The internet always joked that St. Mary’s was better at plastics than rehab.
I never believed it.
Now I finally had my answer.
I turned away decisively, watching the city blur past the window.
“No. Summon the best doctors in Newport City to Newport General Hospital.”
“From now on, Hayes business is done by the Hayes.”
Eyes closed, I endured the searing pain in my hand.
Adrian kept calling, tireless.
I hung up each time, and he found another way to reach me.
At last, I answered, impatient.
“What—calling to tell me your darling isn’t out of surgery and I should pay with my life?”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Adrian. I’m not pathetic enough to rush over and watch you fawn over another woman.”
On the other end came his roughened breathing—
then the screech of brakes. A black Porsche fishtailed to a stop at the intersection,
blocking my route to Newport General completely.
Adrian shoved open his door and strode toward me.
“Coco, get out.”
“I’ve assembled the best medical team. Your men can’t come.”
“You—come with me alone.”
I looked at him with scorn, as if he were a stranger.
He was the one who put a hole through my right hand.
He was the one who blocked me from getting treatment at my own front door.