“A week? But I’m supposed to start my job next Thursday.” I look up at the doctor, hoping this is all some sick joke. A prank. A twisted dream.

“I’m sorry, Miss Cavenaugh, but I’m afraid if you’re a model, you won’t be able to work for some time.”

Tony kicks the side of a chair and then curses under his breath. Then he repeats his question. “How big a scar, Dr. Benson?”

“The scar from the surgery itself won’t be very noticeable. I’ll go in through an incision on your hairline, back by your ear. It’s probably the scar from your laceration that will cause you the most concern. But if you use sunscreen and take vitamin E, your scar should fade to a pale pink line after a few months or so. Then you will likely be able to cover it with makeup.”

“Months?” I cry.

“What if she doesn’t have the surgery?” Tony asks. “I mean, maybe it will just heal on its own.”

The doctor shakes his head. “A displaced fracture means the bone fragments have shifted. With that comes the risk of impingement of the lower muscles of the eye.”

“As in her face will droop or something?” Tony asks in horror.

“Possibly. That and a lot of other painful things she won’t want to deal with.” Dr. Benson turns back to me. “You need the surgery, Miss Cavenaugh. There really is no other option.”

Months. The word floats around in my head as I try to wrap my mind around it. In the matter of one day, my life has changed exponentially. It went from nothing special, to phenomenal, to a pile of crap—all within the last twelve hours. It was just this morning when I got the call that I’d been given my first big modeling job. I was going to be the fresh new face of a high-end clothing line.

And now, this. My face is anything but fresh and new. I’ll lose my job. They won’t wait for me to heal. Nobody will hire a girl with a scar when there are so many other beautiful women with perfect complexions.

What will I do? How will I pay the rent?

I look up at Tony. “Do you think Joe will hire me back?”

I quit my waitressing job the minute I found out I got the modeling gig. Actually, I didn’t really quit as much as I just didn’t show up for work today. Then I stupidly let one of my roommates answer Joe’s text with some snarky remarks about how I was going to be rich and famous, and that working at a—what was it she said—hole-in-the-wall diner, was beneath me.

Tony raises a sorrowful eyebrow at me. He read the text.

I blow out a long breath. Maybe my roommates will help me out for a while. Surely they will understand that I can’t work like this. Then again, most of them are living paycheck-to-paycheck just as I am.

Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them ended up with the job I am about to lose. My roommates are all self-centered witches. They wouldn’t raise a finger to help a sister out if she were drowning.

I only live with them because I have no choice. Coming from Iowa six months ago, I didn’t know anyone. It only made sense to connect with others who were also trying to make it in modeling. And at twenty-three, I’m the oldest of the five girls who share the small two-bedroom apartment in the Lower East Side.

They all acted excited when I got the call this morning. But they are terrible actresses. They weren’t excited for me at all. In fact, I heard Kirsten, Tori, and Pauline talking in the bathroom. They were wondering how an ‘old lady’ like me could get a job like that. One of them, I think it was Tori, said I must have slept with someone to get it, which makes her a hypocrite seeing as she’s slept with half of New York City. Jamie was the only one who seemed genuinely happy for me. But maybe that’s because she got a great contract of her own last week.

“Do you have any other questions for me?” Dr. Benson asks.

“You said I can’t have the surgery until next week? Do I have to stay here until then?”

“We need to wait for the swelling to go down before we do surgery. You’ll stay here for a night or two and then I’ll see you on an outpatient basis until the surgery. Then after the surgery, you’ll stay another couple of nights.”

“That sounds expensive,” I say.

He looks at my chart. “You have insurance, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

I’m still on my mom’s policy. She’s going to freak when she finds out about this. She’ll insist I come back to Iowa. It’s not going to happen. I refuse to go back a failure. And besides, there is nothing for me there. Not anymore.

I decide not to tell her. I figure she won’t get the bills for a month or so. By then, maybe I can get another job.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” Dr. Benson says. He starts to walk out of the room, but then turns around, looking very fatherly. “I know it seems like the end of the world now, Murphy, but it’s not. Bones will heal. Scars will fade. It’s what you take away from this experience that will help define you as a person. Don’t let it break you.”

I nod as tears roll down my face, wishing I still had my own dad to give me words of wisdom.

Tony checks his phone and heads toward the door. “I have some things I need to take care of. You get some sleep and I’ll catch you later, ‘kay?”

