I didn’t care. I didn’t need them. I’d survived worse.
And that last bit was true.
As a surgical resident, the men on my rotation were merciless, cruel bastards who hadn’t been content towaitfor me to fail, they’d tried to make it happen. They let me know each and every day that I didn’t belong. But I hadn’t broken and I hadn’t failed.
They’d be waiting a long damn time for either to happen.
I hadn’t clawed my way to the top of my field to fail. I hadn’t spent endless hours perfecting surgical techniques, reading up on the newest surgical procedures, and losing sleep to break or to fail. My goal had been to be the best and save as many lives as I could, and I’d done that.
But here inside this clubhouse filled with suspicious eyes, I wasn’t a surgeon with a bright future in medicine ahead of me. I was useless… No, useless was giving me too much credit. I was worse than useless—I was a liability. Because of James and the Russians, and yeah, even my own damn choices, I was a liability to everyone around me.
I needed to get the hell out of here.
It was late afternoon and I wasn’t sleepy, so I rolled off the bed and started pacing inside the small room. I could only take about ten to twelve steps in any direction before hitting a wall. My muscles itched with the need todosomething, to do anything other than stew in my own thoughts. I couldn’texactly scrub in for surgery. Couldn’t even take a job in a clinic while hiding in Steel City because word traveled too fast. Hell, I couldn’t even try and get work in another field, the Russians had eyes and ears everywhere. I could barely stay ahead of one group of criminals, adding my ex to the mix was just asking for trouble.
I shut that door in my mind before the panic could crawl through and wreak havoc on my already tenuous emotional state.
It wouldn’t do me any good to think about all the things I’d lost. There was no use torturing myself with all the things I’d left behind because they couldn’t be recovered. Maybe someday I’d stand inside the OR again, but that day was too far away to feel real, so I didn’t give it any space in my mind. The only thing I could do was keep moving. Keep breathing. Make sure TJ stayed safe.
I reminded myself that life here with his father was the best thing for TJ. Falcon would protect him, and once the paternity test came back I could leave.
Even if it felt as if I’d be tearing out my heart.
The knowledge that I was doing this so my son could have a life calmed me as much as I was capable of being calmed, so with a deep breath I went to the door and pulled it open. Staying inside the room alone had me crawling up the walls and close to a mental breakdown.
Muffled conversation and laughter sounded in the distance and I stood, looking left and then right. Beer bottles clinked to my left, and I headed that way, finding the room packed with men and women, and even a few children. Two women stood behind the bar mixing drinks and pouring beers,one of them I recognized so I made my way over. “Brandy, right?”
She looked up at me, her smile friendly but hesitant. “Yeah, what can I getcha?” She was one of the few people who managed a smile for me, and she didn’t walk away or turn her back when she saw me coming.
“Nothing, thanks. I was wondering if you needed any help with anything?”
Brandy blinked at me as if she didn’t understand what I was saying, and then a mischievous grin spread. I knew that expression well enough to know I was about to be tested.
Again.
I followed her out of the clubhouse and into a smaller building that looked like an industrial kitchen. Plates clattered, water rushed from multiple faucets, while a radio played in the distance a little louder than the few conversations around the room. Two other women, Simone and Greta, scrubbed dishes at a sink in the far corner of the room.
“Girls,” she shouted, drawing their attention from their conversation. Simultaneously their gazes landed on me, scowled, and turned back to the sink.
“Still wanna help?”
“Anything to keep busy,” I assured her with a forced casual shrug and a smile I didn’t feel.
“Okay, then. I appreciate the help,” she said, searching for something until she tossed a pair of teal rubber gloves my way. “There’s never an end to the dishes, just stack ‘em and keep moving until you’re finished or tired.”
“Got it.” I slid the gloves on, never more grateful in my life for hot, sudsy water and dirty dishes.
“Thank you.” She gave my shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Need anything, just holler.”
Simone and Greta kept talking like I wasn’t there, except loud enough for me to hear.
“The guys had a meeting last night,” Simone said with a forced little giggle. “About the doctor bitch.”
My spine went rigid.
“They’re not sure what to do with her yet.” Simone’s tone was smug, either from being in the know or happy I was having trouble, I wasn’t sure.
Greta lowered her voice just enough to make it worse. “Heard some of ‘em want her gone for good.”
