"Right."
He won't look at me. He reaches for the door handle.
He pauses.
"Fix your scrubs," he says softly. "You look... compromised."
Then he opens the door, checks the hallway, and slips out.
I’m left alone in the closet.
I look down. I am, indeed, compromised.
I grab a bottle of saline off the shelf and press the cold plastic against my forehead. I close my eyes.
"Adrenaline response," I whisper to the empty room. "Yeah. Right."
I can still taste him. And god help me, I want more.
Chapter 5
Post-Op Complications
Maxwell
In surgery, the most dangerous period is not the operation itself.
It is the immediate post-operative window. It is when the anesthesia wears off and the body realizes it has been violated. It is when the adrenaline fades, leaving only pain and the harsh reality of consequences.
I am currently living in a post-operative complication.
The complication is six-foot-two, wears wrinkled scrubs, and is currently staring at me from across the blue tape line.
"You’re doing it again," Jax says.
I do not look up from my laptop. I am attempting to type a grant proposal. I sayattempting, because for the last hour, I have been unable to focus on a single word.
The office is quiet, but to me, it is deafening.
Every time Jax moves, I hear it. The rustle of his scrub top. Thesqueakof his chair. The sound of his teeth crunching on the plastic stirrer of his coffee cup.
Yesterday,these sounds were annoyances. Today, they are sensory inputs that trigger a very specific, very unwanted memory loop.
Squeak.
I remember the sound of the supply closet door hitting the frame.
Rustle.
I remember the friction of his scrubs against my hands.
Crunch.
I remember the roughness of his stubble against my jaw.
I type a sentence.The mitral valve is susceptible to...
Jax sighs. It’s a low, bored sound.
