I didn’t know much, but I knew I couldn’t let her out of my sight until we’d had a private conversation. I didn’t care what it took.
“I’ll catch up to you guys,” I said, forcing my gaze away from Whitney. “Save me a seat.”
“Please tell me you’re going to slap yourself across the face seventeen times or try out some light waterboarding,” Tori said. “You’re off your game today and we need you to straighten that shit out.”
I gave her a crisp salute. “Will do.”
As the group filed into the stairwell, I headed toward the staff lounge but then turned in the opposite direction when I heard the door close behind them. The last thing I needed was those three—or anyone in this building, actually—turning an observant eye on me right now. First, because this situation was a special kind of fucked, but also because my improv skills left a lot to be desired. My attempt at absentmindedly strolling downthe hall while paging through my notebook like I was on the edge of my seat with these post-op orders was not high art.
But as I walked past the nurses’ station, I heard, “Dr. Hazlette. A word, please.”
Thank god.
“Certainly, Dr. Aldritch.”
I turned on my heel and followed Whitney into a small meeting room. She settled against the table, her arms folded over her torso. She drummed her fingers against her elbows as she stared at the floor. There was a dainty gold ring with a pale blue stone on her index finger. There were a million things I wanted to say, but I held back. I had the sense that I had to let her lead this even if I bit straight through my tongue in the process.
I could see all the questions and conflict scrawled across her face. They were the same ones on repeat in my head.
After a long, gut-twisting silence, she asked, “Is this going to be a problem?”
Somehow, I hadn’t been prepared for that question. “What?” I asked. “No. No, of course not.”
She looked up, taking me in with a steady, steely gaze that very nearly sliced me in half. “I would understand if you’re uncomfortable having me as your supervisor given our”—she paused and I could see her cutting and shaping the word in her mind—“history.”
“No.” I sliced my hand through the air. “Not at all.”
“I wouldn’t take offense if you were.”
“MaybeI’dtake offense,” I said. My heart was back to thumping its way into my esophagus. “You’re nothing like that. I know you wouldn’t leverage our history against me.”
She gave a tight shake of her head like that was a ridiculous thing for me to say. “You’ve been here all of two hours and you know how I run my practice?”
“I have a pretty good idea and?—”
“Comments like that suggest thisisgoing to be a problem.” She curled her fingers around the edge of the table. Her knuckles turned white. “There’s an empty spot on the other cohort. I can move you there?—”
“No.” My hands settled on my hips so I didn’t reach for her. At this point, I’d be content to take a few steps closer and simply breathe her in. I just wanted to remember what it was like to feel her head nestled under my chin, to inhale the warm scent of her skin. To remind myself that it had been real. “That’s unnecessary. I want to stay in this cohort. As far as I’m concerned, everything that happened in Tahoe is between us, and the last thing I’d do is discuss it with anyone here. I won’t have any issues with you as my supervisor.”
Her shoulders dropped and the line of her jaw softened, but she continued holding on to the table. “I’m relieved to hear that though I have to be clear that any personal relationship we had is over. I’m responsible for training you and I take that responsibility very seriously.”
There it was, the empty air over the edge of the cliff. I knew it was there and I knew I’d fall, but I hadn’t expected the journey down to feel like a kick in the ribs. “I can see that you do.”
A series of vibrations sounded from her phone, but she went on staring at me and made no move to acknowledge it. Eventually, she narrowed her eyes, asking, “Did you know? That I worked here? Have you known since the start of your residency and waited to spring it on me today?”
“No, Whit, that’s not?—”
“I am notWhitto you anymore.” She pushed her hands through her honeyed hair and stared up at the ceiling. “You don’t get to do that here. Do you understand? Either I’m Dr. Aldritch to you and nothing more or I find a seat for you on a cohort that’salready rotated through transplants. Tell me now which one it’s going to be.”
“Yeah. I get it.” I shoved my fists into my pockets. I had to get myself together. The last thing I wanted was to be separated from my cohort. Reza, Tori, Cami—they were my family now. “We started at the burn unit and then moved on to community general surgery at the Wellesley campus. This is the first time we’ve been in the surgical wing aside from a tour during orientation.” I let myself stare at her now, just as I’d wanted to stare all morning. She was beautiful in a way that made me press a hand to my chest just to keep my heart from throwing itself at her. “I had no idea what I was walking into today. If I’d known I was going to see you again, I would’ve found a way to do it without blindsiding you.”
Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. “I appreciate that.” When the next series of vibrations started, she blew out a breath and pushed away from the table. “Thank you for discussing this with me. I hope we’ve come to an understanding.”
As she headed to the door, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Can I see you? Take you out for coffee or something? When this rotation is over?”
She glanced in my direction, but let her gaze settle south of my eyes, on the name embroidered on the breast of my white coat. Her lips moved as if she meant to respond though the words wouldn’t take shape. After a moment, she said, “I don’t know. We’ll have to see what happens and—and you have to swear you have no intention of specializing in transplant surgery and won’t be back on my side of the surgical wing in two years.”
She left the room before I could respond, but I stayed there, listening as the click of her heels dissolved down the hall. I brought a hand to my chest, rubbing hard at my sternum. “I swear.”
