Page 17 of Holly's Valentine Vow

He caught enough of the vehicle on Paul’s cameras that he was able to follow it through town, hacking into the CCTV cameras that are in use, until he was able to get a clear still shot of the license plate. Then, he got into the DMV’s database and found that it was registered to Myra McAfee.

If I had to hazard a guess as to why she hit me, it’s because she thought Holly was with me. But if the crazy bitch had used her eyes, she could’ve seen there was only one rider on my bike. It’s the only thing I can come up with, as far as conclusions go, seeing as I’ve never met the fucking woman, and at this point, I never want to. While I have no problem with Samuel coming around to see Holly and the girls at all because he genuinely loves his granddaughters, what little Holly has shared with regard to Myra tells me she’s a spiteful, vindictive hag. There’s no way I want her poison to pollute those two little girls; God knows they’ve already suffered enough, losing their father at such a young age. Not that he sounded like he was such a peach, but hewastheir dad and kids tend to love their parents regardless of how shitty they are.

Samuel also called and told me that he gave all the information he gathered to the detective handling my hit-and-run case. He mentioned that they were going to request a search warrant so they could lawfully seize the vehicle and have their crime scene technicians go over it with a fine-tooth comb. I know that Paul picked up all the small pieces and debris of my bike, along with the rest of the detritus that ended up in the ditch that day, so I’m hoping he held onto it in case it’s needed to put all the pieces back together again. Like motherfucking Humpty Dumpty.

I just hope like hell that the cops get her before my brothers do. We might not be one percenters, but absolutelyno onefucks with us and lives to tell the tale. Still, she’s a woman, and we don’t usually mess with them. A soft knock at my door has me calling out, “Come in,” as I glance up at the wall clock.

Seven in the morning? What the fuck? Don’t these people believe in sleep around here?

“Hey, I’m Chris, the morning aide, I’ve got to take your vitals for our charts, and hang a bag of your antibiotics,” she says.

“This is rather early, isn’t it?” I ask, a slight grumble to my tone.

“You’re the first person who’s been awake.”

“Lucky me,” I reply, smirking. “Wouldn’t have been if the night guy hadn’t come in at four this morning, woke me up to ask if I needed anything, then left when I yelled at him. I mean, if rest is so important to healing, why is it so impossible to get?”

She shrugs then lets out a little giggle. “Yeah, Alec wasn’t too happy about that.”

“Tough shit,” I grumble. “I mean, I get checking the patients and totally understand the need for doing so. But if you walk into a room in the middle of the night and see someone peacefully sleeping, I think it’s safe to presume that as long as you can tell they’re still breathing because their chest is moving up and down as they inhale and exhale, they don’t need anything.”

“That’s what the charge nurse told him. He’s been booted back to the day shift because that’s not the first complaint he’s gotten against him from other patients. Not that I should be telling you that,” she hastily adds.

“Trust me, Chris, the only one I’d even consider telling what you said is my ol’ lady, and as long as I can assure her that it’s been handled, she’s not going to make a huge fuss,” I reply.

“Is she the one who called your doctor yesterday about your shower?” Chris questions, her brow raised. “Boy, did Tina raise a ruckus aboutthat!”

“She sure the fuck did,” I state, smirking. “Hell, even at the hospital when I couldn’t take one, she took care of giving memodified sponge bathsandwhile it’s highly irregular, the nurse walked her through removing my catheter.No onetouches me intimately except for her.”

“Your file says that very thing,” Chris says, assuring me that Dr. Brown wasn’t just blowing smoke up my ass.

“Good. How long will this take?” I ask, motioning to the bag she just started that’s now running in my PICC line.

“It takes about two hours or so, give or take.”

“So, I’ve got time for a nap before my therapies start?” I question.

“Maybe an hour or so because they’ll bring you breakfast around eight.” She sounds apologetic and I hold up my hand.

“No, it’s okay, I’m just up far too early for my liking is all.”

She releases a short laugh in commiseration before stating, “Well, I imagine after therapy, you’ll probably be able to get a nap in before lunch at least.”

“God, I hope so.”

“I know this is important, but damn, Pedro, I hurt worse now than I did after the accident,” I grumble as my therapist wheels me back to my room.

“It’s because you’ve been pretty much stationery for the past two weeks while you were in the hospital,” he explains, “so your muscles and tendons have tightened up. Once you start moving more, it should ease up.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” I retort, causing him to smirk.

“At least you participated, Rebel,” he says as he maneuvers into my room. Once he has the chair next to the bed and the brakes locked, he continues. “Now, show me how you transfer.”

“Are you this bossy with your wife?” I question.

He bursts out laughing while watching to make sure I don’t do anything stupid and hurt myself. “How familiar are you with Hispanic women?” he asks. “Okay, from the look on your face, you have no clue what I’m talking about. Suffice it to say, they rule the roost when it comes to the house, the kids, the cooking. In short, all the things.”

“Ah, so in order to keep your man card, you come to work and tell patients what to do. I see how it is now,” I tease, snickering.

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