Page 5 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)
Chapter Four
Lottie watched the young woman enter the clinic. She looked upset and scared. When she turned her head, Lottie saw the bruising. “Can we help you?”
Charlie knew better than to come to the clinic. They’d want her to press charges on her attacker. She wouldn’t do it. The last thing she needed was Ashley and Crispen coming after her again.
She’d known better than to argue when they started in on her about the apartment. It wasn’t her problem they lived there. “I’m sorry. I’m fine,” Charlie mumbled and turned to leave.
“Wait.” Lottie gave the young woman a sympathetic look. “We won’t make you file a report, and we won’t call the cops.”
The only reason Charlie was considering staying was because her face hurt like hell. “Ok.”
Taking the clipboard from the receptionist she took a seat.
Her knee bounced up and down at a steady rate due to being nervous.
She tried remembering the address of the hotel but instead left the address blank.
Twice she stopped filling out the form thinking about leaving.
Regulating herself that she needed to be seen, she read over the form and jotted down her answers.
Once she’d filled out all her information, Charlie took it back to the little window. Glancing through the opening, she didn’t see anyone.
Turning around, she barely took two steps before someone asked if they could help her again. Looking back, she saw a different woman standing on the other side of the window. “Yes, the other receptionist helped me.”
The woman stared at Charlie with too much attitude. “I’m the only receptionist working tonight.”
“Black hair. Short bangs,” Charlie said, staring at the woman behind the plastic window.
“That was Lottie. She’s one of our nurses.”
“She had me fill out the paperwork.” She pointed at the clipboard.
“Have a seat and we’ll get to you soon.” The woman slid the window closed leaving Charlie standing in the room alone.
Charlie tapped her fingers absently on the arm of the chair, the rhythmic motion doing little to settle the gnawing unease that had been building up inside her.
The sound of the TV was muted, leaving only the faint hum of the overhead lights to fill the space.
She squinted at the screen where the Mystery Inc.
gang was chasing down a ghost in an old, haunted mansion.
The familiar cartoon antics—Scooby and Shaggy hiding behind furniture, Velma losing her glasses—were supposed to be comforting. But today, it just felt... off.
Her fingers paused mid-tap. She hated this place.
Hated how everything about it screamed “waiting”: waiting for bad news, waiting for results, waiting for life to change.
The sterile smell of antiseptics, the way the chairs were spaced just far enough apart so you couldn’t talk to anyone, even if you wanted to.
And the cold. Always the cold. She shivered slightly, wrapping her arms around herself tighter.
The sound of footsteps echoing through the hall made her heart skip with a burst of hope rising before she reminded herself no one came out of those doors with good news.
They didn’t. Not here. Not in places like this.
When the sound faded, Charlie forced her eyes back to the muted TV screen, trying to distract herself.
But her thoughts kept spiraling, each one darker than the last.?
Scooby and Shaggy ran from a groaning ghost, and Charlie couldn’t help but wonder if the two of them were any better off than she was—chasing ghosts, too scared to stop long enough to face them.
With a sigh, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. The ghost on the screen was unconvincing, but the one inside her chest. Far too real.
“Charlie Cote.”
Her name being called had her opening her eyes. Scratching her nose, Charlie got up and walked to the counter. “Yes.”
“I need your ID and insurance information.”
“I don’t have insurance.” Pointing to the clipboard she smiled at the woman. “It says that on the form.”
The receptionist slammed her hands onto her hips. “Young lady you don’t have to be smart with me.”
Done with the woman’s attitude, Charlie shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need to be seen.”
Hemlock walked around the corner and caught a glimpse of the woman at the counter. “Charlie?”
Shit. “Hey.”
“Carmen, I’ll take Miss Cote back to an exam room,” Hemlock told the receptionist. The woman who was normally pleasant seemed to be having an off night. He’d speak with her later about the attitude.
“Thanks, Emile,” the receptionist said while giving Hemlock a sweet smile.
Hemlock opened the door where Charlie could come to the back. Once she was standing in front of him, he brushed her hair back and saw the bruising. His jaw clinched. “Follow me.”
