Chapter 2

- Hazel-

My heart kept beating way too fast. I'm scared. I don't want to lose Ma, if I do there's nothing I'm living for. I Can't Stand the thought of it.

It's started raining halfway to St.Mont. I was panicking, every light turned red just when I needed it to be green. My hands shook so badly that the cab driver kept looking back and saying sorry.

I don't remember alighting from the cab. I stormed through the ER doors, soaked and breathless. I scanned the waiting area like I would find her there.

"Hazel Rogers" a nurse called when I got to the desk She had light makeup on, and her bun was too high for my liking with thick glasses. She was too calm. It irritated me, for Goddamn sake anyone who was in a hospital isn't okay.

"Yes—my mom," I gasped. "Helen Rogers. She was brought in earlier, I got a call—"

"She's stable," the nurse said, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," I whispered.

"She's being monitored in observation. They think it was a syncopal episode, but her vitals were erratic on arrival."

Syncopal episode. That's just a fancy way of saying she fainted. But I know the reality. Her heart has never fully recovered from the last procedure. She never listens to me , insists on helping me with chores, always forgetting to take her drugs. She does too much and always feel fine, pretending to be okay when she's not so I don't worry.

I follow the nurse down the hall, trotting behind her. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a glass panel—damp shoes, messy hair,even my eyes were deep inside. Definitely not my best look.

She leads me to a quiet wing and gestures toward Room 14. "She's resting. But the doctor will come to speak with you soon."

I push the door open gently.

There she is. Pale, frail and drained.

There's an IV in her hand and monitors beside her bed, so many tubes connected to her body.

"Ma," I say softly, stepping in. "Hey… it's me."

She stirs faintly, eyelids fluttering. "Hazel…"

"I'm here," I say, coming closer to her side. I take her hand and squeeze it, grounding myself in her warmth. "You scared me."

"Did I?" she murmurs, a tired smile forming. "I didn't mean to."

My eyes burn. I want to scream. To beg her to stop pretending like everything's fine. But I don't. Not now.

Instead, I sit beside her and press her hand to my cheek, rubbing her forehead and trying to say a subtle prayer.

"Rest," I hushed. "We'll talk later."

She closes her eyes again, y sweet mother looked so exhausted. I watched her chest rise and fall, slow and for the first time since I got that call, I let myself breathe. I needed something to drink before I passed out.

I slip out of the room quietly and follow the signs to the vending machines near the east wing. There's a little alcove with machines full of overpriced chips and warm water bottles.

I dig in my pocket for change and curse when I remember I left my wallet at the nurses' station back at. Of course.

I'm about to turn away when I see a bottle stuck halfway in the drop slot of the next machine. Someone forgot to take it. I hesitate only a second, then reach down to grab it.

And that's when it happens. I turn too quickly. Take one blind step back. And slam into a wall.

Only it's not a wall. It's a man.

Hard. Tall. Muscled like a statue sculpted from shadows.

The collision knocks the bottle from my hand and nearly sends me flying, but strong hands catch my arms, gripping just above the elbows. His fingers dig in just enough to steady me—but the heat that radiates from his skin nearly short-circuits my brain.

"What the hell—" a deep, biting voice growls above me.

I look up. And forget how to breathe.

Jet-black hair swept back in a careless, intentional mess. A sharp jaw that could slice through the glass. Perfectly tailored a charcoal suit. His mouth is set in a scowl, full and masculine, but it's his eyes that stop me cold—icy gray, intense, and burning straight through me.

"Are you blind or just reckless?" he snaps.

I blink. "I—what?"

"You weren't looking," he hisses. "You nearly slammed into my goddamn spine. What were you doing? Practicing hospital bumper cars?"

I open my mouth to speak, but the words are caught in my throat. My throat is still dry. My heart's still thundering. And now… this.

I should say something. Apologize. Explain.

But all I can think about is the way he smells—spiced citrus and expensive leather. How warm his hands are. How dangerously close he still is. How the heat between us feels like a current, electric and sharp.

"Well?" he demands, voice low and rough.

Still nothing.

His squeezes his brows, clearly irritated "You're not mute, are you?"

I feel my cheeks flush.

"No," I manage, finally stepping back. "I'm just—my mom—she collapsed. I came here straight from work. I didn't sleep. I didn't think—"

His expression flickers. Just for a second. Then vanishes again.

"So you thought crashing into strangers was the best coping strategy?"

I inhale sharply, the sting of his words landing harder than they should.

"I wasn't trying to—"

" I asked you a question." His voice is all steel and venom. "Do you walk into every corner like this or am I just lucky?"

I blink, mouth dry. "I—I didn't see you."

"Obviously," he snaps. He doesn't move to help me. Doesn't soften. Just stares, all predator and irritation. "Do you have any idea how careless that was?"

I crouch down quickly, picking up the drink I dropped. My hands are shaking.

"I said I'm sorry—"

"You said a lot of nothing," he cuts me off again. "Next time, maybe you should look where the hell you're going instead of sprinting around like a lost intern."

Intern?

I freeze.

I slowly rise, clutching the scattered papers to my chest, heat flooding my face—not just from embarrassment, but from a sharp current of rage. And something else I hate myself for.

Desire.

How is he this attractive and this much of an asshole?

"I don't work for you," I say, quieter than I intend.

He smirks—cold, condescending. "Thank God. I'd fire you on the spot."

I suck in a breath, stunned into silence.

"And you're just standing there now?" he adds. "Is that the part where I thank you for wasting my time?"

I feel my nails digging into my palm. I want to scream. Punch him. Snap back. But I can't.

Because my mom's lying in a hospital bed. And I can't breathe around the guilt and the panic already tightening my chest.

So instead, I stand there. Speechless. Trembling.

And he watches me like I'm pathetic. Like I'm nothing.

He steps closer—so close I can smell him. Spice. Smoke. Leather. Rich in a way that makes your knees want to buckle.

He leans down, voice lowering to a sinful whisper. "Try not to knock over anyone else, sweetheart. Some people in here actually matter."

He turns and walks away.

I stand frozen, heart racing like I was taking a race, my cheeks so flustered and scorching hot. I've been yelled at by angry patients before. Screamed at by rude families. But nothing like that.

No man's ever made me feel so small.

No man's ever made me feel so hot under my skin at the same damn time.