"It was the size of a dime," Jax notes, grinning. "I had to escort it out with a cup. It was very traumatic for everyone involved."
"Look, I’m just looking out for you," Max continues, patting my shoulder. "You aren't built for the grind. You’re built for...comfort. You’re a socialite, Preston. Be a great Board member. Charm the donors. Leave the hard work to the people who can handle the stress."
He says it with love. I know that. He honestly thinks he is doing me a favour, protecting his baby brother from the big, bad world of effort.
He turns back to his breakfast, dismissing my potential with a brotherly, arrogant wave of his hand.
Something inside me snaps.
It isn't a mean snap. It is the quiet click of a lock turning.
I look at my brother. I look at Jax, grinning at his own spider joke. I look at Alistair, drinking his third Mimosa.
I smile. It is the York smile—the one that looks charming until you realize the shark is already in the water.
"Is that a diagnosis, Doctor?" I ask softly.
"It’s a fact," Maxwell says. "You wouldn't last a day in my world."
"He wouldn't last through lunch," Jax corrects. "The cafeteria meatloaf would break him."
I finish my mimosa in one swallow. I set the crystal glass down on the table with a decisiveclink.
"Interesting," I say. I stand up.
"Where are you going?" Catherine asks. "We haven't had the fruit tart."
"I’m afraid I have to skip dessert, Mother," I say, smoothing down the front of my linen shirt. "I have some reading to do."
"Reading?" Alistair asks. "What are you reading? The wine list?"
I look at Maxwell. I hold his gaze until his smile falters, just slightly.
"MCAT prep materials," I say brightly.
Maxwell chokes. Actually chokes. He has to grab his water glass. Jax stops chewing mid-bacon.
"Excuse me?" Catherine gasps.
"You heard me," I say, grabbing my sunglasses. "Maxwell thinks I’m built for sitting down. So, I’ve decided to prove him wrong."
You’re going to medical school?" Maxwell coughs, wiping his mouth. "You? Preston, you finished a Business degree by 19 just so you wouldn't have to take a math class on a Friday. You hate effort."
"I hateboringeffort," I correct. "I have an eidetic memory, Max. You know that. I memorized the entire tax code just to annoy Father. Anatomy is just... shapes with Latin names. I'll be fine."
"Preston!" my mother calls out. "Think of the shoes! You can't wear loafers in surgery!"
"I'll buy better shoes!" I yell back.
As I walk through the house, grabbing the keys to the Porsche, I hear Jax’s voice carry from the patio.
"Fifty bucks says he quits before orientation," Jax says.
"One hundred says he doesn't make it to the application deadline," Alistair counters.
"You're on," Jax replies.
I grin, spinning the keys on my finger.