I look at the clock on the wall above the door. It’s not even eight o’clock. But he’s been here for hours. A lot has happened and he must be exhausted. It’s not until after he leaves that I realize he didn’t kiss me goodbye. I guess he didn’t want to risk hurting me.

I wonder if they’ll give me more pain meds so I can sleep. So I don’t have to think about what I will do when I wake up in the morning with a face as big as a watermelon. So I don’t lie here and feel so broken.

Chapter Three

Caden

With a bag full of Hawks stuff in one hand, I duck into the hospital cafeteria to get a quick bite to eat. I never eat before a game. I’m always too nervous. And I was so eager to get here, I plain forgot to grab some food along the way. Hospital food will have to do.

Standing in line, there is a guy in front of me talking on his phone.

“Just ask Kirsten,” he says. “She’ll tell you I’m not exaggerating. There is no way she’ll ever model again. She looks fucking hideous. It’s sad really. I mean the day she got the call. Her career was over before it even started. I guess I should wait a few days before I toss her to the curb.”

“Tony!” I hear a woman call from across the cafeteria.

He quickly ends his phone conversation. “Gotta go, man.” He puts his phone in his pocket and draws the girl into his arms, juggling his coffee and candy bar in one hand.

“Hey, babe,” he says, planting a kiss on her cherry-red lips.

“Next,” the cashier says, beckoning the guy forward. He pays the lady before leading little Miss Red Lips out the cafeteria door.

I take my food with me, scarfing down my sandwich on the way to Murphy Cavenaugh’s room. Earlier, I texted my brother-in-law, Kyle, to see if he could tell me where I could find Murphy. As an ER doc, Kyle wasn’t on duty when Murphy was brought in a few hours ago, but he’s on-call tonight and texted me Murphy’s room number on the third floor. Damn. Apparently, the guy was hurt badly enough to get admitted which makes me feel even worse.

The door to room 315 is open, so I stand in the doorway for a second before entering. I look down at my phone to double check the room number, because I’m pretty sure I have the wrong room. Sculpted, tan legs peek out from beneath the bed sheets and I can see waves of long blonde hair cascading down the front of the patient’s hospital gown. I can’t see the patient’s face from behind her magazine, but my guess is that I definitely have the wrong room. This is no old dairy farmer.

The magazine gets flung across the room and the woman on the bed, who I can now see has a terribly injured face, screams before breaking down in sobs.

I try to make my escape, knowing I’m in the wrong place, but the handles of the bag I’m holding choose this very second to break, and the bag falls down, spilling the contents at my feet.

I look over at her in apology for invading her privacy as she tries to wipe tears from the side of her face that isn’t damaged.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, looking horrified. “I wasn’t screaming at you.”

“No, it’s me who’s sorry. I’ll just pick up my things and leave you alone. I must have the wrong room. I was looking for a Mr. Cavenaugh.”

Her one good eye narrows, and she winces as if it hurts like a mother to make that small facial movement. “Um, I’m obviously not a ‘mister,’ but my name is Cavenaugh,” she says. “Are you one of my doctors?”

I laugh as I clean up my mess and pack everything back into the bag as best I can. “No. Definitely not a doctor, for which you should be grateful seeing as I just spilled everything on the floor.”

She attempts to smile, and even behind the damage on her face, I can tell she has a beautiful smile.

“I’m looking for a guy named Murphy,” I say.

She points to her chest. “I’m Murphy. But I’m not a guy.”

I look to where her fingers are pointing. No. She is definitely not a guy.

“You’re Murphy?” I ask. “Murphy Cavenaugh?”

“The one and only,” she says. “At least I think so, but I haven’t Googled my name in a while so I can’t be sure.”

I take in her face and it all makes sense now. Oh, God. The entire left side of her face is battered. There is a deep reddish-purple bruise in the exact shape of a goddamn baseball, and there are fresh stitches right below her swollen-shut eye. Shit.

I walk into her room. “Then I’m afraid I owe you a big apology,” I say.

“Apology for what?”

“I’m Caden Kessler,” I tell her.

She stares at me blankly. “I’m sorry. You say your name as if I should know who you are. But you’ll have to forgive me, because I don’t. Are you from my agency?” Her face falls into a frown. “Oh no, please tell me you haven’t been sent here to fire me.”