Chapter 8
Hannah
I close my eyes as I deliver the news to my mom over the phone, my other hand gripping the stiff hospital bedrail. “Mom, don’t freak out, but I’m in the hospital.”
She gasps in my ear, the sound high-pitched enough to make me wince. “Why? What happened?”
“I was on set today, and I fell up some metal steps.”
“Did you cut yourself?” Her voice comes out calmer now, shifting into problem-solving mode.
“I grazed it, but I broke my ankle.”
“Oh no! What are they doing for you? Plastering it and putting you in a moon boot?”
She remembers from when she played volleyball.
But that was for a sprain. This is worse…
not that I want to tell her that. I need to tell her some of it, but not the details that will make her panic.
She’ll insist on coming. She’ll want me to stay, to rest, to prioritize recovery over everything else.
I can’t let that happen. I’m an adult. I’ve got this.
Am I scared? A little about the surgery, yes. But I know I can handle anything.
“The X-rays showed there’s a fracture, and the best treatment is to operate on it.”
Another gasp. “Hannah, you need me. I’ll be on the first flight.”
I smile at her concern, warmth spreading through my chest despite the sterile cold of the hospital room. God, I love my mom. “I promise I’m okay, and I’ll be back to work so fast you’ll barely see me.”
“When are you having the operation?”
“Very soon.”
I keep the exact time out of it. If she knows it’s in less than an hour, she’ll try harder to get here, to be in the waiting room.
And it’ll spiral into this huge thing when my broken ankle becomes a family crisis instead of a minor setback I can overcome.
I need her to stay in LA. I need to do this alone.
Me: (Sends a photo of my swollen, bruised foot to Brooke) Day one on set adventure.
Brooke: No way. Are you okay?
Me: I don’t have time to call and explain. I’ll call you ASAP, but I need surgery.
Brooke: Surgery. OMG, Hannah. Do you want me to come down there?
Me: No. Thanks for the offer, but I just need minor surgery. By the time you get down here, I’ll be back to work and won’t be able to spend much time with you.
I have no idea if it’s minor, but these pain medications are making me feel great. Because I’m telling myself that I’ll be back to normal in no time.
Brooke: Did they say you can go back to work?
Me: Not yet. The surgeon is a grump. But on the positive side, they gave me a quiet, big room.
Brooke: Pays to be you.
The guilt twists in my stomach as I type out my reply, my thumbs hesitating over the screen.
Me: I would’ve told him to wait until morning, but the director is an ass, so I need to be there, or he’ll use it as a reason to replace me.
Brooke: What the hell, woman. You need to call me when you can. You’ve been holding out on me. Are you in pain?
Me: No, they gave me some strong drugs. My head feels funny, but the pain is so much better.
Brooke: Oh, God. You’re stressing me out.
Me: Please don’t. I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Brooke: Oh, I will. Good luck. I love you x.
Me: I love you too x
The next forty minutes blur together. One minute, I’m hanging up with my manager, Candace, who’s already on the phone with Dain and the production company’s insurance coordinator.
She’s handling the injury report, the liability questions, and I’ve instructed her to tell them I’ll be back in a day or two and that this is a minor setback.
A nurse in her late fifties pushes me down the corridor. We stop in a small holding area outside the operating room where I talk to the anesthesiologist. She has kind eyes and a soothing voice that reminds me of my mom’s.
Then I see movement in the corner of my right eye.
Dr. Sterling stands there, arms crossed over his navy scrubs, his broad shoulders and tall frame filling the doorway.
My heart rate increases as his icy glare fixes on me, and I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong for this surgeon to give me such a disgusted look.
Now I’m worried about having surgery with him, but the nurse pushing me assured me that he was the best surgeon on staff, and if I wanted to get it fixed properly, then he’s my man.
Right now, he doesn’t look like anyone’s man. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Dr. Cooper finishes talking to me, explaining every step. Her warm, funny personality is exactly what I need when he’s standing there in the background, hovering, watching, and intimidating us with his sour mood.
She steps away, nodding at him with what looks like encouragement.
He doesn’t give her a second glance. He just grabs my file from her hands and moves toward me with long strides.
My breath catches as he comes close, and I lift my head to look up at him, waiting for him to speak. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes stay fixed on the paper clipped to the board, and I wonder if he actually meant to ask or if it’s just an automatic question. But then his gaze shifts, his head tips slightly to the side, and I realize he’s genuinely asking.
