic muscles carved by unfair gods, a jaw that could start religions, and the kind of dominant energy that had the power to spontaneously combust every pair of panties within a five-mile radius.
My eyes flew open. Big mistake. Fluorescent lights stabbed my retinas with the enthusiasm of a thousand tiny assassins while some sadistic gremlin with a pickaxe played demolition derby inside my skull.
The antiseptic smell burned my nostrils as voices floated around me, growing clearer by the second while a blurry room slowly sharpened into focus.
Gray walls. Heart monitor. IV stand. Each detail a confirmation of my horrifying realization:
I’m lying in a hospital bed.
God Almighty, please no.
“Welcome back.” A woman wearing navy-blue scrubs and a disheveled bun materialized before me. “I’m Amy. You’re in the emergency room. Do you know your name?”
It took me a second to answer, on account of me mentally cataloging every embarrassing thing I could have possibly done while unconscious. The list was disturbingly long.
“Tessa Kincaid.”
“Do you remember why you’re here?”
Because apparently, the universe likes to get itself a huge bowl of popcorn and laugh as I twist in agony.
“Um …” I closed my eyes, willing the fragments of memories to assemble into something less mortifying.
“I was talking with a friend. Got lightheaded and …” Right, then came the I don’t feel so well , followed by my not-so-graceful descent into unconsciousness.
“I … fainted. Kind of.” Not fully, but then the concrete slab smacked into my skull in the most unladylike landing, and, well, that finished the job.
The rest came in snippets. Muffled voices swimming above me. The wail of sirens. My body swaying in what felt like a boat in a storm but had to be an ambulance. My brain serving up consciousness with all the clarity of a drunk GPS, until one thought hit harder than that damn sidewalk:
“Which hospital is this?” I tried to keep my voice from non-shrieking level, like someone who hadn’t spent the last two years actively avoiding one specific emergency room in Chicago.
The city had dozens of hospitals. The odds that the EMTs would’ve brought me to his were astronomical.
“Mercy Harbor,” she answered.
F my life.
Calm down. This is fine. It will be fine.
Hospitals were big, and the chances of him being here, today, tending to this exact emergency room patient… Those had to be about as likely as me winning the lottery while being struck by lightning during a shark attack.
Right?
Nurse Amy focused on the monitor, her experienced fingers dancing across buttons with practiced precision as she repositioned a blood pressure cuff around my arm, which squeezed like it was trying to extract a confession.
“I’m going to recheck your vital signs and ask you a few questions, okay?” She placed a pulse oximeter on my right index finger. “Do you have any allergies?”
Only to good luck and sensible life choices, apparently. Side effects include spontaneous business failure, romantic disasters, and ending up in my crush’s ER at my absolute rock bottom.
“No.”
“Medical conditions?”
“No,” I lied, the word sticking in my throat like old gum. I’d gotten good at that particular lie over the last year, and as for today’s fainting episode, I preferred to follow up with my normal doctor about this. Not give this woman an excuse to keep me here any longer than legally necessary.
My phone buzzed with a message from my client, probably wondering why their wedding planner hadn’t called them back this morning. But the wedding that could either save my business or sink it completely would have to wait until I convinced the nurse to let me go.
“Look, I haven’t had any water today. I’m sure that’s all this is.”
“Do you faint often?”
“No,” I said, channeling the same convincing tone I used when assuring a mother of the bride that rain on the wedding day was good luck. “I’ve never fainted before. Really, I’m fine.”
She smiled, but didn’t budge. “Dr. Hansen will be in shortly to examine you.”
My shoulders dropped in relief when she said, “Dr. Hansen.” Not Blake. Maybe the powers that be were finally calling off their vendetta against me.
A movement caught my eye through the doorway: an elderly man lying on a gurney in the hallway, his weathered face drawn with pain, making my own discomfort suddenly feel trivial.
Rationally, doctors and nurses knew better than I did about urgent care priorities, and it was probably presumptuous to interfere, but I couldn’t relax until I knew he wasn’t being overlooked.
“Nurse?” I called out softly. “Is someone checking on that gentleman in the hall? He looks like he needs help.”
