Nineteen-year-old, Bea Somerton, knows exactly how she wants to live. Become a doctor, remain in remission from her childhood Leukaemia and have a happy, normal, life.
The last thing she expects is to meet rising star and troubled musician, Holden P...
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"Are you rostered on today?"
My shoes squeak against the surface of the linoleum flooring as I walk the hospital hallway. Anna jogs to keep up with me, her shorter legs taking quicker strides.
"Nope," I press the button of the elevator multiple times, impatiently.
"Then why—"
"I'm here to proposition Holden."
"Oh," she smirks. "I like how you think, Somerton."
"Oh, god. No, Anna. Not like that," I scrunch my mouth in distaste, stepping into the elevator.
"Then how—"
Before she gets a chance to finish, her pager begins to beep. With a groan, she reaches for it, stepping back from the elevator as it opens for me. "Duty calls," she mumbles. "Tell me everything later!"
She waves me goodbye as I slowly lose sight of her, the doors sliding shut and blocking my view.
I clench my fist, aware of the nervous buzz pumping through my veins. My lack of sleep has left me delirious and what I'm about to do may be the stupidest decision I've ever made.
I haven't spoken to Holden for a while now. Not properly since our fight in his room. He's sent me the odd message, but I've ignored most of them. But receiving the news that my cancer is back only makes me more aware to the fact that I can't be angry at him forever.
Signalling my exit with a ding, I arrive on a Holden's floor. Brooks is sitting on the waiting chairs outside his room, casually flicking through a magazine.
"Morning," I smile, starling the big, burly man. "Is Holden in?"
"He is," Brooks nods, barely acknowledging my presence as he keeps his eyes solely focused on the words in front of him.
"Can I—"
"Be careful," Brooks interrupts. "Be careful how far you let this go."
"I don't think I understand—"
"He'll be discharged soon enough. His management want him to finish the rest of his tour. That's at least another three countries."
"That's great," I mutter. "I still don't see—"
"You seem like a smart girl, Blake. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt too," he breaks his gaze to meet mine.
"I think you have the wrong idea," I smile. "I'm just his cleaner."
Brooks watches me for a beat, before clearing his throat and turning back to his magazine. "Of course."
I wouldn't want to see you get hurt too? What did he even mean? Is he referring to Holden?
I wait a second, rubbing my arm awkwardly before I continue on to Holden's room. With a brief knock and a muffled reply, I crack the door open, finding him sprawled out on his bed, guitar in hand.
