5. Elle

FIVE

Elle

3:52 pm

I stare at the stark white ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. This time yesterday, I was bubbling with excitement, meticulously arranging decorations for Isabella's engagement party. Now, I'm lying in a sterile hospital bed, five hours out of surgery, and my hand is throbbing with pain.

Isabella and her fiancé Mark got engaged ten months ago. And that is when the planning began.

They met at a charity event two years ago, and it was love at first sight. On their anniversary, Mark proposed with a scavenger hunt that led Isabella all over Birmingham, ending at the spot where they first met.

The party was supposed to be a grand affair, with all our college friends flying in from across the country. I can picture the twinkling lights, the champagne toasts, and the joyous laughter I should have been a part of.

Oh, and of course, the goddamned crystal vases on the outdoor fireplace.

Instead, I'm here, grappling with the possibility of permanent hand damage. Shep's words from earlier echo in my mind, each syllable a sharp reminder of how quickly life can change. I close my eyes, trying to shut out the beeping machines and antiseptic smell.

His face keeps flashing in my mind, and my heart clenches. I'd heard little things here and there about him over the years—the brilliant surgeon, the confirmed bachelor, the ladies' man. But I resisted asking anyone or trying to find him online.

After all this time, seeing him again is like ripping off a long-ago applied bandaid from my heart that I didn't even know was still holding it intact.

I tell myself it's just the circumstances. Being alone in a foreign city, hopped up on meds, the aftermath of surgery.

But deep down, I know better. My inner voice screams to keep my distance, to guard my heart. Yet here I am, feeling like I'm twenty-two again, hoping he will find a reason to stop in to see me again.

I shift in the bed, wincing as pain shoots through my hand.

A single tap on the glass sliding door pulls me out of my pity party. The door automatically slides open, and Dr. Hampton enters my room. His face is a mix of professional concern and cautious optimism. I try to read his expression, searching for any hint of what's to come.

"Ms. Klass, I'm pleased to report that the surgery went well overall," he begins, his voice steady. "However, we did encounter some complications during the procedure."

My stomach drops. I basically know what's coming. Shep gave me a brief rundown. But I hope the doctor who actually performed my surgery gives me more hope.

"We discovered more extensive nerve damage than initially expected. Fortunately, we had Dr. Reeves, a neurosurgeon specializing in vascular injury and repair, step in to perform the delicate connections. So it was a good idea to wait until this morning. Everything went perfectly."

I nod, feeling a wave of dread wash over me. Shep had hinted at this earlier, but hearing it from Dr. Hampton makes it feel more real, more daunting.

"What does this mean for my recovery?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don't know why I insist on torturing myself. Shep already told me it will be a long haul.

Dr. Hampton takes a deep breath. "It means we're looking at a longer rehabilitation process. The nerve repair will take time to heal properly. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do but give your body time to heal. Time, that's what it will take. And rehab, of course."

I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "How does rehab work? Is there any way I can do it back home in Florida?"

He shakes his head slightly. "I'd like you to stay in Birmingham for at least a week, possibly two, so we can monitor your progress closely. After that, we can discuss options for continuing your rehab at home."

The weight of his words settles on me like a heavy blanket. At least another week in Birmingham. Alone. Away from everything familiar.

My mom wanted to come with my dad when I told her, but I thought I would be in and out, so I told them to stay put. Now I need my mom here.

Isabella came to visit for about an hour. She left not long ago, and it almost made my loneliness feel even more severe than it felt before she came, if that is even possible.

"We'll need to decide if you'll find a new hand therapy team in Florida or travel back here to continue with our team," Dr. Hampton adds.

I nod numbly, feeling more overwhelmed and isolated than ever. The thought of navigating this recovery process in a strange city with no support system—it's almost too much to think about right now.

"Thank you, Dr. Hampton," I manage to say, my voice trembling slightly. "I... I need some time to process all this. Do I need to do anything with regard to rehab? Like, is that something I need to secure?"

"Our team has already reached out to your insurance for approval. If there is an available bed, you can leave as soon as tomorrow to transfer to rehab. They can monitor your vitals there, but it will be less invasive than being in the hospital so that you can get proper rest. Oh, and you'll have physical and occupational therapy six times a day."

Six times a day?

"Oh, wow. That sounds intense."

