4. Thalia
Chapter four
Thalia
Iswear, if I open my eyes and see that old nurse hovering over me, I’m punching her right in the fucking trachea.
I crack my eyes open, ready for a literal war against the grey nurse who sedated me, but relax the moment I notice I’m alone in my room.
There are two large windows to the right of me, showcasing the nighttime skyline over Miami.
There’s a tray of untouched food beside me, and my face twists at what could be waiting under the dark cover shrouding the plate.
The steady beeping of the monitor behind me is uniform and loud in its annoying rhythm.
This is hell.
I woke up in the underworld.
Fuck! I wish that fall had killed me.
I shift up, hissing at the pain that travels through my shoulder. I glance down, stopping when I notice the bandage wrapped around me. My hospital-issued gown is hanging half open, but I’m covered as if someone took their time to make sure nothing indecent was showing.
Dr. Dreamy.
I’m shunted into a memory of handsome, sharp features and light brown eyes with specks of gold in them.
He was older, maybe middle thirties, with dark stubble and a strong nose.
There was a scar over his right eyebrow, pale and healed as if whatever happened to him was too long ago for it to have been within the last ten years.
His coat obscured most of him, but the moment I saw those massive hands, I knew what he was packing beneath his uniform.
The messy hair and the profound, deep emotion in his eyes were like looking into a fucking mirror. I saw myself in this complete stranger, and I had no idea who he was.
My time before the second set of anesthesia circles back, and the way he spoke so casually to me has my brow furrowing.
And what’s your name, Mystery Girl?
My pulse pounds at the memory. I know the nickname was only his way of squeezing information out of me, but Christ, did it work…
Hearing the deep purr of his voice, and the amused chuckle, was awakening. Like he didn’t do it often, and this was all for me.
Oh, I’m a fucking nutcase.
But when have I ever cared about that?
There was just something so…different about him. A small, very insane part of me seems to believe that I could show him who I am and he wouldn’t run screaming for the hills.
That part of me is also stupid and thinks that blowing things up is the easiest way to get out of stuff I don’t want to do.
Rowan wants to have a family meeting?
Cut the brakes on his truck so he’s stuck dealing with that all afternoon.
Atlas is angry because I “stole his next target?” (I did.)
Send a random bouquet of roses to the bakery, addressed to his wife. That usually keeps him busy for about a week on a wild goose chase.
My god. I am a fucking menace…
Maybe that’s why Alana put that AirTag on me last year.
My best friend was even more pissed when I dropped it into the bottom of some river in Michigan. She did it to keep track of me, but I can’t be contained to some small devil disk that fits comfortably in my backpack.
Fuck. Where is my backpack?
I look around my room, careful not to pull my IV out unless I want to entice a whole crew of nurses to fly to my aid.
I curse when I come up short, but stop when I notice my phone resting face down on the food tray.
I grab it before flicking on the screen and wincing at the insane amount of calls and texts from my family.
I read a few of them, sinking lower in my bed at the realization that I had missed Loxley’s baby shower.
Loxley:
Thalia??? Are you okay? Pick up your phone! We’re worried sick about you.
Alana:
I KNEW I should have put another AirTag on you! Call me, please! I just want to know that you’re safe.
Connor:
You have my wife going crazy over here. Make it back, or I’m finding you myself.
Atlas:
I know you can hold your own, Thal, but you’ve got the whole fucking compound looking for you right now. If you’re dead, I’m going to revive you, then strangle your ass. (Also, I ate the leftovers in your fridge.)
“That asshole,” I mutter before scrolling through the rest.
Addison:
Hey, girlie! You can’t go getting kidnapped or anything. That’s my job. Everyone is freaking out over here. Text to let SOMEONE know you’re okay before Row Row loses his shit.
Rowan:
WHY THE FUCK DID I JUST GET A CALL FROM JACKSON MEMORIAL THAT YOU’VE BEEN SHOT AND HAD SURGERY? PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE!
I toss my device down on the bed, resting my head back as I close my eyes. I can’t believe I missed the baby shower…
“Of all the things I could screw up,” I sigh.
The door to my room opens, and my head shoots up as a nurse with blonde hair flutters into the room. She stops when she notices I’m awake and smiles. “Well, good morning, Sunshine! How are you feeling?”
Violent.
“Fine,” I lie through gritted teeth.
The nurse hums as she messes with my IV. “Your fluids are almost done. How’s your stomach feeling? Anesthesia can cause loss of appetite, but it’s best if you eat something.”
I would rather gnaw off my own ankle than eat whatever mystery meat is under the brown cover.
My nurse doesn’t seem to pick up on my refusal as she marks something down in my chart. “Any pain?”
“No,” I mutter.
“Your doctor will be making rounds in the morning. If you have any questions, make sure to have them ready for him.” She says as she closes out my chart and heads for the door.
“Wait!” I perk up, catching her attention. “Is my doctor the same one who did surgery on me?”
Her brow creases. “You must be talking about Dr. Bellamy. No, hun. He’s off tonight and he’s an ER surgeon.”
I wilt a little. “Could I request him?”
The nurse smiles. “I’ll pass on the message for you.”
I thought about throwing the food tray at her because she didn’t sound convincing at all, but I know if I want to see Dr. Dreamy again, I need to be on my best behavior.
I rest my head back, staring out at the city lights in the distance.
I concoct my own plan to get Dr. Dreamy to my room. If only he knew…