“He said I’m screwed.”
“That’s not great.”
“No, it’s really not.” I sat down in front of the computer and stretched my legs out, leaning my head back. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to imagine how I could turn this around— and seeing nothing. “He thinks I need to bring in more rich patients.”
“To replace the one that died?”
“More or less.”
“That doesn’t seem very ethical.”
“Not so much about ethics, and more about economics.”
She scowled at me. “You know, when I was a little girl, I though doctors were free. It sort of freaked me out when I realized people had to pay for it.”
“Seems immoral, right?”
“Economics,” she said, shaking her head. “So all we need to do is find some rich old people that need help.”
“It’s not going to happen. Even if I had a list of sick elderly folks that could use a quick heart transplant, that doesn’t mean I can just bring them on as patients. It’s not that simple.”
“We’ll figure something out. There has to be a way.” She shook her head, looking about as annoyed as I felt.
“I’ll keep playing the game and hopefully that’ll be enough.” I stood and went to her, and she tilted her chin up toward me as I put my hands on her hips and pinned her closer against the filing cabinet. She felt warm, and soft, and firm, and right. I kissed her gently, tentative, probing, making sure it was okay—and she returned that kiss with a clever eagerness.
“I’ll help however I can,” she said, voice soft.
“I bet you will.” I kissed her again, deeper this time, but she broke it off.
“Don’t we have to be in the OR in twenty minutes?”
“That’s plenty of time.”
She sighed. “You’re so romantic.” She pushed me off with a smile and went to the door. “Get your mind right, Dr. Hood. You have a fight ahead of you.”
“I’ve had a fight this whole time,” I said, slumping back into my chair. “You only just showed up now.”
She gave me a look then disappeared back out into the hall.
Damn girl, she was a distraction. A good distraction, the kind I desperately needed, but a distraction.
It was a heady, rushing thing, whatever was happening between us. I felt like I’d been hit by a wave, and I was tumbling underwater, flipping around and around, trying to gasp for breath—but loving it regardless.
Sooner or later though, I was going to have to let go of her.
Not because I wanted to, but because I was toxic. I couldn’t let my stench waft onto her, and potentially mess up her career.
I’d have to walk away if she was going to become the surgeon I knew she could.
For now, I’d do what I could, but that future wasn’t too far away.
21
Lori
The OR lights were bright, almost blinding, as a bead of sweat rolled down my forehead.
The patient was a seventy-year-old man in relatively good shape, thin white hair, hooked nose. I couldn’t remember his name, and that was probably for the best—lots of doctors felt like a little distance between them and the people they operated on was for the best. I happened to fall into that camp, because if I spent too much time thinking of him as a person, worrying about his grandchildren, about his friends, about all those that would miss him if I screwed up and he died—then I’d be paralyzed with fear and unable to do my job.
So, he was a seventy-year-old white guy, and that was all I needed.
The room was dead silent. I’d been standing over him for the last hour, going through a relatively simple procedure, one I’d done with Piers over and over again, drilling it into my head. We’d practiced in his office, in the cafeteria, and done a few live sessions where I swapped in during a few of the steps to get a feel for the real thing.
But this was the first time I took over, start to finish.
Another bead of sweat as I began to stitch the patient closed. The nurses were quiet, and I realized that Piers hadn’t said a word the entire time. I’d gone through procedures on my own already, but he’d always stood over my shoulder, giving advice, making adjustments. He was a backseat driver, except he was the best driver in the world—and he made me better with every little comment.
Today though, nothing, only silence as he watched, arms crossed. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t question it. The nurses seemed uneasy, and that was fine. Piers had never given up control like this before, and I was willing to bet that they thought it was a bad thing for him to step aside.
But I knew I’d killed it.
Oh, bad choice of words.
I knocked it out of the park. Start to finish, that surgery went perfect. Each stroke felt right, and I was so deep in the zone that I forgot everything about me. As I finished up the final stitch, closing him, I looked over at Piers for some sign, some measure of approval, some hint of disaster.
He only nodded once. “That’s it,” he said. “Well done, Dr. Court.”
I felt a flood of emotions. Relief, excitement, horror. I went through that whole thing alone, all on my own, and although he’d been there if something had gone wrong—I hadn’t needed him, and could’ve done it without him.
That was a very, very good feeling.
We left the OR as the nurses finished up. I scrubbed off and changed, and he stood nearby, watching, his mask still covering his face. I exited out into the hallway and wanted to let out a wild yell of elation. Piers followed, taking off his mask.
“Well done,” he said again, smiling now.
I grinned at him. “Really?”
“Really. I would’ve said something if there was something to critique. But you did a fantastic job.”
I laughed and nearly hugged him. I was tempted, I wanted to throw
