19. ANASTASIA
Chapter nineteen
T he TV hummed as I flicked through channels, looking for something, anything, to distract myself from my constantly churning thoughts. My hand froze on the remote when the local news logo flashed onto the screen underneath the scene of a horrific car wreck that evoked a feeling of déjà vu. A second later, a newscaster, poised and polished, appeared on screen.
“Tonight, we update you on the mysterious Jane Doe case,” the anchor began. The screen split, with the image of his face on one side and a series of disturbing images on the other. My heart pounded as I realized with a sickening jolt that the bloodied woman in those pictures was me.
While the anchor droned on, details of my accident materialized in my mind like a nightmarish, slow-motion film—metal twisting, glass shattering, the caustic, metallic taste of blood. The sharp, visceral memory of pain shot through me as I remembered fleeing the dark Volkov garage. I’d been in a panic, the urgent need to escape overriding everything else. I still couldn’t piece together why I’d run or what I’d been running from, but the anchor’s mention of the Volkov name kindled a flicker of recognition.
“And as police prepare for her discharge from the hospital, they hope she will be able to shed some light on the incident that left her hospitalized and with amnesia,” the reporter continued.
My battered face appeared on the screen again, and anger surged through me. It was invasive, seeing myself like that, displayed for all the world as some evening-news spectacle. I’d received no calls from worried family or friends—just endless speculation from strangers. No one had come forward to claim me. I’d had no tearful reunions with relieved friends. Just silence. Was I really so alone? Did no one miss me at all?
The news shifted to another story, but the damage was done. I turned off the TV. The screen went dark and plunged the room back into silence.
Lying back, I tried to process the flood of emotions—the fear, the frustration, the loneliness.
The realization that no one cared about me, that I was utterly alone in this world, hit me hard. Tears welled in my eyes. God, was I such a terrible person?
I stared up at the sterile white ceiling. At least there were a few kind people who’d reached out to help me. My thoughts drifted back to one of Conan’s visits—how he’d swaggered in with that cocky grin of his and a bag of those disgustingly sweet treats he claimed were “just what the doctor ordered.”
“ Yeah, ’cause sugar comas are totally therapeutic, ” I had teased, but he’d just winked and ruffled my hair, his large hands surprisingly gentle. He loved those doughnut holes and could pop two in his mouth at once.
His presence always seemed to make the room warmer. I found myself drawn to his tattoos, curious about each one and the story they told. His rough exterior contradicted the kindness in his eyes when he looked at me. This paradox drew me in—it was a mystery I wanted to unravel. The protectiveness in his voice when he spoke to me sent fiery little tingles straight between my legs.
Then there was Samantha, with her fiery attitude and that unfiltered sass that made even Conan blush. Chuckling, I thought about how she and Dr. Thorin were such an odd match—him with his formal and meticulous ways, and her with her feisty, unapologetic gusto. Outside the hospital setting, I wondered how they managed to get along. I was curious about their unlikely pairing and eager to get to know them better. Was Dr. Thorin more relaxed at home?
I sighed, rolling onto my side as I tried to find sleep, my mind stubbornly replaying Conan’s last visit. I hoped I wasn’t tied to some other man, because there was no denying my attraction to him. As sleep finally began to claim me, my last thoughts drifted to what it might be like to be held by him, for him to touch me not just in passing but with intention—with desire.
The sun was barely up when Samantha burst into my room, one arm laden with what looked like an entire rack from her favorite boutique while she dragged a suitcase behind her with the other hand. She flopped the armful of clothes onto the small round table in the corner and turned toward me; her face lighting up with excitement and mischief .
“Rise and shine, Angel! It’s makeover time. I brought you some essentials.” She lugged the suitcase up onto my bed, flipping it open to reveal more clothes, some shoes, and an array of toiletries and makeup. “I figured you’d want something other than hospital chic for the rest of your stay and grand exit.”
I eyed the contents, my cheeks heating up. It was all so overwhelming. “Sam, this is too much. I can’t accept all this. You planning on dressing me up for a runway or a mug shot?” I joked, trying to infuse some humor into the situation to mask my embarrassment.
