Done [Running to Love 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Allyson Young Page B

tube of generic toothpaste on the shelf, and she levered herself up to reach it, hanging onto the sink to steady herself. She longed for a bath, but it had taken too much out of her to even wash past the most basic manner.
    She clearly had a long way to go before she was back to normal, whatever that might be. She wanted to cry again and somehow made herself stop. Using her forefinger and a lot of paste, she managed to clean her teeth to some degree and felt marginally better. She spat vigorously, and her temples pounded, and cold sweat broke out over her whole body. Okay then. Too much effort. She thought she’d just sit and wait for a few minutes until her strength built up.
    The bathroom door pushed open slowly and once again Lacey’s stomach relaxed when Marie came into view. This was insane. At some point Greg was going to come in, and she would be on tenterhooks until he did. Marie didn’t look pleased, but as soon as she saw Lacey’s demeanor, her nursing persona took over.
    “You should have waited for help,” she chided. “I told you I was coming back. Are you finished in here?”
    Lacey just nodded. She was done. Greg didn’t appear to be. How to get out of this? She wanted the time to process her loss, to grieve quickly and avoid things, to heal, and he wasn’t letting her by dint of his presence. Damn him. She didn’t want to share this with him, allow him to help her through it. Fortunately, Marie didn’t say anything further about Greg, just escorted her back to bed. The return trip took considerably longer, and Lacey was nearly panting by the time she was safely back under the covers.
    The breakfast fairy had come in at some point, and a plastic tray sat on the little table, a stainless steel cover with a hole in the top hiding whatever culinary delights had been chosen to aid in her recovery. Marie rolled it to fit over the bed at Lacey’s thighs, and Lacey cautiously lifted the cover and viewed a small dish of what appeared to be wallpaper paste, the ubiquitous cherry Jell-O squares quivering in their own container, and a cup of what turned out to be coffee, clearly ladled from the dishwater rinse and colored with some dregs from the coffee grinder. Lord, she needed to get out of here. She mixed the Cream of Wheat with the Jell-O and forced it down, knowing she needed sustenance and accepting that they wouldn’t let her leave if she didn’t show signs of getting better. The coffee was simply out of the question, and she longed for an extra-large Dunkin’ Donuts, heavy on the cream. She absently wiped the tears from her cheeks, and wondered at them. It seemed that one part of her brain remembered why she was here, even if the other parts were obeying her edict not to think about anything except convincing her doctor to discharge her. Her insurance was void if she left against medical advice.
    There was a tap on the door, and the man she needed to convince strolled in. So that was the other male voice she had tried hard not to hear conversing, colluding, with Greg out in the hallway. Whatever happened to patient confidentiality? God save her from men everywhere. Lacey blanked on the doctor’s name, and was grateful to see that he, too, had a nametag on his hip-length white coat, if only he would come close enough so that she could read it. He stared at her, probably assessing her condition, and picked up her chart from where it sat in the metal cubby on the foot of the bed. Crap. She hadn’t thought to look at it.
    “Well, Ms. Munroe. You gave us a bit of a scare yesterday I see. How are we feeling today?”
    The whole freaking bunch of them were doing the royal thing. Lacey forced a big smile.
    “I feel fine,” she lied happily. “Just waiting on you to give me the ‘all clear.’” Men liked happy, sweet, charming women who pretended to be in awe of their superiority. It didn’t matter who they were. Dr. Atkinson proved to be no different. He visibly thawed and beamed at her, and Lacey