He Left Me Broken Now He Wants Me Back Chapter 01
On the seventh day of my hospital stay for a broken leg, I was in the rehab ward playing cards with a few other patients when Rowan called.
“Where are you?”
“Out of town for work. I’ve told you that already.” I focused on the cards in my hand, trying to sound casual.
The patient sitting across from me suddenly said, “Olivia, look up.”
I did.
Rowan stood in the doorway in deep blue scrubs, his face a thundercloud. He strode to my bedside.
“You broke your leg. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come to Lakefront Medical for the surgery? Why lie and say you were on a business trip?”
One of Chicago’s top orthopedic surgeons, looking for all the world like a jilted boyfriend. I let out a short, bitter laugh.
“Dr. Ashbourne is busy.”
He’d reminded me more than once. He was busy. I shouldn’t bother him with every little thing. I shouldn’t always need him around.
“It’s just a fracture. I took care of it. There was no need to take up your time.”
…
The other patients quickly filed out.
A playing card fluttered to the floor. Rowan picked it up and placed it on my bed.
“Liv, you’re still angry.”
His brows drew together—the look that meant he was done explaining himself.
“I didn’t mean to leave you at the restaurant on our anniversary. How long are you going to punish me for it?”
Seven days ago was our two-year anniversary.
I’d made the reservation more than ten days in advance. We had just sat down, not even opened the wine list, when his phone rang. “A patient needs me,” he’d said, grabbing his coat and leaving me there.
The server waited patiently for a while. Eventually, I told him to cancel our dinner, insisting they charge the cancellation fee.
Less than an hour later, I saw a photo from one of Mia Cole’s events on Instagram. In the corner of the shot, a man’s arm was visible, wearing the watch I’d picked out for Rowan that morning.
I was staring at that photo when I missed a step on the stairs of the Chicago Riverwalk.
A passerby called an ambulance. Between the ER, surgery, and admission, it was nearly eleven by the time Rowan finally called.
“I’m home. Where are you?”
My injured leg was propped up on a pillow. I stared at a chip in the paint on the hospital bed’s metal rail.
“Did you go see Mia today?”
He paused.
“She twisted her back at the event. Her old injury flared up. I couldn’t just ignore it.”
The last time, it was a spider that supposedly startled her into throwing out her back. Rowan had rushed over right after a surgery. The time before that, we’d just started a movie when she called, saying she’d been on her feet too long at an event and her back hurt too much to drive. “We’ll watch it next time,” he’d promised, before taking her to urgent care.
Every time, there was a reason he *had* to go.
I closed my eyes and said nothing.
Rowan lowered his voice, using the tone he always did to end a discussion.
“Okay, fine. I’ll take another day off to make it up to you. All right? Now, where are you? I’ll come get you.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I could picture the frown, the weariness settling over him. His patience, as always, was wearing thin.
“I spent half a month begging you to clear that one evening,” I said with a hollow laugh. “If there’s a next time, how far in advance should I start begging?”
His voice turned cold. “Olivia…”
I cut him off.
“A client had an emergency. I’m out of town. You don’t need to take the time off.”
It was the first time I’d ever hung up on him.