She shot me a knowing look, placing her hands on her hips. “Girl, with how good you’re going to look, you’ll be ready for either.” She tossed me a pair of leggings, a sports bra, and a tee. “Here, start with these. Comfy enough for physical therapy and loads better than the hospital gown you’ve been sporting.”
“Sam, you’ve practically brought an entire store here.”
With a smile, she waved off my protest and started pulling out more items. “Here, you’ve got some comfy stuff to relax in, some workout gear for your PT, and something a bit nicer for your…um, photoshoot down at the station.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at her phrasing. “Photoshoot, huh? If only the booking and arraignment were more like a day on vacation.”
As I stepped into the bathroom to change, I heard her rummaging through the suitcase. “You know,” she said contemplatively, “when those mafia goons trashed my place, I was left with pretty much nothing. It sucked having to accept help, especially from Atticus. I was so used to handling things on my own.”
“Yeah, boy can I relate,” I said as I slid into the clothes she’d tossed me. Wearing real clothes for the first time in weeks felt so nice. I’d never appreciated how great everyday things were until I had to go without them. These comfy leggings and this T-shirt made me feel like a million bucks. Oh God, how badly I wanted out of this hospital and out from under whatever legal matters I’d gotten myself into.
When I walked out of the bathroom, Sam was holding up a bottle of shampoo like it was a trophy. “But I learned it’s okay to let others lend a hand. We all need a boost sometimes. Consider this me paying it forward. One day, when all this is a distant memory, you’ll help someone in need, and it’ll feel just as good.”
“Thanks, Sam. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you, but I promise I’ll pay you back.”
She waved off my concern with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t sweat it. Just focus on getting out of here. Besides… Good news, Atticus’s attorney has sorted out your booking and arraignment so they coincide with your release. Everything will happen on the same day. One less thing to worry about, right?”
“So, I’ll be crashing at your place for a while, huh?”
“Yes, I’ve got your room all set up. I can’t wait to have another girl staying in the house, because it’s always filled with Atticus and his two rowdy brothers. I could use a little more estrogen in the place to balance it all out. Even the dog is a boy.”
I laughed, thinking about her surrounded by the Thorin brothers. Based on what I’d learned from being around Conan and Atticus, they all had intense personalities.
“After you’re done with the arraignment, I’ve got a big dinner planned to celebrate your release from the hospital and all. Atticus loves to cook in his fancy kitchen. It’s one of his favorite pastimes. Bethany, my best friend, is coming over along with the boys. It’ll be a great way to take your mind off everything that’s happened and have some normalcy,” she said, smiling from ear to ear .
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh good, from jailbird to party animal, all in one day. Let’s hope the only bars I ever see are made of chocolate. Hospital food is bad enough. I can only imagine how awful food is in jail.”
“Exactly!” she said, laughing.
She finished unpacking and showed me everything she’d brought. It felt like Christmas. She was making this whole daunting process seem like it was no big thing. With a friend like Sam, maybe I could get through this whole ordeal.
“I’ve got to get to work, but I’ll be back soon,” she said, heading for the door. “If you need anything, tell one of the nurses to call me.”
“Will do. And thanks again for everything. I’m still stunned by it all. If you ever want to give up nursing, you could have a second career as a personal shopper for the rich and famous.”
That made her laugh as she walked out and closed the door behind her.
The things she’d brought not only got rid of the sterile hospital vibe but also sparked a flicker of hope inside me. As I sifted through the clothes again, I was finally able to imagine an end to being confined in the hospital. Freedom had never sounded so good. I was motivated all the more to work hard in the gym to get my strength back.
A little while later, a tech came to my room with a wheelchair. “Are you ready for some PT?” he asked.
“Sure, but what’s the wheelchair for?” I asked, squinching up my nose.
“Procedures. You’ve got to prove you’re safe to get down there on your own before you can go without a ride.” He shrugged.
“Do I need to bring anything with me? ”
“Nope, just a good attitude and comfortable clothes. Looks like you’ve got that covered,” he said. Then he swept his arm out dramatically as if offering me a spot on an amusement park ride.
