I reached for Gemma’s hand. “Think you could make an exception? Just this once?”
“How many are we talking about?”
“Eight, not counting my wife.”
Eyebrows shooting sky-high, he repeated the number. “Eight?”
“Wait.” I turned to Gemma. “My mom’s here too, right?”
“Yeah.” She gave a slight nod.
“Then make it nine.”
Closing his eyes, Dr. Vance exhaled heavily like I was trying his patience. “I can give you an hour. That’s it.” He gave me a stern glare. “And not a minute more.”
My grin grew wide, and I offered him a mock salute. “You got it.”
“I’ll have someone from PT come up for an evaluation so they can develop a treatment plan specific to your unique needs. I’ll return this evening to check on you.”
“Thanks, Doc!” I called after him as he walked out of the room, shaking his head.
Squeezing Gemma’s hand, I declared, “Time to round up the troops.”
The weary look on her face matched the tone of her sigh. “Sasha, you’ve barely been conscious for an hour. Does it have to be right now?”
“Yes.” I gave a firm nod. “I want everyone here as soon as possible.”
“What Sasha wants, Sasha gets. Story of my fucking life,” she grumbled, but I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face.
Gemma slipped her hand from my hold, reaching for a bag set on a chair in the corner. Producing her phone, she tapped the screen, typing out a text and sending it. Immediately, several responding dings sounded in quick succession.
“They’re on their way,” she announced.
“Good. I should probably call my mom. Do you know if she’s been staying at my house?”
“Maddox set her up in a hotel a block away so she could be close to you.”
That’s the guy I know and love.
“Perfect. Hand me my phone.” I curled my fingers in agimmemotion.
When she placed it in my palm, I hit the number I had on speed dial.
My mother’s voice was apprehensive when she answered, “Sasha?”
Gemma shot me a curious look when I began speaking in Russian. But I didn’t want to spoil the surprise I had planned once we were surrounded by our closest friends and family.
When I hung up, my girl quirked an eyebrow. “What was that?”
“What?” I tried to school my features into an expression of innocence.
Her eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Just when I think you can’t shock me any more, you casually let it be known that you’re bilingual.”
I cocked my head. “You don’t know any Italian?”
Shrugging, she replied, “Few words and phrases. My cousins and brother know a little more but aren’t fluent. Not by a long shot.”
“Huh.” I shook off the assumption with a quick shake of my head, changing gears. “Where’s the bed remote?”
