Chapter 18
HANNA
I’m going to kill my dads.
While I was out for my Saturday morning stroll with my dad, he let me in on the small detail that George was home sick with the flu.
‘Wilson the cat is playing nurse while I’m out with you, they’ll be fine without me for an hour or so.
’ When I protested that he should have stayed home and kept his germs to himself, he told me I was being dramatic and he felt fine.
Well, he felt fine until Sunday morning when he called to warn me that he was now sick with whatever George had and that I should ‘maybe brace for impact.’ While it took roughly a day or so to get to me, the impact finally came somewhere between the hours of two and three in the morning last night when my stomach did a barrel roll, waking me up and forcing me to beeline for the bathroom.
I’m not one to get sick very often, but when I feel the shivers ripple over my body, I know it’s only the beginning.
After emptying my stomach, I do my best to push to my feet and get myself some water after brushing my teeth.
Once I’m back in bed, I roll over and adjust my alarm to wake me up around seven instead of six like normal.
I’ll wake up, email my clients canceling their sessions for today and tomorrow, and try to kick this bug as fast as possible.
With Thanksgiving being Thursday, many of my clients are out of town anyway so my work load is lighter than normal.
What feels like five minutes later, I roll over again to the sound of my phone buzzing on my nightstand. My head is throbbing and I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck but I do what I can to swing my arm over and grab it.
“Hello?” I groan, not even bothering to look at who’s calling.
“Hanna, you’re okay. Thank god.” A deep voice sighs on the other end of the phone.
“Who is this?” I mumble, pulling my duvet closer to my chin. My eyes are closed as I don’t have the energy to open them.
He chuckles and clears his throat. “It’s Miles.”
My eyes spring open finally and I glance at the caller ID. Sure enough Miles Adler is spinning across the screen.
“You in there? I’ve knocked a few times since the door to your lobby is locked but by the sounds of things, you just woke up.”
I sit up quickly but regret it instantly.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I’m reminded that it’s Monday and our session should have started ten minutes ago.
We rescheduled it when my normal Monday morning session canceled and he said he still wanted to meet this week if we could. I must have slept through my alarm.
Shit.
“Oh my goodness, Miles, I’m so sorry but I–I’m…
hold on one second,” I hurry out before rushing for the bathroom again.
I toss my phone on the vanity counter and make it just in time before my body wrenches and turns itself inside out.
I try to take a few deep breaths before flushing to make sure I’m done.
Unable to get myself on my feet again, I crawl towards my phone.
“I’m sorry, Miles, but I’m going to have to cancel today. I’m not feeling well and—”
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice turns serious.
Rolling over on the cold tile floor, I lie. “Yeah, yep. I’m fine. I just have the touch of the flu, that’s all. I’ll be fine next week when we’re back on our normal schedule.”
“What’s your address?” he cuts me off.
“Why do you need to know my address?”
“Because no one has ‘a touch of the flu’ and I want to make sure you’re okay. Now, your address, doc?”
I sigh and use the back of my hand to wipe my forehead. “I’m not giving you my address, Miles. I told you I’m fine. I’ll call my parents. The minute they hear I’m sick the three of them will be rushing over ready to play Ms. Doubtfire.”
“Hanna, if you don’t tell me where you live I’ll get it from Coop. He’s a cop, it won’t take him much to look you up and tell me where you live,” he argues.
It’s sweet that he cares this much. Wait, no, it’s not. He is a patient and I cannot let my patients be sweet towards me.
“I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of something illegal in that.” If I had more energy my banter would be better but since I’m pretty sure I’m going to get sick again, this is the best I’ve got.
“Who would you rather have come and check on you: me or all three of your parents?”
I can just see the smirk on his face—tipped up in the corner, showing off a hint of his smile and the chipped tooth he has. Maybe one day he’ll tell me how he got it.
I sigh again. “I’ll text it to you.”
“See, now was that so hard?” he teases. “If you don’t text me in the next five minutes, I’m calling Coop and having him pull your driver’s license information. Think about how not fun it would be if multiple cruisers were sitting outside your building and the cops came knocking on your door.”
“Whatever you say, fireman. Key is under the mat, you can let yourself in,” I say as my eyes start to feel heavier and heavier.
I try to focus on how nice the cold tile feels against my burning skin and wonder how long it’ll be before he’s here.
I tell myself I need to get back in bed but the floor feels so nice.
Maybe just five minutes, I tell myself. Five minutes would be okay, right?
“Hanna,” I hear his voice calling out to me. It’s deep and makes my insides warm but not in the ‘I’m sick and feel like shit kinda way.’ Warm in a kind of way you want to feel all night long and every day if possible.
“Miles,” I hum back, almost moaning.
“Hanna,” he says again, only this time he feels closer.
This is a pretty wild fever dream I’m having because I can almost feel him touching me.
