Page 11 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)
Collide
B eep…beep…beep…beep…
I crack my heavy eyelids slightly, peering through my lashes. Everything is white—too white. I squeeze them shut again. My head is pounding. I take a deep breath, the smell triggering a memory I can’t quite recall in the haze, but it reminds me of despair.
“Nurse, nurse! I think she’s waking up,” a deep voice I don’t recognize calls out, full of concern. Movement follows, and I hear a small ding … beep…beep…
“Ugh,” I manage, dragging myself back to consciousness. I feel something move beside me—the surface dipping under their weight—and the clinical smell from earlier is gone, replaced by the scent of the ocean. It smells like home.
I open my eyes again, forcing them wide despite fluttering against the blinding brightness. Above me, a pair of stormy blue-gray eyes stare intently. I shift back slightly, even though my body and head are still heavy with fog.
Who the fuck are you? I want to say, but my throat tightens and my chest begins to hum with panic.
“Hi,” he whispers, his voice low and close enough that his breath brushes softly against my skin. Recognition flickers through me—he’s the voice from before, the one that smells like a sea breeze on a summer’s day. Warm, comforting, and achingly familiar, even though he’s a stranger.
I don’t know why the scent relaxes me, but it does.
“Hi,” I squeak back, my voice scratchy and weak as I shift beneath crisp, white sheets. What am I wearing? Anxiety blooms as my eyes dart around the room. It’s sterile, impersonal, with cream curtains, a closed door off to one side, and a wide window revealing glimpses of the city beyond.
Where am I?
“You’re in the hospital,” he answers gently, reading my unspoken panic. “I brought you here.”
My eyes flicker between him and the room, trying to process his words and take in my surroundings. The sheets feel like paper against my skin, my limbs heavy as lead. I hate hospitals. I spent enough time by my mother’s bedside to last a lifetime.
He leans back from the bed, standing up, and I finally take in the sight of him. Tall—very tall—blond, wearing a white shirt and jeans. Wait.
He’s the guy from the store!
“What happened?” I breathe, my voice barely audible. My head throbs, heavy and fogged with confusion.
He shakes his head, running a hand through his floppy hair. He looks almost embarrassed, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can say a word, a short, plump nurse with half-moon glasses bustles into the room, as if on cue.
“Hello, miss,” she interjects briskly, her voice bright and practical. She swiftly grabs the buzzer from above my head, switching it off. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had a small accident. How are you feeling?”
“Fine…just groggy and sore,” I manage, feeling like my body still hasn’t fully caught up with my brain. “How long was I out?”
She tilts her head, giving me an odd look over the top of her glasses. “Groggy and sore? Miss, are you British?”
“No, Australian,” I reply, rolling my eyes. At the mention of Australia, the guy beside me visibly perks up, his gaze sharpening, intent but unreadable. Something about the intensity in his eyes makes my chest tighten, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
The nurse nods thoughtfully, jotting something down on her chart. “Full name, please?”
“Um, Eleanor Josephine Montgomery.”
“Date of birth?”
I relay my birthday to her September 3 rd , followed by the year I was born. I glance over at him and he frowns. I wonder what he’s thinking.
“Parents?” says the nurse clearing her throat.
“Vida and Jack Harding—no, sorry,” I say quickly, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I shake my head gently, trying to clear the lingering haze. “I mean Vida Harding and Mortimer Montgomery.”
My eyes dart sideways toward the guy again, now seated on the couch under the window, catching him staring openly now. His stormy eyes widen briefly before he glances down at his hands, seemingly fascinated by his fingers.
“Alex here says he accidentally bumped into you,” the nurse explains lightly, waving her pen in his direction. “You fell, hit your head, and he brought you in.”
“Oh, shit.” I gasp, my hand instinctively flying to the tender spot at the back of my skull. The dull ache blooms anew beneath my fingertips.
“You split your head open and needed stitches. You also have a minor gash on your elbow,” the nurse says matter-of-factly, peering at me over her half-moon glasses before placing my chart at the foot of the bed.
My eyes widen as I glance toward Alex. He’s still sitting quietly nearby, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as though he wishes the hospital floor might swallow him whole.
“Stitches?” I gasp, inspecting my arms more carefully. My left elbow is neatly bandaged. Despite the circumstances, I feel better than I probably should, and grateful that it isn’t worse.
“The initial scans showed no brain bleeds, but because you passed out, you likely have a concussion and some swelling,” the nurse continues gently.
