"About two years," Nick said.
"She has a lot more to lose than you do," Cal said.
Not wanting to concede this point, I yanked up the collar of my jacket against the wind. "Just so you know, it's too damn cold to be out here."
"It's fifty-one degrees and sunny, Stremmel," Cal said. "This isn't cold."
O'Rourke, the trauma fellow I'd lost earlier in the day, jogged toward the table. "If you want to talk about cold, let me tell you about Minnesota and—"
"Does it look to you like I need another Minnesota story right now?" I asked him. "And why the fuck haven't you answered a page in the past six hours?"
"I don't enjoy it," he said simply. "I really don't."
I pointed toward the hospital. "Go away. Go ignore pages to the nurses' faces and see how well that turns out for you."
"But food. Lunch," he complained.
Cal bobbed his head, saying to O'Rourke, "You have your orders."
"Boy has a death wish," Nick murmured.
"There are days when he's less mature than some of the worst first-year residents I've met," I said. "Then there are days when he's, like, fucking gifted."
"I don't even know how to teach to that," Nick replied.
"Me neither." Cal gestured to my forehead, asking, "Is thatyourblood?"
"Probably," I replied, reaching for the other half of Nick's sandwich. I didn't care what it was, I just needed to eat some more before I fell over and died from the horror show of this day. "Between physically shielding Shapiro from the consequences of her actions and getting an earful about professional conduct from the Chief, I haven't really had time to deal with my own problems."
"Why are you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself?" Cal asked. "It's just couples therapy. It's not the end of the world."
"He always feels sorry for himself," Nick said under his breath.
"You didnotjust call it couples therapy," I groaned. "And I don't feel sorry for myself. I just hate the idea of an hour a week spent with Shapiro and a PsychD talking about feelings and shit. I have other things to do.Shehas other things to do. And it's not like anything is going to come of it. Nothing's going to change. She's still going to screech at people about staples and I'm—"
"Stop whining," Cal said. "And if you think you're getting assigned a psychology doctoral student for these sessions, you're forgetting, once again, that you're the guy. You're getting top brass for your couples counseling."
I stole his apple too. "Fuck my life."
Sara
"I'm shockedthat Stremmel hasn't glared his way out of this," Alex said. "He's so good at it. He just beams that hairy eyeball at people and they fall in line real quick. I do it and I look like I'm having a stroke."
"Mmhmm." If Stremmel did anything with precision, it was glaring. The man did not smile. He was a human storm system. His shoulders were a mountain range that could block out the sun, and his short, scruffy beard functioned as an added layer of moody darkness, slashing across his face and turning his scowls into a full-body statement.
"I bet there are a ton of politics at play," Alex continued.
I studied her as she opened another packet of gauze. Ihatedthe politics game. I sucked up to no one, kissed zero asses. That worked for me because I was in the beautifully fortunate position of being only one of a few surgeons at this hospital specializing in reconstructive surgery for burns and other complex wounds, and that position came with enough built-in authority to save me from needing to get down in the trenches of any political.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know," she started, "Stremmel's in line for a chief job."
"That might be unofficial information," Alex continued. "You didn't hear it from me."
I gave her a quick smile. "Of course not."
"Anyway, it's not like a formal reprimand is that bad," she said.
