Page 26 of Go Back to December

Concern pulls at his mouth, and his expression radios our same unspoken thought from last night.

What happened?

“Are you okay?” His voice scrapes.

“Glued together.” I hold up my bandaged paw. “I don’t even get a scar to brag about.”

I’m keeping things light, so I can work out an exit, but he’s staring at me intently, oblivious to the fact that he’s strapped to a modern medical torture device. “How are you feeling? Should I get the nurse?”

He shakes his head, glances down at the complex restraints on his legs, and frowns with curiosity rather than rancor. “They caught the asshole who did this?”

Technically, the asshole who did this is quaking beside his bed. “He’s being treated at another hospital, but he’s in police custody.”

“We should file a restraining order.”

This startles me to my feet. “No one’s filing anything. You can talk to the police when you’re better.”

“I’m fine.”

I gesture to the elaborate contraptions on his feet. “Methinks science has a different opinion.”

“Stop being so naïve.” He leans forward, winces. “That guy is dangerous.”

“He’s an addict. If you want to press charges, I’m the perp.”

A nurse clatters in with her cart, and I retreat as she takes Baz’s vitals, asks about his pain, and then unstraps him from the boot monstrosity so he can get up to use the bathroom. As he shuffles off on his crutches, I force myself not to peek at the gaping back of his hospital gown.

The second he comes back out, he’ll demand to know why I acted like a crazy woman to save him last night, and I don’t have an answer. I have to get the hell out of here.

My coat is halfway on when another nurse marches in with a clipboard and corners me back to my chair. She confirms my name and inquires after my insurance number, which she somehow missed on the three hundred and eighty-seven other forms I’ve already signed.

When I hand her my card, she frowns. “You carry separate insurance from your husband?”

“Husband?” Baz echoes.

The attending nurse helps him back into bed while the admitting nurse says, “We were reviewing your intake forms with your wife. She doesn’t have you listed on her insurance.”

A wicked smile spreads across Baz’s face, setting his green eye on fire.

Before I can correct a mistake that has likely launched a thousand paperwork headaches, a cacophony of voices echoes in the hallway.

A beautiful brunette woman dashes through the open door.

Her glare lands squarely on Baz as she roars, “You. Asshole.”

Chapter Eight

Baz’s accuser stuns with more than foul words.

Tall and curvy, she has dark curls any beauty influencer would envy. She glares at Baz with an intensity she could only have gained by spending copious amounts of time with him.

“Luiza,” he murmurs.

“I can’t believe you would do this!” Her shouting switches to Spanish, and the only word I catch is egoísta. Selfish.

Baz remains silent throughout her tirade, occasionally breaking eye contact to offer a nervous glance in my direction, but Luiza doesn’t spy me curled in the corner. Nor does she notice the administrative and attending nurses slithering out of the room, mouthing to me they’ll Be right back.

They nearly crash into Dooley. He halts, registers Baz’s braced leg, and curses.