Something in me crumbles. I’ve been holding it together…
the fall, the hospital, the surgery prep, the phone calls where I pretended everything was fine.
I’ve been so focused on damage control and logistics and protecting my career that I haven’t actually let myself feel anything.
But sitting here on this gurney, about to go into surgery, with this stranger looking at me like he actually cares about the answer, it hits me.
I’m terrified.
“Truthfully?” My voice cracks. “I’m scared. I haven’t had any surgery before.”
The confession falls from my lips so easily it surprises me.
I expect him to brush my worries away with clinical detachment, but he shocks me by stepping around the gurney and taking the seat Dr. Cooper just vacated. The chair scrapes softly against the floor.
His gaze is level with mine now, and I don’t feel so small anymore.
“What scares you the most?” He lays the clipboard on his lap, his long fingers resting on its edge. His face remains blank. I can’t read a single thought behind those harsh features. He doesn’t sound bored, but his tone doesn’t scream happy to be here either.
“A few things,” I admit.
“Such as?” He raises one dark eyebrow, and even that small movement feels measured.
I sigh, my fingers twisting in the thin hospital blanket. “First, dying on the table.”
I expect him to laugh at my dramatic admission, maybe even roll his eyes. But he doesn’t. His composure remains completely professional as he says, “Dr. Cooper is a fantastic doctor. You’re in safe hands. She won’t let anything happen to you.”
“How do you know that?” I challenge.
The smallest movement twitches at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but something close to human. “I can’t guarantee anything, but you’re young and healthy. Your chances of complications are lower than most of my patients.”
“When was the last time you lost a patient?”
“On the table?” He looks away, as if he needs a moment to compose himself. “A long time ago.”
But the way he mumbles it means he remembers it, and that it’s serious enough to upset him and has me wanting to push.
“You’re not going to tell me when?”
“I need you to trust me.” He clears his throat, and when he looks back, something has softened in his expression. “I mean, the whole team in there will take very good care of you.”
He pushes his black-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t meet my gaze again, keeping his eyes trained on the paperwork like it holds all the answers.
“I trust you,” I whisper.
The muscle in his jaw pulses, and his eyes flash wide as his gaze snaps to mine. For a second, we just stare at each other, and I see something flicker there… like surprise, but it’s gone before I confirm it.
“I have your consent form for me to operate on you.” His voice is back to business now, but there’s a slight roughness to it that wasn’t there before. “Please read it carefully. Then, if you agree, I need you to sign it. And if you have questions, you’re welcome to ask.”
He hands me the paper, and our fingers brush. The contact is brief but electric, and I pull back quickly, focusing on the words before my eyes.
“Will I have a scar?”
“I’ll try to keep it small, but I don’t know how you’ll heal since you’ve never had surgery before to tell me if you’re prone to keloid scarring. But I’ll use surgical tape and give you instructions to minimize its appearance.”
I nod, moving my eyes over the form, trying to ignore the noise of the operating room beyond the thin curtain.
It’s loud with people calling out orders, monitors beeping, beds rolling past, alarms chiming.
But I focus on the consent form. It’s straightforward enough.
I take the pen from him, a plain black ballpoint that’s warm from his hand and sign my name in shaky letters.
He takes the form back, his eyes scanning my signature as he asks. “Are you ready?”
“No.” The word comes out on a breath. “But I want to get back to work, so yes.”
“I’ve got you.” The words are quiet but firm.
He reaches toward my hand, where it rests on the blanket, his fingers extending. For a moment, I think he’s actually going to take it. But then his fingers flex, curl into his palm, and he quickly pulls back. He rises from the chair and walks inside the operating room without glancing back.
I can’t read into it further because a nurse is already wheeling me in, and the lights above are so bright it makes me squint.
Dr. Cooper appears at my side, her face coming into focus above me. She whispers reassuringly as probes are stuck to my chest. The cold patches make me shiver. I feel calmer as she speaks in that mom-like voice, explaining each step.
But then I see him standing on my right, close enough that I can watch the subtle rise and fall of his chest, and my heart races. The monitor betrays me, broadcasting my accelerated heartbeat to everyone in the room.
Dr. Cooper places a mask on my face, and I breathe in the strange chemical smell. “Just count backward from ten for me, Hannah.”
“Ten… nine… eight… seven…”
Sterling is so close, his eyes on me, watching with an intensity I don’t understand, but it makes my chest ache. And then, just as the darkness edges close, his hand slides over mine. It’s the last thing I feel before I’m pulled under.