With a nod, I shove my pens back into my pocket and drape my stethoscope around my neck. It’s not strictly necessary since I’m not evaluating a patient at the moment, but it’s one of those things I hate leaving around. A good stethoscope is just about the same as true gold around here. I push open the doors and enter the waiting room. Several heads raise, hopeful expressions passing over them, before I turn toward the desk without announcing a name.
A man in his late twenties stands beside the desk, a large white envelope held in his hands and a pin the shape of the Council’s insignia—an Omega symbol with a lowercase greek “A” nestled inside it—holding a black tie in place against a gray shirt. His hair is trimmed brutally short, and his brown eyes are wary. They warm as I approach, a smile spreading across his face.
“Ms. Harper?” he asks.
When I nod, he offers the envelope.
“If you have any questions, my information is included. The video call is scheduled for tomorrow night as long as everything is to your pack’s liking.”
Before I can formulate a response, he’s gone, walking briskly through the waiting room and out the sliding glass doors into the hot New York morning. In a daze, I walk back to the nursing station, setting the envelope on the clean desk and placing my stethoscope on top of it. I pull out my phone and send a group text.
So we just got a packet.
And we have a video call scheduled for tomorrow night.
It’s not a surprise that Marcus is the first to respond. He’s been distraught since the news last week despite our best attempts at trying to keep his spirits up.
A matching packet? We weren’t shortlisted.
I know.
I wait for a moment, but when he doesn’t respond, I send a final text.
Have to get back to work. You can swing by and grab it if you want.
Charlotte’s response is short and sweet, just like her.
We’ll wait for you. See you tonight, Megs.
“Gina, you have that hand trauma ready?” I ask, shoving my phone back into my pocket.
She nods and points to one of the rooms toward the front. “Peterson said she’d be able to evaluate it in about five minutes. Just need a new set of vitals and first round of pain meds right now.”
I scratch out a note on one of the yellow sticky notes spread on the desk and then press it onto the unmarked packet.
Harper’s. Yes, she knows about it. No, don’t ask yet.
Riley drops into the seat beside me, already pulling up a patient file. His slim fingers fly over the keyboard as he reads the note. He grins, his eyebrows wagging as a mischievous gleam brightens his brown eyes.
“Not a word,” I mutter.
His expression goes comically innocent, and I roll my eyes. Then I turn back to Gina where she’s wrangling one of the linen baskets and refilling the blanket warmer.
“She put the pain meds in?” I ask her, slinging my stethoscope back onto my neck and turning away from the desk entirely.
“Pharmacy should have them down in another couple minutes,” she offers. “It’s a real nice kiddo, accident while helping his mom make breakfast. Glass pan broke.”
Ouch.
“Thanks,” I say as warmly as I can manage.
I cross the department, taking a moment before opening the door to the patient’s room. Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, shoving the strange mix of excitement and unease away. I count to five under my breath, and then I push the door open with a quick knock, a smile fixed in place.
My feet ache and my eyes burn as I finally open the door to our unassuming home in the heart of Manhattan. The sun is nearly down, hiding below the skyline to the west and casting long shadows along the street. I pull the packet from my bag before letting it drop to the floor and kicking off my shoes. The lights on the first floor are off, only the small fake candle we keep on the counter in the kitchen at the back of the townhouse giving any illumination.
“Marcus? Charlotte?” I call for them, too tired to go up the stairs until absolutely necessary.
Instead, I head deeper into the space, a moth drawn to the little light in the kitchen. I dig out the cookies Charlotte made over the weekend, her own way of dealing with the disappointment since the gala, letting the rich blend of chocolate and sugar ease some of the residual stress.