She gave me an appraising look, but, perhaps sensing the sincere worry in my tone, nodded and returned minutes later to assure me he was being well cared for, just waiting on next steps.
Only then did I let myself breathe easier.
Just as my muscles started to unclench, however, I heard it. His voice. That deep, rich baritone that had haunted my dreams for years. Outside my room, it rolled through the emergency room like a coming storm, my stomach performing a gymnastics routine worthy of an Olympic medal.
“Tessa.” A redheaded female without a single wrinkle on her alabaster skin entered my ER room, white coat pristine against navy scrubs. “I’m Dr. Hansen.” She glanced at my chart, then at the monitor. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Lying. Definitely lying. “Ready to leave actually.”
Dr. Hansen’s exam went by in a blur of questions and vital checks while my body remained hyperaware of every shadow passing by the door, every echo of that familiar voice.
My phone buzzed again with probably the tenth call from my client.
At this rate, I’d not only lose their wedding, but my entire business. Still better than?—
There. A flash of dark hair that was unmistakably his. Short, professional, but a little longer on top, imperfectly perfect. Lucky for my dignity, he had his back to me, but even that view sent my pulse skyrocketing.
Dr. Hansen’s eyes narrowed at the monitor. “Are you feeling anxious?”
Only about the fact that the man who’s starred in every romantic fantasy I’ve had since I was sixteen might walk through that door.
Oh, and as a bonus, he might discover the secret I’ve been hiding for the past year.
“Just … eager to get back to work.” I forced a smile. “Important client.”
“Well, your pupils are equal and reactive, no signs of neurological deficit, and your speech is clear.” She looped her stethoscope back around her neck. “But given the loss of consciousness, I’d like to get a head CT, just to be safe.”
“How long will that take?” Please say five minutes. Please say I can escape before ? —
“Not long. And if the scan comes back normal, we should be able to discharge you.”
First good news all day. I could do this. Hide in this room until the results came back, then execute a strategic escape that would make Navy SEALs proud.
“The attending physician will be in shortly to complete your exam.”
Every organ in my body attempted to relocate itself. “I thought you were my doctor?”
“I’m the resident. Protocol requires the attending physician to examine you as well.”
“Is that really necessary?” Like, legally necessary? Constitutional-rights necessary? Geneva Convention necessary?
“He can examine you while we’re waiting for the CT.”
He . Not she. My pulse quickened into a drumbeat of apprehension.
“Don’t worry; it shouldn’t delay your discharge.”
Yeah, that wasn’t exactly my concern here. But before I could ask which attending was assigned to this particular room, she disappeared, leaving me alone with my mounting dread.
I stared at the ceiling, mentally drafting my petition to the universe for a mercy rule.
Like I needed another masterclass in humility right now.
Between my failing business, my train wreck of a love life, and this mysterious health situation I’d been hiding, surely, I’d maxed out my quota of life lessons.
The thing about rock bottom though is that it looks deceptively solid until life decides to break out its jackhammer.
I could sense the disturbance in the force before it arrived.
Like a wave, attention rippled through the space outside of my room with nurses pausing mid-conversation, casting hungry glances as they tracked a figure walking this way.
Even the male staff reacted, straightening their postures as if the man’s mere presence demanded a higher standard.
The soft knock that came next might as well have been that jackhammer striking concrete.
The door slid open, and there he stood. Dr. Blake Morrison, somehow looking even more devastating than my memory had allowed.
His dark hair was still that perfect mess that made my fingers itch to run through it, and his white coat did nothing to hide the athletic build underneath.
But it was his eyes that undid me. Deep brown with flecks of gold, holding mine with a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t quite read.
The fluorescent lights, hum of voices, and antiseptic smell all faded away, leaving nothing but him, me, and years of unspoken words hanging between us like suspended scalpels.
“Tessa?”
One word. That’s all it took for my chest to tremble. He stepped closer, and I caught the familiar scent of his body wash … the same scent that had tortured me two years ago, when everything had changed.
He glanced at the monitor, then back at me, his doctor’s eyes too observant, too careful.
I wasn’t sure what was worse: the way my heart still did backflips at the sight of him or the fact that, in about five minutes, he might discover my secret.
Either way, I was doomed.