Page 26 of Dreams and Desires

I close my eyes, lean back, let the pain settle. Let it anchor me.

I didn’t fall because of her. But I wasn’t paying attention because of her.

And I hate that.

Because this was supposed to be simple. A project. A town. A fight I knew how to win.

Not… this.

Not someone who takes up space in my head without even trying. Not someone who makes me question whether the man I’ve become is someone I’d want her to meet.

I grip the edge of the towel tighter.

I don’t love her.

I don’t even know her.

I just can’t stop feeling like I already do.

“This woman is going to be the death of me,” I say to the empty room, still half in disbelief over what just happened.

I hobble to the bathroom and grab a towel, wrapping it around my foot to stop the bleeding. I pick up my phone and call my driver.

“Get the car ready and bring it to the front of the hotel,” I manage, my voice tight.

I limp to the elevator, my foot throbbing with each step. The doors slide open, and I lean against the wall as it descends. When it reaches the lobby, I make my way outside and see the car waiting. I slide into the back seat, wincing as I sit down.

“Are you alright, Mr. Patterson?” He asks, clearly worried.

“Just get me to the hospital,” I tell my driver, frustration clear in my tone.

He nods, his face worried, as he starts driving, weaving through traffic with urgency.

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The drive to the hospital is a blur of pain and irritation. As we arrive, the sterile scent of disinfectant hits me, mingling with the lingering aroma of my sweat and blood. The nurses usher me into a room, and a doctor arrives to assess the damage.

“You’re going to need a few stitches,” the doctor says, her tone brisk but professional as she examines the cut.

“Just do it,” I mumble, leaning back in the chair and staring at the ceiling. This day just keeps getting better and better.

After what feels like an eternity, I limp out of the treatment room, my foot bandaged up like a prizefighter after a rough match. The antiseptic smell clings to me as I head toward the exit, trying to block out the throbbing pain in my foot. But just as I reach the waiting area, I see her—Juniper—sitting with a magazine, her eyes flicking up in surprise when she spots me.

Her cheeks flush, not with embarrassment but with anger, that familiar fire sparking in her eyes. She’s wearing a fitted black dress that hugs her curves perfectly, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall at midnight. I curse under my breath, knowing I should just walk away. But something pulls me toward her—something I can’t quite resist.

I approach, trying to mask my limp with a casual stride and forcing a smile. “Fancy meeting you here,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice comes out a bit strained.

Her eyes narrow, and she closes the magazine with a snap. “What are you doing here, Zade?”

“Stitches,” I reply, lifting my leg slightly. “Had a little accident. What about you?”

Her expression softens slightly as she glances at my bandaged foot, then back at me. “Waiting for my brother. He’s with the doctor.”

I glance at her, trying to muster the courage to ask her out. I was just... thinking about her, for Christ’s sake. I want to get to know her—maybe even understand what drives that fire inside her. But when I open my mouth, the words come out all wrong. “Nice dress. Did you wear it to impress the doctors, or do you just like getting attention?”

She looks at me, clearly annoyed. “What do you want, Zade? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

I wince internally, cursing myself for my stupidity. “I just thought we could maybe grab a bite sometime. Talk. You know, get to know each other better.”

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