Angel Falling Read Free Page A

could help me, I want to know what’s going on with Hank Jensen? Can I see him?”
    “He’s in surgery now, but I’ll take you up and ensure you’re approved access to him when he’s in recovery. We couldn’t find any familial contact information, and since your office seems to have more information than we do, it only seems fitting you be granted access.” She winked at me then turned on her heel. “Follow me.”
    As we followed the Dean of Medicine, I leaned over and whispered into Oliver’s ear, “You’re going to pay for that one.”
    “I always do.” His smile widened and I shook my head in mock indignation.
    Once we were settled in the waiting room, I grilled Oliver on Hank’s next of kin and tried to call the number on file. The phone rang nonstop, with no answering machine picking up. In this day and age, I’d think everyone on the planet had voicemail. Apparently not. I returned countless emails from my smartphone and had Oliver cancel all my meetings for the day.
    We spent three hours in the waiting room before the surgeon approached us. He was suited from head to bootie-covered toes in medical scrubs. Ms. Maxwell flanked his side.
    “Ms. Reynolds? I’m Dr. Nicholls.”
    I shook his hand. “How’s Mr. Jensen?” Worry wracked my tone, making it sound as if my throat was laced with sandpaper.
    “He’s doing very well. We were able to remove the pipe that went through the connective tissue in his shoulder.”
    “Oh my God. You mean the pipe went in one side of his body and out the other?”
    “To an extent, yes. We removed it. We were able to reattach the tissues of his shoulder and stitch both the entry and exit wounds up nicely. He’s been in recovery for the past thirty minutes. Should wake up any time now.”
    “So he’s going to be okay? What happens next?”
    “He’ll need a good four-to-six weeks of recovery to let the tissue heal properly, need to wear a sling to limit mobility. Then another six weeks of physical therapy. We’ll have to check his stitches weekly for infection. The bandage will need changing twice daily. He’s going to need help over the first two weeks after he leaves the hospital.”
    I closed my eyes, relieved. Oliver supported me as I said a silent prayer, thanking God he survived. He was hurt, and would spend the next weeks recovering, but he’d recover. That was the important thing. “I’ll make sure he has around-the-clock care.”
    Oliver pulled out his phone and stepped off to the side. “Ms. Reynolds is going to need to hire a full–time, highly-skilled nurse … ” I heard him talking softly as he walked out into the hall. Worth every penny, my Ollie was.
    “Can I see him?”
    “Of course. He should awaken soon. I’ll take you to him.”
    I waved at Oliver who followed a few paces behind us. The Dean led us through a series of doors where machines beeped like a metronome, keeping the pace of the healing process. The hospital held the sour odor of disinfectant and vapor rub as we made our way through the halls. I pinched the bridge of my nose to combat the stench. Hospitals reminded me of death.
    Ms. Maxwell led me to a closed door. “Go on in. We haven’t been able to reach any of his family.”
    “Me either,” I confirmed. “If you do, please let me know.”
    She nodded and then walked away. I entered the room while Oliver took a seat just outside the door, phone still held to his ear.
    The room was surprisingly large, but my eyes didn’t take in much besides the man lying in the bed. His torso was bare, a thin blanket folded at his waist. A large bandage covered his entire left shoulder.
    I walked over to get a better look at my sleeping savior. He was a giant: had to be well over six-feet tall, with thick, muscular arms, broad shoulders, and washboard abs. My heart pounded as I took in every inch of one of the most beautiful bodies I’d ever seen. No farmers tan. All smooth golden skin.
    Hank Jenson was a work of art. A smattering of