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3. Chris

Chapter 3

Chris

I wake to a swirl of obnoxious noise: Beeping that sounds like a truck backing up, women whispering… And there's a strong medicinal scent I can't quite place. My entire body is sore with a dull ache, and I carefully open one eye, then the other.

A hospital?

The last thing I remember is driving to the wedding venue. I take a quick survey of the room—no family, only two nurses talking in hushed tones next to a computer. As I attempt to sit up, one of them hears me struggling and rushes over.

"Sir, you need to lie down. You were in a very serious accident. Penny, page the doctor!" The other woman clicks a button on a device and summons an entire team of people in white coats who enter the room seconds later .

All of them scurry around me like leaves on a blustery day. Am I drunk?

After a battery of tests, no one can tell me why I'm here, what day it is, if I missed my wedding, or what happened to my aide who was in the passenger seat.

"Has anyone spoken to my father?" I ask, my voice raspy.

"Please rest. Former President Blake will be here as soon as he can," a woman replies.

"With all due respect, can you find me a doctor? " I don't need a nurse placating me, I need a fucking doctor to tell me what's going on.

She huffs an unamused laugh. "Mr. Blake, I'm your cardiologist. If you'd prefer, I can find a doctor who doesn't specialize in cardiac events to discuss why you had a heart attack while driving."

Heart attack?

"I was on my way to the venue when?—"

"Sir, as much as this pains me to say this, I'd avoid discussing who was in the car with you and what transpired prior to the accident—at least until you have a lawyer present."

"It's not what it looks like," I hiss as I attempt to sit up straighter in bed.

Keeping her tone even, she repeats, "Do not discuss anything with anyone, until you have representation." I nod and her posture slacks. "Now, would you prefer a different cardiologist?"

"No. I apologize. I assumed you were a nurse." She purses her lips, but I don't have time to stroke her ego. "What is happening with my heart?"

"Based on your records, you've met with a pulmonologist for your sleep apnea in the past. You haven't seen them in over a year. In the notes, it states they have discussed with you at great length how our lungs and heart are very much connected, and that it's recommended that you see a cardiologist regularly due to an increased risk of heart failure. Sometimes strenuous activities can aggravate this."

"I wasn't doing any strenuous?—"

"Mr. Blake, I cannot stress enough that you wait for representation before discussing the accident. While everyone in this room has signed an NDA, the walls always have ears."

"Fine." So help me, if this woman cuts me off again. "Where's my father?"

"He's likely still there," a woman in blue scrubs says and turns on the television. The headline ticker reads: Presidential Hopeful Christopher Blake Marries Washington Darling Jaclyn Taylor . The entire room turns, all eyes on me. Then, the only thing I hear is the sound of the beeping of the monitor quickening as the room goes black.

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