7. Elle

SEVEN

Elle

4:59 pm

Christy and I walk back to my room after my fourth therapy session of the day. We didn't hit our six-session goal, but it was the first day, after all.

Walking into the room, I spot Isabella perched on the chair by the window, flipping through a glossy magazine. My heart leaps at the sight of my best friend.

"Izzy! You got here early! How long have you been here?"

She jumps up, grinning. "I got off a little early and couldn't wait to get over here to see you! I've been looking forward to this time with you all day."

"You're the world's best. How did I get so lucky?"

"I come bearing gifts." She gestures to an overflowing basket on the side table.

We embrace, and I breathe in her familiar scent of cinnamon and jasmine. God, I've needed her.

"How are you feeling, champ? You look a hundred percent better than you did yesterday. No offense, of course. I was just worried about you." She pulls back, eyeing me critically.

"I'm getting there. I will say, getting out of the bed and getting out of the hospital has done wonders for me." I hold my bandaged hand gingerly, "This bad daddy is throbbing. I've squeezed a washcloth folded into a tube so much I can still feel the phantom nubs of the terrycloth."

"Well, I think that calls for a celebration."

"I'm always up for a little celebrating."

Isabella's eyes light up. "Good enough for some contraband?" She waggles her eyebrows, pulling out a bottle of wine.

I laugh. "Hell, yes. I owe you that drink from Saturday, don't I?"

"You bet your ass you do." She pops the cork with practiced ease. "It's been a day, let me tell you."

We settle in, our plastic cups filled with chilled Rosé. Isabella unpacks the rest of her goodies—fancy cheese, my favorite Milano cookies, and a steamy romance novel.

"Spill," I demand, sipping my wine. "How was the party?"

Isabella launches into a play-by-play, complete with dramatic reenactments. I find myself laughing, a medicine I desperately need as much as the pain meds they have me on around the clock.

"And then," she wheezes, wiping tears from her eyes, "Mark's mom tried to do the Macarena when the band took a break and someone brought out the boom box. I literally almost peed in my panties."

"No!" I gasp, nearly choking on my wine.

"Yes! It was a sight to behold, let me tell you."

We dissolve into giggles again. As the laughter fades, I feel a wave of sadness for missing such a memorable night.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Iz," I say softly.

She squeezes my good hand. "Hey, none of that. You had a pretty good excuse." Her eyes twinkle mischievously. "Besides, I need to hear more about your drop-dead ex, who is a surgeon here, STAT. You mentioned it casually in a text, but you knew I would need more deets."

I groan, knowing exactly where this is going. "Izzy…"

Isabella never met Shep in college. We were peripherally in the same friend group, but we didn't really start getting close until after graduation when she worked with me at the Marine Center. She knows who he is, but no one wanted to mention his name for years after we broke up.

"Oh no, missy. You don't get to hold out on me. Spill the tea about Dr. McDreamy!"

I take a deep breath, swirling the wine in my glass. "God, Iz, I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning's usually a good place," she quips, leaning forward.

"Okay, so... at first, I was furious. Like, how dare he show up and try to be all caring after what happened?" I shake my head. "I wanted him to just... disappear."

Isabella nods sympathetically. "Totally get that. I would've felt the same."

"But then..." I hesitate, biting my lip. "He kept coming back and checking on me. And not just quick pop-ins, you know? He actually seemed to care."

"And now?" Isabella prompts gently.

I groan, covering my face with my good hand. "Now I find myself looking forward to his visits. He even got me into this fancy rehab place when I was supposed to go to some dump an hour away."

Isabella whistles. "Damn, that's some serious string-pulling."

"I know!" I throw up my hand and my giant Q-tip. "And that's what's driving me crazy. Is he just being nice because he feels guilty? Or is there... something more?"

My friend takes a thoughtful sip of wine. "Hard to say. But Elle, honey, be careful. Remember what he did and his reputation."

