“But didn’t I?” His eyes dart back and forth over my face. “Didn’t I push you so hard that you didn’t take care of yourself? That you literally didn’t have a spare minute to eat?Eat? I’m not blind, Annaliese. I know that I’ve wrecked your schedule, your health. I now know you’ve basically been sleeping at the hospital. Living in thefuckinglounge because of how hard I work you.”
He brings up a good point. While I understand an attending keeping residents busy and encouraging them to shadow rare cases or take the down time to complete research, he seems to take extra pride in pushing me. Martin is my closest friend in the program. He’s a second-year, same as I am, but doesn’t have nearly the same grueling schedule. “Why are you pushing me like this? Is this what you do to all the new residents?”
His arms uncurl from his chest, and mine drops. I’m about to tuck my hands into my pockets when he snags my wrist. His touch is more delicate than the few other times he has touched me. He’s nudged me with his shoulder when teasing and brushed me aside in frustration. In the lounge it was the gentle touch of a doctor caring for a sick patient. But this touch says something else, and it’s new for us.
“I’ve been pushing you harder for reasons I won’t get into right now. But that’s going to stop.”
“Don’t you dare go eas—”
“Shush,” he says, interrupting me. He must like the annoyed pout on my face because the corner of his lip ticks up. “I won’t go easy on you, Princess. But I’ll treat you like an equal, and no matter what you say, I’m also going to treat you like someone with a serious autoimmune condition who may need a break now and then. I’m not going to give you an hour to dick around over lunch, and I won’t give you a lighter schedule. But if we’re about to walk into a case and your sugar is low, I will not…” He pauses and squeezes my wrist to emphasize the words. “I willnotlet you scrub in until we are both comfortable with where your glucose is at. Not only is it a huge risk for you, it is a risk to the patient, and to our jobs. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nod, feeling foolish that I hadn’t thought of the possible repercussions of me becoming symptomatic while in the middle of a surgery. Blurred vision, shaking hands, anything could happen. The simplest slip of a hand can cause a major bleed, and I’d never forgive myself if my actions hurt someone else. “I get it.”
There’s another part of me that’s singing right now. One that has always wanted to know what it felt like to have someone care about this with me. I wouldn’t call diabetes rare, but it sucks, plain and simple. And I don’t think a non-diabetic could ever realize how much it truly sucks to carry the burden alone. Knowing that he wants me to open up about it instead of hiding, and share some of the responsibility that I carry, has tears threatening to fill my eyes.
He releases his grip on my wrist, and my skin instantly misses his touch. But I suck in a breath, wanting to get this mushy, awkward conversation out of the way and go to sleep.
But before that, I’m going to need a shower.
I tilt my head toward the hallway behind me. “How about I forgive you for being a dick if I can go take a shower.”
He huffs a laugh through his nose, gesturing with a hand behind me to lead the way. “Bathroom is that way.”
I spin on my heel, grab my duffel from where it sits next to my stool, and slowly meander down the hallway, peeking in each door I pass to look for a spare bathroom. In the first doorway, I find a large office with one wall encompassing a giant bookcase filled with what looks like anything from classic novels to books on property tax. I grip the doorway with one hand, leaning in to squint at some of the titles when I hear Colt’s rumbly voice behind me.
“Are you always this nosy when you go to someone’s house?”
I spin to face him, nearly shocked by the teasing expression on his face. “Just wondering why a general surgeon needs refreshers on tax law, that’s all.”
He raises an arm again for me to venture down the hall. I pass him and reach my arm out to twist the knob of another door when he calls out, “That’s just my gym, the guest bath is the next door on your right.”
“A gym?” I cock a brow at him. While he definitely has a body honed by time in the gym, plus a God-given thick waist that stretches his scrubs in the most beautiful way, I’m sure this condo comes with a gym. Or he could purchase a membership to one of the swanky gyms in the city, complete with a juice bar and pickleball court.
He shrugs, nearly looking embarrassed. “I don’t like working out with other people.”
Ah. That fits.
I nearly pass the next door when I’m stopped in my tracks. When he said “guest bathroom,” he must have meant a bathroom fit for a Persian queen.
Gorgeous, sandstone tile lines the floor, forcing my eyes to follow its path up the wall to the barrier-free shower. Dual shower heads fall from the ceiling, and I’m imagining spending an afternoon standing under the rainfall when my eyes fall on the luxury jet tub that takes up most of the corner.
It’s large enough to fit a rugby team and has cushioned head inserts at each end. I sit on the edge, running a hand over the sleek chrome spout, knowing exactly where I want to spend the next hour of my time.
I turn to look over my shoulder at Colt and raise a brow in his direction. “Can I take a bath, maybe?”
He chuckles as he steps forward to open a small hidden panel on the wall near the tub. He taps a few buttons and it chimes. Yellow lights glow from the base as the whirlpool turns on, and I let the tepid water run over my palm as it streams down from the waterfall spout.
“It should fill within four minutes,” he says while moving over to the far wall of cabinets. He pulls out a basket and rifles through it, examining each bottle as he sets it on the counter next to him. “I, uh … I think these are bubbles for it, if you like bubbles?” He sets the basket down and fumbles with something else in the cabinet, pulling out a series of glass containers filled with different colored salts. “Or do you want these beads?” He looks at the containers in his hand and turns back to me, holding one out. “I’m not sure what they do.”
I bring a hand up to stifle the laugh that threatens to escape at how innocent he looks right now. “Those are bath salts, Colt.” I take the tray of salts from his hand, noting the engraved names along each lid.Eucalyptus, Lavender, Cherry Blossom. I do the same with the bubbles, deciding on the pair of sandalwood bath oils and the eucalyptus salts.
“I can’t believe you have this luxury bath set up; I’d never take you for the type of guy that enjoys a nice bubble bath after a hard day.”
He chuckles, his laugh real this time, and it rumbles throughout the room and over my skin, making me smile.
“I’m definitely not a bath guy. I probably haven’t taken a bath since I was a little kid and it was forced on me.”
I gawk at him, looking from him to the bath, and pointing at the tub when he appears confused. “You have a tub, likethis, and you haven’t ever used it?”