“We’ll keep you overnight for observation and send you for another scan in the morning.
Depending on those results, you’ll likely be discharged tomorrow.
” She offers a quick, reassuring nod, then turns on her heel and strides briskly from the room.
I exhale heavily, frustration welling in my chest.
Seriously? Not even two weeks in New York and I’ve already landed myself in the hospital.
My eyes scan the unfamiliar room, landing on a neatly folded pile of my clothes and my purse, resting on a small table in the corner. I shift, swinging my legs toward the side of the bed, only to have Alex immediately appear by my side.
“Hey, you should stay in bed,” he insists, his voice firm but gentle, one large hand resting lightly on my shoulder, steadying me. His touch sends an unexpected ripple of warmth down my spine.
“I’m sure I can manage,” I say, irritation slipping into my voice, though I’m honestly too tired to argue. With a resigned sigh, I adjust myself, settling back into the bed.
“Alex, right?” I glance at him. “Could you grab my bag, please?” I gesture toward my purse, still resting on the chair.
Without a word, Alex crosses the room, gently lifting the purse, and hands it to me with both hands.
“Thanks,” I murmur, appreciating his care, even if embarrassment still lingers.
“I think I owe you an apology,” Alex begins quietly, sincerity etched plainly on his face. “You’re in here because of me. Back at the store, you bumped into me, fell, and hit your head.” Guilt shadows his expression, making him look momentarily vulnerable.
My cheeks go hot.
Of course, I think, cringing inwardly. Only I could knock myself out by bumping into someone.
“I guess it doesn’t help that you’re built like a wall,” I joke weakly, trying to break the tension. “Not easy dealing with us hobbit folk.”
“You like Lord of the Rings?” he asks, smirking as he shakes his head and runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. My heart stutters slightly—his jawline is sharp, his features strikingly handsome. Those eyes of his pierce right through me, leaving my face burning with a sudden rush of heat.
God, he might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
“I do,” I mumble, embarrassed at being caught staring. Quickly, I shove my hand into my purse, rummaging through it as a distraction, finally pulling out my phone.
Shit.
Five missed calls from Philippa, three from Riley, one from Mark, and a long, relentless chain of unread messages.
17:15–Pip
Do you have dinner plans? Andrew and I are going to SORA – you and Riley should join us for sushi. xo. P.
17:20–Riley
Scored the interview! I’m so excited! Bye bartending hello art gallery! Drinks tonight let’s celebrate!
18:45–Riley
You screening calls? How’s the studio, Pip wants to go to SORA! Sushi, sake then dancing?
18:59–Mark
See you at the studio on Thursday. Invite in calendar.
19:25–Pip
We’re at SORA, table by the bar! Sushi time yum!
19:30–Riley
Still at the studio? We’re here! Should I order ahead?
20:00–Pip
I’m getting worried. Please answer!
20:40–Riley
So you’ve either been eaten by a bear or you’re with someone—CALL ME!
21:30–Pip
Where are you?
Oh, fuck, shit!
The clock on my phone says it’s past midnight. If I reply now, it’ll wake them. I’ll wait to reach out in the morning. Dropping my phone to my side, I peek up to see Alex, still hovering by my bedside, his face washed with concern, guilt, and something else I can’t quite pinpoint.
Oh, God. A face so handsome, too flawless—like it was carved for a world I’ll never touch. The kind of beauty that leaves you stranded mid-sentence, forgetting how to breathe. Could I trust such a face?
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. I don’t want to seem ungrateful for his help, but I’m sure he’s got better things to do than wait around on me.
“I guess.” His lips quirk up into a smile, then he shrugs. “But I’d like to make sure you’re alright.” He takes a seat in the empty visitor chair by my bedside.
His response catches me off guard. He wants to make sure I’m okay? Most likely out of obligation, avoiding a lawsuit if he can.
I cock my head to the side and it throbs. “You don’t have a habit of assaulting random strangers, do you?” I say softer, making up for my earlier comment.
“I’m hurting, too. Internally bleeding, I suspect, from when you threw yourself into me.” He chuckles, a deep laugh.
His joke is unexpected. And now I’m intrigued.
“Oh, would you like the bed, you poor thing? How selfish of me,” I tease, lifting the covers slightly, the hospital gown shifting just enough to reveal the top of my thigh.
Alex’s eyes widen, and I see him avert his gaze quickly, his cheeks tinged with red. “I should be used to girls throwing themselves at me by now,” he scoffs in response, turning his head away.