"That is what it will take. But I believe you will do very well at the end of this."

"Thank you, Dr. Hampton. I appreciate your care. This is all so unbelievable," I say, shaking my head, still beside myself that I'm going through this.

He nods understandingly and leaves the room, the automatic sliding door closing softly behind him. As soon as he's gone, I let the tears fall, feeling utterly lost and disheartened.

4:17 pm

I'm staring out the window, looking at the flurry of the floor that has become so familiar, when I hear a familiar, "Yoo hoo." My heart skips a beat. I would recognize that anywhere. Shep walks in, a gentle smile on his face.

"Hey, Elle, I've got some good news for you," he says, his voice warm and reassuring.

I sit up straighter, curiosity piqued. "Oh, really? I need some."

Shep's eyes light up as he explains. "I've managed to secure you a bed at the best rehab facility in Birmingham. It's connected to the hospital, which means you'll have easy access to any additional tests or treatments you might need."

"Oh, wow. Thank you?" I meant that to come out as appreciation, but it sounded like a question. "I didn't know you were working on it."

I feel a surge of gratitude and irritation at the same time. The idea that I have to stay here longer really chaps my ass. Also, I can't help but wonder why he is taking such ownership of my care. Especially since I've been such a bitch to him.

"The facility is brand new," he continues, "with state-of-the-art therapy equipment. You'll be in good hands there."

"Wow, Shep. That's... that's incredibly kind of you," I stammer, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. "It's no problem at all. I just want to make sure you're well taken care of. If you leave here unhappy, it makes all of us look bad."

Of course, it is about him. And here I was, thinking he just wanted to do something nice.

There's a pause, and I can see him hesitate before adding, "If it's okay with you, I might even drop in to check on you occasionally."

My heart somersaults. The thought of seeing Shep regularly during my recovery sends a flutter through my stomach. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I try to keep my voice steady and reply as matter-of-factly and professionally as possible, "That would be nice. Thank you."

He smiles at me, and I'm struck by his devastating handsomeness, strong jawline, and thick, dark hair. He's always been good-looking, but it's like he's grown into his face. The years have only added to his appeal, and I find myself cursing internally. Why does he have to be so hot? It's not fair.

"Sure. Alright, I think the nurses will take it from here. Don't forget, you got this!"

"I appreciate everything you're doing for me, Shep," I say sincerely, pushing away my conflicting emotions.

He nods, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that catches my breath. "You're welcome, Elle. I'm just glad I can help."

Monday, July 8

8:11 am

The morning light filters through the hospital room window as I stir from a very unrestful sleep. In the one place you're supposed to get rest for healing, I probably got the worst sleep I've had in as long as I can remember.

A cheerful voice breaks the silence.

"Good morning, Ms. Klass! I'm Tanya, your day nurse."

I blink groggily, forcing a smile. "Hi, Tanya."

She bustles around, checking my vitals. "You must have friends in high places. You've scored a bed in our new rehab facility next door. It's state-of-the-art, and spots are hard to come by."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Really? That's... unexpected."

"Insurance approved it," Tanya continues. "We're just waiting on one last thing, then we'll wheel you over to your new home for the foreseeable future."

The word 'home' hits me like a punch to the gut. This isn't home. This is a sterile room in a city I don't know—and that, frankly, I hate because of its association with my heartbreak—far from everything familiar.

"That's great," I manage, my voice hollow. "Thanks for letting me know."

Tanya pats my arm. "You're in good hands, sweetie. I'll check on you later."

As she leaves, I sink back into my pillows, a wave of depression washing over me. How did I end up here? A simple party decoration gone wrong, and now I'm facing weeks of rehab in a strange city?

Before I can wallow further, there's a knock at the door. Wentworth III's smug face appears, and I have to stifle a groan.

"Elle, darling! How are you feeling?" he asks, sauntering in.

I paste on a smile. "I'm okay, Wentworth. Thanks for stopping by."

He perches on the edge of my bed, uninvited. "Did surgery go well yesterday? I knew you would be exhausted, so I decided not to bother you."

We go through the same song and dance as the other night, only this time he isn't intoxicated. I give him as brief answers as I can without coming across as a total jerk. But I try to make it clear that there is nothing between us, not even friendship.

He lingers, oblivious to my hints. Finally, he stands. "Well, I guess I better let you get some rest. May I call you sometime?"

