Chapter 16
Hannah
Dr. Sterling is wearing army cargo pants and a white t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders.
But that’s not even the worst part. His arms are completely visible, all corded muscle on full display, and he’s jacked.
There’s a thick vein running from his bicep down to his hand, which clenches into a fist as he takes me in.
“Miss Morgan?” His deep voice cuts through my trance.
“Sorry. Ah… yeah.” Heat floods my cheeks.
Now that I’m actually looking at him, I realize he wasn’t working. But where had he been dressed like that? His dark hair is slightly mussed—nothing like his usual polished appearance.
A loud beep pierces the tension. I don’t know where it’s coming from until Mr. Peltz pulls something from his pocket. A pager.
“I need to go. Will you be okay?” Mr. Peltz asks me, his eyes narrowing as he studies my face, making sure I’m being honest with him.
I appreciate his concern. He’s been kind and professional, checking on my recovery, advocating for me. But there’s also relief flooding me at the thought of him leaving. Because now it’ll be just me and Dr. Sterling. In a hospital room, alone.
I force a smile. Dr. Sterling isn’t a problem… well, only one for my hormones. My cheeks burn, and I’m grateful I’m still wearing my set makeup, hoping it’s hiding my flush.
“I’m good. Thanks for looking after me.”
His face softens. “Anytime.” He turns to Dr. Sterling, and something passes between them, an unspoken understanding. “You know where to find me if you need me.”
Dr. Sterling nods once, and we both watch Mr. Peltz leave. The door clicks shut with a finality that makes my pulse jump.
We turn to each other and speak at the same time.
“Where have you been?” I blurt out as he asks, “How did you do this?”
His stern expression annoys me instantly. It reminds me of Dain, and I hate it. It’s bad enough I’m unlucky, or “clumsy,” as my mom would say. Frustration builds in my chest, the threat of tears burning behind my eyes.
I turn toward the window, working on slowing my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of him.
The room falls silent. He hasn’t moved an inch. All I can hear is my heartbeat thundering in my ears, and all I can feel is the thickness of his presence mixed with his spicy aftershave and the outdoors, which makes this whole situation so much more humiliating.
I’d rather not be seeing him because I’m a damsel in distress. He’s forming a bad impression of me, and it’s not his fault, but it’s still not easy. I want him to see me as confident and capable. Not this disaster of a woman who keeps ending up in the ER.
“I was fishing.” His voice breaks the silence. He’s taken a step toward me. He doesn’t speak loudly, but I catch each word because it’s so quiet in here, just the steady beep of monitors and our breathing.
I bring my gaze back to him as a smile spreads across my face.
“You fish?” I’m genuinely surprised. I can’t picture him sitting on a dock with a rod and reel, this stern, serious man who seems married to his job.
His expression shifts, and I brace myself for him to shut down the way he usually does when things get personal.
But then his lips lift into a small smile.
I nearly fall over. Luckily, I’m already lying down.
He very rarely smiles, so when he does, I feel ridiculously giddy, like a teenager with a crush.
“Yes. Well, I was.” He lifts an eyebrow as his gaze drops to my arm for the first time, assessing the IV, the bruising.
“You don’t have your glasses on again,” I point out. Without them, his eyes are even more intense.
“You don’t trust me without them?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone.
I do, but— “I like you with glasses.” The words are out before I can stop them.
He takes another step closer to the bed, closer to me. “I can examine you perfectly without them, Hannah.”
My chest tightens. I’m struggling to breathe as we borderline flirt. Is this flirting? I’ve never had to think about it before. Guys come to me. They know me. Well, they know the version they’ve seen online—the perfect celebrity who never ends up in the ER twice in one week.
“How long were you supposed to be off for?” I ask, desperate to keep him talking, to keep him this relaxed and open.
“Two days.”
Silence stretches between us, awkward now instead of charged.
“So where do you fish?” I ask, scrambling to recover the moment.
He sighs, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m not asking you anything difficult.”
“But it’s personal.” He says it like that’s supposed to end the conversation.
“So?” I challenge, holding his gaze, because I’m tired of pretending there’s nothing between us.
He stares at me for a long minute, then gives in. “Down at my friend Emmett’s cabin on Clearwater Lake.”
His eyes widen briefly, like he’s surprised at himself for sharing, before he drops his chin, avoiding my gaze as if he said something he shouldn’t have.
The moment breaks, and he straightens. “I should be finding out how you actually ended up here. I haven’t heard the full story yet. Did the raccoon come back?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. When I’m in this stupid mess because of one. “No. This time, it was—” I gesture vaguely. “The medication last night and this morning on an empty stomach. All I’ve had in the past twenty-four hours is a small sandwich on set at lunch yesterday.”
“Jesus.” He shakes his head, and there’s actual concern in his voice now. “You can’t catch a break, can you?”
My phone buzzes loudly on the side table, and my heart clenches when I see the name. Dain. I grab it, my hands shaking slightly.
“I need to take this,” I say apologetically.
He nods and steps back to give me space, but he doesn’t leave. Moving to check my IV line, he adjusts something, but I know he can hear every word.
“Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?” Dain asks. “We’re having a crisis meeting about the show, and you’re not here. We’re talking about replacing you, Hannah.”
Ice floods my veins. “I’m in the hospital, Dain. I told you—”
“I don’t care if you’re dying. You need to be here. I’ve got the network breathing down my neck, and you’re MIA.”
“I’m not—” My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he cuts me off. “If you’re not back on set tomorrow at call-time, I’m replacing you. We’ve already got someone standing by who can step in. No ifs, ands, or buts. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He hangs up without another word.
I stare at my phone, my vision blurring. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed, it’s all going to disappear because I got dehydrated and dizzy. Because I’m not invincible like they all expect me to be.
“Hey.” Dr. Sterling’s voice is soft now, closer than I expected.
His hand reaches out, hovering over mine for a heartbeat before he pulls it back and slides it into his pocket.
The almost-touch leaves me aching. God, I want to grab his hand, hold on to something solid.
But we shouldn’t be doing this. I need him to check me over and clear me to leave, not comfort me.
“The good news is, you haven’t broken any bones. Your vitals are improving. Have you eaten?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“I’ll bring you some decent food. If you eat all of it and finish those fluids, I think you’ll be good to go.”
“Really?” I was bracing for him to tell me I need at least another day, but hope surges through me. “You’ll clear me?”
He pauses, his eyes searching my face. “But—”
“I need you to make sure I’m back,” I interrupt.
“Please. If I’m not on set at 6 a.m. tomorrow, Dain’s replacing me.
He already has someone standing by.” I take a breath and continue, not giving him a chance to reply until I’ve told him everything.
With the hope he’ll understand. “It’s not just a job.
It’s my shot at proving I’m not just another reality star trying to pivot.
It’s the network taking a chance on me. It’s my career.
If I lose it now, before I’ve even properly started, no one will touch me again.
I’ll be labeled as unreliable, as someone who can’t handle pressure.
And in this industry, that’s a death sentence. ”
As I look at him, I’m not proud of the desperation in my voice, but I can’t hide it anymore.