He picks up his charts.
“It was a preventative measure. For my own sanity.”
I watch him.
“York,” I say.
He flinches, expecting a reprimand. “Yeah?”
I look at the exit, then back at him. The corner of my mouth twitches up.
“Melancholy?”
“She’s a sensitive Aquarius,” Preston deadpans.
Before I can respond, the elevator doors ping open behind us.
Dr. Maxwell York, our Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery—and Preston’s older brother—strides out, looking fresh and imposing in his black scrubs. Dr. Jackson O’Connell, the Chief of Trauma, is right beside him, eating a mandarin orange.
“Why does it smell like Chanel No. 5 and guilt down here?” Max asks, sniffing the air. He freezes, his eyes darting around the ER with genuine panic. “Tell me I imagined it.”
Preston sighs, leaning against the nurses' station. “You missed her by thirty seconds, Max.”
Max visibly sags, leaning against Jax for support. “Oh, thank God.”
Jax pops a slice of orange into his mouth, grinning. “Was it Duchess? Please tell me it was Duchess.”
“It was Duchess,” Preston confirms. “She had melancholy. I prescribed cucumber and sent them to the penthouse.”
Jax barks out a laugh. “Classic. Good save, kid. Did she try to buy the MRI?”
“She threatened to turn the wing into a parking garage,” I supply.
Max winces. “She would do it, too. She hates finding parking in the city.”
Max walks over to Preston. He puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It’s a rare moment of genuine affection.
“You took the bullet,” Max says. “Good. That’s what interns are for. I owe you a scotch.”
“You owe me a bottle,” Preston corrects.
“Done. I’m going back upstairs before the scent lingers on my scrubs.”
Max turns and flees. Jax winks at us and follows.
The elevator doors close, leaving us alone again.
Preston looks at me. There is a faint flush on his cheeks.
“So,” he says awkwardly. “About those bedpans?”
I shake my head. I point my pen at the waiting room.
“Forget the bedpans,” I say. “Go help the glow stick kid. Use your… specific talents.”
Preston blinks. “My talents?”
“Yeah. Tell him if he throws up the glow stick, he loses his aura or something. Lie to him, York. Make him behave.”
