This,meaning my pregnancy. I can’t help but agree. It does feel like athis.“I want that too,” I say. My voice is steady. That feels like a victory.
Declan claims the chair to my left, Rowan the seat to my right. Rowan slides his back a bit so our arm heat isn’t radiating onto each other.
We’re a strange parody of a date: three Irish doctors and a woman from South Carolina walk into a café. One of them is pregnant with triplets…
“So,” Sean says. He folds his hands into a steeple and rests his chin on his fingers. Just then, a waitress walks up, passing out menus full of toasted sandwiches and pastries. “Did anyone want anything? Just black coffee for me, thanks.”
“Ginger tea with lemon,” I say.
Declan and Rowan shake their heads.
As soon as the waitress leaves, Sean continues, unfazed. “We’re going to recuse ourselves from your case. All three of us. It’s a clear conflict of interest.”
Declan’s forearms tense, a tendril of auburn hair falling to his forehead until he pushes it back with an impatient finger. “We’ve already messaged our attending and the coordinator. No directcare, no chart updates, no peeking. Clear conflict. We won’t be treating you.”
The breath I’ve been holding lets go. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear those exact words until my ribs loosen around them. “Thank you,” I say.
Sean nods. “We’ve documented the conflict. MUSC will assign you a different team.” He glances at Rowan like they rehearsed this and Rowan is missing his line. He looks back at me and says, “It protects us and you.”
“Will…” I tighten my grip around my mug. “Will people know? About…” I look up at them and see three intense pairs of eyes on me. I gasp with the memory of the last time that happened. My blood was pounding in my head that night too. “Us?”
“Absolutely not,” Declan says immediately. “We’ll keep it quiet.”
Sean clears his throat and leans forward, adding, “Not that you should be ashamed. We’re kind of considered catches around here.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. “Ironically, my stock just went down.”
He grins and I feel my shoulders drop a fraction, like my spine recognizes him before my brain gives permission. He glances down at my drink and asks, “Didn’t you want a lemon wedge?”
I shake my head and tell him, “It’s okay.”
“Let me get it for you,” Declan says quickly, standing.
My hand shoots out, pulling him back down, as I shake my head wildly. “No, no, it’s really okay, Declan! Please, just sit. Didn’t we say no care?”
Rowan looks up sharply, like I’ve just awakened him with that sentence. His distance has been the sharpest thing in the room so far, but suddenly his gaze is unflinching. His voice is smooth like honey, and a heat presses between my legs and against my throat as I remember certain things he’s said to me in that voice. “Define care.”
I blink against the sentence, only two words but so imposing. “What do you mean?”
“I would define care in a professional sense as having any sort of authority or influence over medical decisions pertaining to you. It sounds like you would rather none of us care for you inanycapacity. Is that true?” He presses his lips together, and I try not to remember the feeling of them dragging against my jaw.
“No,” I whisper. “That isn’t true.”
“So you’d prefer that we care for you on some level?” he clarifies, still staring me down.
Swallowing, I say, “Yes. I would hope you would.”
Rowan’s chair legs scrape across the ground as he pushes it back, standing, his hands on the table like a politician. “Grand. Because for the record”—he leans forward—“I wanted to break all the rules when it came to you. I wanted to stay your doctor. I don’t want anyone else in charge of your care. So if you’re telling me not to care at all, that would be a relief.”
I shake my head at his glowering face, even as it turns away from me and Rowan walks away. Clearing his throat, Sean cuts in, saying, “He’ll be okay, Willow. Regardless of what he’s saying now, we really want to apologize for the position you’re in. We didn’t—” He stops himself and recalibrates. “We should’ve…handled things differently. Or not at all.”
There are a hundred ways to answer. I choose small and true. “Me too.”
A silence settles that somehow doesn’t chafe. The server refills my water. Sean thanks her by name; of course he caught it off the badge.
“I’m not telling anyone,” I say quietly. “About the ship. Not my parents. Not my boss. Not MUSC, beyond the conflict disclosure. Cheyenne knows. Dylan knows. That’s it.”
Declan nods once, solemn. “We’ll support you in whatever you do,” he says. “The past stays the past.”