He led her into an exam room and closed the door. “Have a seat,” he said as he walked to the computer cart. “Carmen hasn’t put your information into the system. Can you give me the rundown?”
“Yes.” Charlie gave Hemlock everything he needed to know. She closed her eyes momentarily as the throbbing of her cheek got worse.
“Charlie.”
Opening her eyes, she stared at the guy she’d almost killed with her lip gloss kisses. She knew what he wanted to know, and she didn’t have the energy to get into it. “It’s a long story. One I’d rather not get into.”
“With me?” he asked.
Charlie blinked and tried to focus on Hemlock and not on the throbbing pain in her face. “What?”
“You’d rather not get into it with me,” Hemlock stated.
Sighing, Charlie decided why not tell him. “Don’t judge me,” she started off with. “My ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend live in an apartment that’s in my name. I went to pay the rent and ran into them. It turned into an argument, and Ashley punched me in the face.”
He wasn’t one to judge anyone. Hemlock was curious about why she was paying for an apartment she wasn’t living in. “Why?”
She knew what he was asking, and she had no real answer other than she couldn’t get the ex out without going to court. Which she couldn’t afford. “There’s a law that states if someone brings so much as a toothbrush into your home, they live there. To get him evicted, I’d have to go to court.”
The whole sorted affair was embarrassing.
She tried staying, but Crispen only made things intolerable for her.
When she came home after work one night and Ashley was sleeping in her bed with him, she lost her shit.
A full-out fistfight with the police being called which landed her in jail for the night.
By the time she’d gotten released and back to the apartment, the locks had been changed and her things were out in the hallway.
“Let me get this straight. You couldn’t throw him out, but he threw you out?”
“Basically. I did try to get rid of him. Every time I changed the locks, I’d come home, and he’d be back in the apartment. He and the apartment manager are buddies.”
“And you’re paying the rent, why?”
“The lease is in my name. I can’t afford for my credit to be ruined.”
Crazy bitch. Crazy bitch. Crazy bitch, h is inner voice screamed at him. “I’m sorry you’re going through that.”
“Me too.”
She watched him take a seat on a rolling stool and move closer to her. He took out a penlight and asked her to follow the light with her eyes, which she did. Her life was in shambles. She couldn’t rent another apartment with already having one in her name. Could she?
“Ouch!” she snapped when Hemlock touched her face.
“Sorry,” Hemlock muttered, his fingers lingering on her jaw for a moment longer than necessary.
His eyes were focused, professional, but Charlie could tell he was trying not to show his own discomfort.
She wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain in her face or the way her life had seemed to collapse into a pile of unmanageable mess.
She’d been a mess for months now. He couldn’t know that, though.
“Let’s try that again,” he said, lifting the penlight a little higher and asking her to follow it with her eyes once more.
She obeyed, her eyes tracking the little dot of light, trying to ignore the sense of disconnection that had begun to bleed into everything—into her thoughts, into the sensation of his hands on her face. Distraction. Focus, just focus.
Charlie felt a sharp pang in her chest, but this time it wasn’t just physical.
It was the overwhelming weight of it all.
The apartment situation was the latest disaster—her lease, her name still on it, her rent doubled because she couldn’t make the right call in time to find another place.
Her credit wasn’t good enough for a fresh start anywhere.
Every door felt like it was closing, locking her in this cramped, cold space.
She pulled her thoughts back to Hemlock, who was still moving the light slowly, checking her eye movement.
He was one of the good ones, she knew. He wasn’t one of those cold, detached doctors who only saw her as another patient with an issue to fix.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability—the way her life had become a series of “what ifs,” constantly wondering if she was ever going to find a way out.
“Alright, let’s check the other side,” he said, breaking her thoughts.
She flinched, involuntarily. Another sharp, hot flash of pain in her face as he touched it again, and she couldn’t help but snap, “Ouch!” The word a little harsher than she intended.
He gave her a sympathetic look but said nothing. Just moved to the other side of her face, a little more gently though. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the growing awareness she didn’t have the answers to anything. Not even to herself.
“Sorry,” she said again, quieter this time, but it felt like the apology wasn’t just for snapping at him. It was for everything. For the mess she was. For the things she couldn’t fix. For all the unknowns that loomed over her.