Chapter Twenty-Nine ~ Part One

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Surprisingly, the pain of having three stitches sewn into the back of her head was nothing compared to the agonising embarrassment that Mac had experienced just an hour earlier.


“Sorry, nearly done,” the pretty, young registrar wielding a needle, promised her.

Not only had Mac passed out in the middle of Business Class, just minutes before her flight was due to depart, but she’d also, somehow, managed to pull her laptop down on top of herself, where it had bounced off her head and crashed noisily to the floor, ensuring that everyone within a ten row radius was alerted to the drama unfolding.

However, this wasn’t the worst of it.

"Fff… Ow!"

"Just a little longer. You're doing great."

The piece de humiliating resistance, was that when she’d come around, there were no less than four airport medical staff, as well as two federal police officers and several flight attendants, all trying to work out how to extricate her from where she’d gotten herself well and truly wedged between the back of her seat and the crotch of the man in 6C. Once liberated, and escorted off the plane in a fold up wheelchair, the onlooking passengers had all clapped.

They'd actually clapped.

“Umm, excuse me?” A face popped around the door of the little treatment room. “Dr Langdon?”

“Yes Carla?” The registrar made one last stab at Mac’s scalp.

“Fuccc… Ow!”

"Last one. I promise."

The medical receptionist, Carla, scrunched up her eyes and sucked air in through her teeth in sympathy with Mac. “Umm, the gentleman that came in with Miss Stephens is asking if he can come in yet.”

Dr Langdon waved the needle at Mac, proving that she really was all done, before dropping it, and her scissor-y, clamp-y things into a little metal tray. Raising her eyebrows, she checked, "Mac? Is this ok?"

“Yes," she sighed, "it's fine, you can let him in.”

Carla's head nodded and disappeared again.

"Ok, well, I'll leave you two alone for a bit, but remember, you have to drink all of that," the registrar gestured to the large jug of bright orange liquid on the stand beside the bed, then moved to the door, "and have a wee before I can let you leave alright?"

"Ok. Thanks." Mac smiled and pointed to her head. "For this I mean."

"No problem."


She'd barely swung her legs around and over the edge of the too short, too tall bed when the door opened again.

"Fucking hell Maccy. You scared the shit out of me."

"What are you still doing here, Adam?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" He strode across the room to her. "I'm hanging around to make sure you're alright, that's what."

"You don't need to, I'm absolutely fine." She picked up the luminescent jug but her hand shook so much she had to put it straight back down again.

"Fine? Really?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"It's just a bit of dehydration that's all," she grumbled.

"And a hole in the head." He poured her a glass and held it out, waiting until she'd grasped it with both hands before letting go.

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