I smiled and plopped down in the chair, and then we were off, the dutiful officer in tow. As fast as the tech was walking and taking the turns, you would have thought I was in a race car, not a wheelchair.
The PT gym was bustling when we got there, filled with the sounds of machines whirring and weights clanking. Liz, my physical therapist, greeted me, clipboard in hand. “Ready to work hard today?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with challenge. Liz had worked with me every day since I regained consciousness, ensuring I was physically able to perform basic tasks and would be safe once we moved to the gym.
“Let’s do it,” I replied, pulling my hair back into a ponytail with a hairband Sam had brought me.
We began with a warm-up—some simple stretches that should have been easy. I reached for my toes, felt the pull in my hamstrings, and was surprised by their resistance to my efforts. Next, Liz guided me through a series of arm circles and shoulder shrugs, which loosened me up but also highlighted how stiff my body had become.
“Now, let’s see where you’re at with some resistance bands,” Liz suggested, handing me one of the lighter ones. As I pulled my hands outward, stretching the band, I found the resistance unexpectedly fierce. My arms trembled from the effort. “It’s okay, Angel. Take it slow,” Liz encouraged as she noted my struggle.
“I don’t want to take it slow,” I shot back out of frustration, but I continued on with the rest of the sets.
I switched to some small dumbbells. The weights, seemingly light, felt like boulders in my hands. I gritted my teeth as I lifted them. I could barely complete the three sets without my arms shaking. After doing several more types of exercises, exasperation bubbled up. I was dismayed at how weak I was. But I set my jaw and pushed through.
“Let’s work on your core strength,” Liz directed after I set the weights down. I did some basic sit-ups and planks. Each movement was a battle, my core muscles quivering with each lift. “You’ve got this, Angel,” Liz kept saying, standing by my side.
Next, we moved to legs, using various machines. The weights, which were set lower than I would have liked, were still an intense challenge, and I found myself getting even more disgusted with my lack of fitness. This wasn’t me. I used to be fit, athletic even. I might not be able to remember my past workouts, but in my heart, I was certain I had always been strong and healthy.
“Time for some cardio to wrap this up,” Liz announced, and we moved to the long line of treadmills facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. I started with a slow walk, gradually increasing the speed. Soon my breaths were heavy, my heart pounding as if I was running a marathon. I met Liz’s gaze, expecting pity. But there was none. Just a fierce sort of expectation. “Every rep is a step back to who you were, Angel. You’re doing great.”
Finally, we ended with some cooldown stretches, which gave me a moment to catch my breath and reflect. I was dripping with sweat, breathing hard, and my muscles ached, but making it through the workout session felt like a small victory.
I caught my reflection in the mirror—a flushed face with an ugly scar—but at least I was up and moving. Weak or not, today I had started my journey to get the hell out of this place.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Liz said as she wiped down the equipment.
“Absolutely,” I responded .
Liz had made a note in my chart that I could walk between my room and the gym rather than ride. I would have been excited if it weren’t for my constant Tacoma PD chaperone. It was so embarrassing. I swore I’d never get myself into this kind of situation again. Ugh!
I headed back to my room, taking each step slowly, my body reminding me of the workout I’d just completed. Despite my physical weakness, today a fire had been lit inside of me. Even though I was shocked by my body’s limitations, I wouldn’t let this setback define me. Each day was a chance to regain a part of myself, and I was determined to keep fighting, no matter how tough it got. Tomorrow, I’d be back, ready to push even harder.
When I swung open the door to my room, Conan was there, sprawled out on the chair next to the bed like he owned the place, flipping through a magazine. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and a cheeky smile spread across his face.
“Damn, if it isn’t the hottest patient in the hospital,” he teased, his eyes slowly tracing the lines of my body, starting at my face and working their way down to my toes before bouncing back up. “Those leggings should come with a warning label.”
That made me laugh, and as I leaned against the doorframe—still catching my breath—I felt a rush of my old self return. That workout might have wiped me out, but I was ready for his flirtatious wordplay.