I nod, my stomach churning. "I know, I know. It's just... when he's around, it's like no time has passed. All those old feelings come rushing back."

Isabella reaches out, squeezing my arm. "Look, I say let him be nice. He owes you that much after how things ended. But don't expect anything, okay? You live six hours apart, and he's got a kid now. It's complicated."

I sigh, deflating a bit. "You're right. God, why does he have to be so... Shep?"

Isabella laughs. "Because the universe has a sick sense of humor, babe."

8:14 pm

My phone buzzes on the bedside table, and I fumble to answer it with my good hand. "Hey, Mom," I say, genuinely excited to talk to her. Whenever I'm sick, talking to my mom takes me right back to when I was an eight-year-old who craves her maternal affection.

"Ellie-Bo-bellie! How are you, sweetie? How's the rehab going?"

I can't help but smile at the childhood nickname. "It's... intense. But good, I think. The therapists seem knowledgeable, and everyone here is so kind. There is a tremendous difference between being here and being in the hospital. I never would have thought I'd say, ‘I'm happy to be in a rehab facility.'"

"That's wonderful, honey. I'm so glad you're getting good care." There's a pause. "Have you seen the surgeon again? Has he been attentive? You know, that is what separates the wonderful surgeons from the bad ones. Their job doesn't end when they sew you up."

"He has checked on me a few times. He will come here to evaluate at the end of the week and hopefully discharge me to go back to Florida."

"That's great, Elle. If I can't be there keeping everyone straight, I'm glad to know you have a good one taking care of you."

"Here is something crazy. Do you remember Shep Duncan?"

"The boy who broke your heart? How could I forget?" Mom's voice turns icy.

"Yeah, well... he's a surgeon here. Not mine, of course, but he's been helping with my case. He's checked on me several times and pulled some strings to get me into this specific rehab."

"What?" Mom's shock is palpable. "Eloise, please tell me you're not letting him worm his way back in."

"Mom, it's not like that. He's been kind, actually. It's a nice reset to the way we left things."

"Oh, sweetheart," she interrupts, her tone softening. "I know those twinkly eyes and his rugged charm are hard to resist, but please be careful. He hurt you so badly before."

I sigh. "I know, Mom. I'm not... I'm just saying he's been helpful."

I tell her how he has helped and stopped by. I leave out the coffee; that might send her over the edge. It doesn't matter, though. She doesn't budge.

"If you say so, dear. Listen, your father and I were thinking of coming down from Charleston to visit. Would that be alright, or should we wait until after you're discharged?"

I hesitate, torn between wanting to see them and knowing how busy they keep me here with therapy. "Maybe give it a few days? I'm thinking it might be better when I get back home, hopefully in a week. That way, you can help me get settled and used to doing everything with one hand."

"Of course, sweetie. Just let me know, and we can be there in a short eight-hour drive."

"Thanks, Mom. Will do. Is Dad around?"

"He had to help with something at the church. I'll have him call you tomorrow morning."

"If it works. No worries."

"Well, I'm going to let you get some rest. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

I hang up the phone with a sigh, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. My mom's voice still echoes in my ears, her reaction as solid and protective as ever. Her warning was clear: don't let him worm his way back in or break your heart again.

I'm annoyed, and I can't quite put my finger on why. Maybe it's because her reaction feels like an overreach like she's not giving me enough credit for being able to handle my own life. But then again, deep down, I know she's right. Shep did break my heart before, and I can't forget that.

As much as I want to brush off her concern, I know it comes from a place of love and experience. She wants the best for me, and her instincts are usually spot on. I need to heed her warning, to remember the pain and the reasons why I swore I'd never let myself be vulnerable to any man again, least of all him.

That slippery slope is right there, tempting and dangerous. I need to stay strong, keep my guard up, and not let myself slide back into old patterns. I can't afford to let Shep Duncan back into my heart, no matter how much my feelings might argue otherwise.