"Oh, you know, I'll be so busy with therapy and work. Maybe I'll get up here in the not-too-distant future, and we will run into each other," I reply, waving my good hand dismissively, trying to be as pleasant as possible but also saying in so many words, "Beat it."

Being stuck to this bed takes away all my ability to control the flow of my interactions—interactions with the likes of Wentworth and Shep. Only with Shep, my practical brain wants to hate him, but I kind of like his visits. The same can't be said for my visits with Wentworth, III.

As he finally leaves, I exhale in relief. I close my eyes, trying to summon the strength for whatever comes next.

12:41 pm

I settle into my new room at the rehab facility, still trying to digest all of this and take it in stride. The space is more homey than the hospital, with soft lighting and a large window overlooking a courtyard, but it still feels alien.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. A woman in scrubs enters, her smile warm and professional.

"Hi, Eloise. I'm Marissa, your floor nurse. How are you feeling?"

I shrug. "As well as can be expected, I guess."

Marissa nods sympathetically. "I know you've been through the wringer these last few days. Let me walk you through your schedule."

She explains that vitals checks will now only happen twice a day, a welcome change from the constant interruptions in the hospital. "You're monitored by computer, so don't hesitate to buzz if you need anything."

I nod, trying to absorb the information.

"You'll have occupational therapy three times a day and physical therapy three times a day as well. The therapists will come to get you for each session."

My eyes widen. "Six therapy sessions a day? When Dr. Hampton mentioned that yesterday, I thought he was exaggerating."

Marissa smiles encouragingly. "It is, but it's the best way to ensure a quick and full recovery. We want to get you back to your life as soon as possible."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Okay. I'll do whatever it takes. How long am I here for?"

"You're approved in one-week increments," Marissa explains. "The doctor initially asked for three weeks, but they'll assess your progress each week."

I nod, feeling a mix of determination and dread. Three weeks in Birmingham, away from my life, work, and home. But if it means regaining full use of my hand, I'll push through.

"Alright," I say, more to myself than to Marissa. "Let's do this."

She checks on a few things and is gone. I enjoyed her company, if only briefly. Isabella is coming when she gets off work, but that feels like a lifetime away. I don't have therapy again until 2:30. I'm guessing this is siesta time, but I'm not much of a siesta girl.

I'm staring out the window, lost in thought when a gentle knock draws my attention. My heart skips a beat as Shep pokes his head in, a warm smile on his face.

"Hey, Elle. Just wanted to check in and see how you're settling in."

He steps into the room, and I'm struck again by how handsome he looks, even in his rumpled scrubs, green today.

His light brown hair has a slight tousle, and a five o'clock shadow lines his jawline. It takes me an extra moment to catch my breath.

"I'm doing okay," I say, surprised by how genuinely happy I am to see him. "Still adjusting, I guess. This place seems nice, though. They had me in the therapy room before I got here. Eating lunch with the occupational therapist is apparently therapy."

"I'm glad you're pleased with it. How are your therapists so far?"

"Great, honestly. Everyone has been kind, making this hell as bearable as possible."

Shep nods, his eyes full of concern. "Is there anything you need? I could bring you a book, a magazine, maybe some candy or coffee. I'm happy to pick something up for you."

His attentiveness catches me off guard. This isn't the Shep I remember from our college days, constantly distracted by his studies or lacrosse or his fraternity stuff. This version of him is present and caring, and it's making my carefully constructed walls start to crumble.

"That's sweet of you," I say, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. "I'm good for now, though. My friend Isabella is coming by after five or six, and I'm sure she'll bring some goodies. What do you have going on the rest of the day?"

He shrugs, hands in his pockets. "Finished up early today. Thought I'd see how you're doing."

I'm touched by his thoughtfulness. In this strange city, with most of my friends back home by now, Shep has been the one constant. I'm kind of blown away that he has consistently checked in on me, making sure I'm okay. It's making me feel less alone, and I'm unsure how to handle it.

"Actually," I say, surprising myself, "I have a two-hour break between therapy sessions. My therapist said I should move around the facility a bit and get out of this bed. Would you... want to grab a coffee with me on the hospital rooftop? She said there is a decent latte up there."

Shep's face lights up, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. "I can't think of a better way to end my day," he says.