My arms, then my head, then he’s holding my cheeks, framing my face and leaning in closer.
The closer he gets, the more I can smell his aftershave and the more lost in the fantasy I get.
My insides buzz with an energy I haven’t felt in what feels like forever and I want nothing more than for him to kiss me.
“Please, I want you to kiss me,” I whisper, pushing my face closer to his.
A low, comfortable chuckle sends a fresh wave of energy through me. “Maybe another time, doc. Come on, we need to get you off the floor.”
It’s then that it hits me that this isn’t a dream.
This is a real life, Miles-is-talking-to-me moment and I just begged him to kiss me.
Pushing my eyes open, I’m surprised to see his massive frame crouching over me, a smile painted across his lips.
I reach for his forehead and push a piece of hair out of the way to confirm I’m not hallucinating and sure enough, I’m not.
“Why are you standing over me like that?” I ask. My throat feels like someone’s rubbed it raw with sandpaper. I crush my eyes closed at the pain the bright bathroom lights are inducing.
“Because when I came in I found you on the floor. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen or hit your head.
You didn’t fall and hit your head, did you?
I have a few concussion tests we can go through if you did.
Carter or Willow could come check on you, too, for an official diagnosis.
” While his tone is serious, there’s a hint of humor in it that makes me smile.
“Do you have someone on speed dial for everything?”
“Kind of, yeah.” He shrugs. “Carter is an EMT turned firefighter and Coop is a cop. His sister, Willow, is a nurse and my mom, Ivy, well she’s a mom and moms know everything.”
“You’ll have to tell me more about them. They sound like really nice people.”
“One day, doc, one day. First let’s get you off the floor and into your bed, it’ll be far more comfortable there.”
“If you say so,” I grumble.
Before I can push myself up and stand, he’s looping an arm under my shoulders and another under my waist. “Are you okay if I lift you?”
“Uhh, I guess—”
He doesn’t wait for me to fully answer before picking me up off the floor. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck as he carries me from the bathroom back to my bed. When we reach it, he lowers me down carefully and pulls the blankets back so I can settle in.
“There you go,” he soothes, pulling the blanket higher up and tucking me in. “Can I get you anything? Water? Anything to eat?”
“Can you hand me my laptop please? I have to do something for work real quick. It’s on the kitchen counter in my bag,” I ask, pointing a feeble finger towards the door. I can feel the fever sucking all my energy dry and even the smallest gestures feel like massive feats of athleticism.
“You can’t seriously want to work right now? Hanna, you’re sick. You need to rest, not work.”
“I have to email my patients and tell them I’m not coming in.
The drawbacks of working for yourself is you have to do it all on your own, even when you feel like death has rolled over you,” I explain, looking at him with as much strength as I can muster.
His lips press into a line and he seems to consider my words.
“Okay, fine, but after that, no more work. Got it?” He raises a brow at me to show me he means business.
“Whatever you say, fireman,” I tease with a half-smile.
Before leaving my side, he brushes a piece of sweaty hair off my face and studies me for a beat. Then, he quickly walks out of my room before coming back with my laptop.
“Can I do this for you? The last thing I need is for you to say it’s ‘one quick thing’ and then suddenly you’re working all day.” He hands me the laptop but doesn’t let it go when I reach for it.
“No, you can’t do this for me. Client patient privilege prevents that. I promise, though, it’s only a few quick emails and then I’m done.” Reaching up with my other hand, I offer him my pinky. He smiles at the gesture and locks his pinky with mine.
“I’m sitting right here while you send them and once you’re done, I’m confiscating that thing for the rest of the day.”
I nod in agreement and quickly shoot off a few emails.
Thankfully, I prepared for any illness I might experience when I first started my practice so it doesn’t take more than a few clicks to send prewritten emails out to my patients letting them know we’ll have to reschedule.
When I’m done, I happily hand my computer over.
“All done.”
“Good, now rest. If you need anything, I’ll be out here. Water, snacks, help to the bathroom, anything, you just let me know. Got it?”
I stare at him for a beat and can’t help but take in more of his features.
Ones I’ve seen before but never truly seen.
Like how his hair curls in different directions and is a deep brown with hints of red in it.
How he has a scar above his eye that’s faded but still noticeable if you look close enough.
And how his chin dimples when he smirks at you and every time he does, I want to press my finger into it.
“I got it,” I finally answer.
When he offers me his pinky, I can’t help but laugh and take it in mine. Standing from the edge of the bed, he starts to head for the living room but stops when I call out to him.
“Hey, Miles?”
“Yeah, doc?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Thanks for coming over. It means a lot to me that you did.”
He smirks, showing off that dimple again. “I always show up for the people who matter to me.”
Then he closes the door softly behind him and it isn’t long before sleep takes me once again.