Chapter 14
Hannah
“Do you want a hand inside?” Channing asks as he pulls the car into the driveway, his voice cutting through my exhausted haze. The throb in my ankle pulses in time with my heartbeat. “Please,” I say, managing a smile as I push open the passenger door.
Channing’s already there, his hand steady under my elbow as he helps me out.
The street is quiet, and only the distant sounds of birds and trees rustling can be heard.
It’s been a long day, and all I can think about is crawling into bed.
I could sleep for twenty-four hours straight, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I lean heavily on Channing, my crutch gripped tight in my other hand. I don’t even bother offering to help with my things. There’s no way I could manage them, not when I can barely manage myself.
Inside, I sink into the sofa, trying to hide just how much I’m struggling. My leg throbs as I adjust my position and bite back a wince.
“I’ll grab your stuff,” Channing says, already heading back to the door.
“Thanks, Channing.”
I try to muster another smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
He’s back minutes later with my other crutch and my bag slung over his shoulder. His face creases with concern as he studies me. “Did you want me to order you some dinner?”
“No. You’ve been great, but I’m sure I can order something. Or I should be able to find something in my kitchen. Thanks anyway.” I wave a hand dismissively, though the gesture feels weak.
He nods slowly, not looking entirely convinced. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Goodnight.” I wave as he walks out, and the second the door clicks shut, I let my smile drop.
My head pounds in rhythm with my heartbeat as I grab my purse and rummage through it for the strong pills. The ones that’ll actually knock the pain down to something manageable.
Finding them, I push myself up from the sofa, my ankle screaming in protest, and hop to the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and swallow the pills before making my way down the short hallway to the bedroom.
I collapse onto the bed and prop myself up against the upholstered headboard. I just want to lie here for a minute before I get up and get changed. With the girls helping me so much, I want to give back, so I decide to text my friend Nikkita for Jaina.
I find Nikkita’s contact and open our message thread. The last exchange was months ago. I type out a message:
Me: Hey. I know it’s been forever. How’s the business?
Nikkita: Hannah. Finally. It’s insane. Swamped with events. You good?
Me: Busy with filming, but good. Actually, I’m messaging about business. Do you need makeup artists in LA?
Nikkita: I’m always looking for talented people. Why?
Me: I have someone. She’s amazing. Does my makeup here, and she’s been wanting to move to LA.
Nikkita: If you can vouch for her, she’s in. Send me her info.
Me: Her name is Jaina. But she can’t leave for about 3 months. We’re still filming.
Nikkita: No problem. When she’s ready, she’s got a spot.
Me: You’re amazing. Thank you. This will mean so much to her.
Nikkita: That’s what friends do. Miss you though. We need to catch up properly.
Me: I know. I’m sorry. Once this wraps, I promise we’ll organize a dinner.
My phone rings with an incoming call. I hit send on my message to Nikkita, and then answer. “Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”
“I’m good,” I start to say, but a yawn takes over. “Sorry.”
“I hope you’re not pushing yourself.” I can picture her pacing the kitchen back home.
“I’m not,” I reassure her, even though we both know I am.
“Do you want me to come there?”
“No. I saw the doctor today for a checkup.” I shift against the pillows, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“How was that?”
The question makes my stomach flutter unexpectedly. My mind flashes back to the examination room.
Dr. Sterling, with his serious blue eyes and that stern expression that makes him look angry all the time. Until he looks at me, and something shifts.
Heat creeps up my neck at the way his fingers wrapped around my bicep when I wobbled getting onto the table.
How his entire body went rigid, like touching me had done something to him.
His jaw was so tight, I could see the muscle popping beneath the skin when I mentioned my work, like he was actually angry on my behalf.
Not the polite, professional concern of a doctor, but something raw and protective.
And that moment. God, that moment when I first sat on the examination table, and he took in my outfit, his expression barely changed, trained into the neutral doctor mask, but his eyes…
they tracked down from my face, lingering at my cleavage as his throat bobbed.
His fingers flexed at his sides, like he had to physically remind himself not to reach out and touch me more.
My breath caught in my throat, heat pooling low as I realized that stoic, unreadable Dr. Sterling was struggling to maintain his composure, and it was because of me.
Then later, when he lifted his glasses and propped them on his head, his eyes suddenly met mine, and my stomach did this stupid flip. Without the barrier of the lenses, I could see the way his pupils dilated.
And at the end, when I touched his forearm to thank him, he tensed. Every muscle in his arm went taut as his gaze dropped to my mouth.
There’s something there. Some pull between us that makes the air feel charged whenever we’re in the same room. My pulse raced the entire appointment, and even now, just thinking about him, I feel that same flutter in my chest.
Or maybe I’m just reading into nothing. Maybe he looks at all his patients that way, and I’m just desperate to feel something other than pain and exhaustion. So I’m making up attraction where there isn’t any.
But God, I hope I’m not imagining it.
“Hannah?” Mom’s voice cuts through my daydream. “You still there?”
“Sorry, yes. I’m here.” I clear my throat, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my body. “He said everything looks as it should.”
“That’s great news.” Her voice sounds distant in the next breath, like she’s turned away from the phone. “Honey, guess what? Hannah’s ankle is going to be okay.”
She must be telling Dad. My chest squeezes tight with homesickness, replacing that warm flutter with an ache. I miss them. Miss the easy comfort of home, of Mom fussing over me in person instead of through a phone, of Dad’s terrible jokes at weekly dinner at their place.
“That’s great,” Dad calls back.
“What else did he say?” Mom asks, her attention back on me.
My mind flashes again to the way Dr. Sterling’s eyes traced over my legs, the way he looked almost pained when he told me I needed to rest. It wasn’t what he said, exactly. It was everything he didn’t say; all the tension crackling in the silence between his words.
“Just keep resting. Nothing different from what I’ve been doing.” I keep my voice casual, even as my heart picks up speed, remembering.
“How are you managing work?”
“I have the scooter for shooting, and I use crutches for everything else.” I try to sound upbeat, like it’s totally fine and not at all frustrating.
“Are you eating?”
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “Yes, Mom.”
I’ll work on putting together something to eat after we hang up. I have some ramen and cooking supplies in the pantry. I can manage something simple that won’t require me to stand for too long.
“Taking your pain reliever?”
“Yep. Just took some, and I’m lying in bed right now.” The medication is already starting to work, making everything feel heavy, and the throbbing has settled down to a dull ache.
“Are you elevating your leg?”
“Doing it now.” I grab the pillow next to me, wincing as I slide it under my foot.
“I’m still thinking I should come down there.”
“No, Mom. I don’t need anyone. I promise. I’ve got it handled. I have an assistant on set.” My words are starting to slur slightly, exhaustion and medication pulling me under.
Clearly not convinced, she makes a disgruntled sound. “Are you sure?”
“I promise you’ll be the first person I call if I need more help.”
“Okay, good.” Her voice softens, satisfied for now. I yawn again, this one so big my jaw clicks.
“I better go, Mom. I’m tired.”
“Alright. Goodnight. I’m glad it’s healing well.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too. Night, sweetheart.”
I hang up just as my stomach rumbles—a sound that reminds me I haven’t eaten since lunch—but my body feels way too heavy to get up and make anything.
The bed has me in its grip; the white duvet soft beneath me, and the pillow under my injured foot perfectly positioned.
I’ll just close my eyes for five minutes, and then I’ll get up.
My phone slips from my hand onto the mattress beside me as my eyes drift shut, Dr. Sterling’s face still lingering in my mind. Those piercing eyes behind his glasses.
Five minutes, that’s all I need…