“Watch it, big guy, or you might need an eye-raping warning label yourself,” I said, giving him a coy little side-eye.
Leaning forward, he set the magazine down and propped his elbows on his knees. His build made the hospital chair look like it was made for children. “So, when you busting out of this joint? I go to a pretty hardcore CrossFit box. You think you’re ready to train with me once you’re out? Or would that be too much for a pretty little princess like you? ”
His teasing struck a nerve.
Walking past him and trying not to let him see how spent my muscles were after that pitiful workout, I grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table. Conan got to his feet, his sheer size dwarfing me. Standing this close to him for the first time, I realized how small I was.
I smirked, popping the cap off the water. “Oh, please. You wouldn’t be able to keep up. I might not remember my workouts, but I have a feeling I was pretty in shape.”
Conan crossed his arms, pretending to size me up. “Is that a challenge, Angel? Because you have to know I never back down from one of those.”
I rolled my eyes and popped my hip out, jamming my fist onto it. “Oh, so you’re one of those guys who can’t back down from a challenge, huh? How original. Your ego must be a full-time job to maintain.”
“Are you seriously rolling your eyes at me and getting mouthy? I thought your amnesia would come with a better sense of survival, my sassy angel.” His voice had dropped to a low, gravelly timbre, sending a shiver down my spine.
I let out a defiant laugh. “Who knows, maybe that’s my innate personality coming to the surface and erupting out of my mouth? I can’t be held responsible for anything I say these days.”
“That may be true, but the eye roll—that was all you, sweetheart. And if there’s one thing you need to know, it’s that doing that will get you more than you bargain for with me.”
Oooh, I wanted to ask him so badly if that was a promise, but the way he was towering over me, nostrils flaring and pupils blown wide, I didn’t dare. I swallowed hard and chose to change the subject.
“Hmm, I believe I’ve always liked finding a good bargain, but your price seems a little much.” I gave him a half-shrug, taking a step back to put a little distance between us. Heat was rising from the center of my chest to the top of my head.
He squinted and smirked, knowing good and well he’d rattled my cage and drawn out the trouble-seeking side of me that lurked beneath the surface. “Angel, I do have to wonder just who you are.”
“Well, if you figure that out, let me know. Because I don’t know who the hell I am.” I meant for my words to sound teasing, but they came out with a sharp edge. All this banter and innuendo was more than my poor broken mind could handle.
He laughed, and the corners of his eyes crinkled, giving him a roguish appeal. Damn, was this guy hot, and here I was, a sweaty, scarred mess, taking him on as if I was wearing my best pair of stilettos. Time for a U-turn.
I slapped on my charm-school smile and straightened my back. “It was so nice of you to drop by today, but I seriously need a shower. I’m a grimy mess,” I said, hoping he would get the hint that it was time for him to leave.
Conan raised an eyebrow, stepping closer with a grin that spelled trouble. “Need help with your back? I’m pretty handy with a washcloth.”
I laughed, shaking my head at his audacity. “Dream on, Conan. It’ll take more than your charm to get that kind of privilege.”
He mock-gasped, placing a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch, you wound me. And here I thought I was irresistible. Women are usually dragging me into their shower, not the other way around.”
“Well, I’m not just any woman,” I shot back, turning to gather my shower things.
“You got that right,” he agreed with a nod. “All right, guess I’d better stop joking around and leave you to it then. How about I bring you dinner later? Something better than the dreaded hospital meat loaf?”
“That sounds amazing,” I said. “And if you’re coming back, don’t forget your guitar. The food’s great, but your music? That’s what I could really go for. Oh, and maybe one of your old T-shirts for me to hang out in.”
Conan laughed, heading for the door. “Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into with you? I think I’ve created a pint-sized diva!”
His laughter echoed down the hallway as he walked away, leaving a smile on my face. It felt good to have moments like these—light, teasing, almost normal. It was a reminder that not everything in my world was heavy and complicated. With each banter-filled visit, Conan not only brought a piece of the outside world but also a piece of me back to life. I was already looking forward to what he would bring back for dinner—food, music, and maybe just a little more.