Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(68)

That kiss, though, had surprised her. Michael's reaction told her he'd been equally taken aback. He wanted her to know it had been an accident, and that he regretted it.

She didn't.

Macy didn't realize how upset she was until she arrived at the recording studio and had no recollection of getting there. She'd pedaled through maybe a dozen streets, and the entire time she'd thought of Michael.

Fine, she decided. He didn't have to tell her twice. She'd do everything within her power to stay out of his way. He wouldn't even know she was there. As quickly as possible she'd finish--yes, finish--that darn mural and that would be it. They need never see each other again.

The recording session didn't go as well as the previous one and Macy had to read the commercial twice as often as any of her other bookings.

The producer wasn't pleased. On her way out the door, he patted her shoulder and reassured her that everyone had an off day now and then. He followed that by letting her know he wouldn't be as forgiving the next time.

Wonderful.

She might lose the best-paying job she'd found to date and all because of Dr. Michael Everett.

Macy climbed on her bike, grateful she could just go home. She hadn't talked to Harvey since Wednesday. He'd been avoiding her and she was going to put an end to that. Now more than ever, Macy was determined to persuade him not to give up on life. He was the only family she had in the area, since her parents had retired to New Mexico and her brother lived in Hawaii. Okay, so Harvey wasn't actual family; it just felt as though he was. He'd squirm and fuss if she ever told him, but he was grandfather and friend in one, and she loved him.

Macy was less than a mile from the house when it happened, although she wasn't quite sure how. What she remembered later was that one moment she was on her bicycle, and the next she was jolted from behind. Before she had time to react or even brace herself, she went flying over the handlebars.

She landed hard on the asphalt and must have blacked out for a second. When she came to, she heard the sound of screeching brakes and loud voices. A man was bending over her and yelling for someone to call 9-1-1.

From then on, all she felt was pain. White-hot pain in her head, her arms, her legs. A group of people gathered around her and everyone seemed to be giving her advice.

"Don't move until the aid car gets here."

"Take deep breaths."

"Don't close your eyes."

Macy tried to do what everyone asked, but it was impossible.

A siren wailed in the distance. Then two men arrived and a blood-pressure cuff was slapped on her upper arm. Her neck was secured in a brace and she was being lifted. When she glanced down, she saw her bicycle helmet lying on the ground. It looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

The paramedic seemed busy, but she had an important question and grabbed his sleeve, holding on until he turned to her.

"Yes?" he said. He seemed annoyed that she'd interrupted his work.

"Is that my blood on the pavement?" She'd always been a little squeamish about the sight of blood.

He nodded.

"Is my bike in any better shape than the helmet?" That bike had cost more than she could really afford and she'd hate to lose it.

"Afraid not. Listen, I'd rather you didn't talk."

"Okay." She closed her eyes. The pain was bad. She wasn't kidding herself about that. She could deal with it more easily when she didn't have to look at anything or anyone. Instead, she concentrated on taking one breath at a time.

The paramedic asked questions, which she did her best to answer. The aid-car siren screamed as it wove in and out of traffic. The next thing Macy knew, they were at the hospital and everything started again.

She was examined by a doctor, who ordered a battery of tests. Macy was wheeled into X-ray, then taken for an MRI. They stitched her up and she had bandages on her head, her knees and her arms. There wasn't a single spot on her entire body that didn't throb with pain, despite the medication.

Everything hurt, up to and including her eyelids. People stood around her and spoke, acting like she wasn't even in the room. They were all saying how fortunate she was. From where she was lying, with her head pounding as though someone had put it in a vise, she didn't feel too fortunate.

A familiar voice joined the others. Certain she must be hearing wrong, Macy forced her eyes open and looked up.

"Michael?" she whispered, shocked to see him.

Without answering, he took her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. His hold was tight and yet his touch was the most comforting one she'd received.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. How could he have known she'd been in an accident?

"You gave them my name," he told her.

"I...couldn't have. I did?"

"It's all right. I came as soon as the hospital phoned." He stroked her head. "I'll be back after I speak with the attending physician. Will you be okay?"

She nodded, stunned that she didn't remember mentioning Michael's name. The paramedics had asked so many questions; she seemed to recall that, among other things, they'd asked who they should contact on her behalf. Had she really said Michael?

She was mortified to realize that of all the people in the world she'd given them Michael's name. Perhaps she'd said he was her physician. That was it.