My phone buzzes and I fight the urge to check it, grabbing my coffee instead. I take a sip, doing my best to swallow the burnt bitterness.
His eyes fall to my phone and he smiles. “You messaged her, then. I can tell. You seem energized, and no one else is considering how this night has gone.”
“I’m still exhausted.” My elbows fall to the table and I hang my head. “I hope to not have to tell another parent their child has died. I don’t think I can handle it.”
“That’s the worst part of the job.” He rubs the stubble on his chin, glaring into the black liquid in his cup. He’s lost in thought, staring unblinking into the coffee.
I lean forward, knowing exactly what he’s thinking about. “It isn’t your fault. You did the best you could. He was gone the moment he arrived. He didn’t stand a chance, and you tried to give him one. You did your best. That’s all any of us can do.”
He blows out a breath and laces his fingers behind his head, nodding. “I know. I know you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier, you know?”
I do know.
Tonight has been a reminder that just because I’m educated in my field, one of the best, doesn’t mean it’s enough to defy the damage done to the human body. Sometimes, the damage is beyond repair, and all we can do as doctors is try our hardest.
Some days are easier than others.
Blame and guilt, in my opinion, are the emotions that I’ve noticed we as doctors hold on to the most. It’s hard letting that go. Only so much of saving a life is in our control.
It’s nearly impossible to remember that.
Dr. Warrick rubs his chest, and that’s when I notice the slightly red-rimmed eyes. He must have cried when he lost the kid on his table. Children always hit me the hardest too.
“Let’s change the subject before we have to go back out there. Update me on yourfriend.” He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest while holding his cup.
“There’s not much to tell. I’m pretty sure I blew it. She’s on a date right now, actually.”
“A date? Ouch. Sorry to hear that.” His brow furrows. “Wait. It must not be going well if she’s messaging you.”
“She says it isn’t. She wants to leave. The guy isn’t treating her very well.” I curl one hand into a fist, my knuckles popping.
“I see.” He takes another sip of coffee, grinning at me. “You’re so fucking pissed she’s on a date.”
I groan. “I am. I don’t want her to be with anyone else. I know. I know.” I raise my hands to stop him from saying what I know he’ll say. “It isn’t fair for her not to date when the issue is me. I want to try talking to her at least, learn more about her.”
“So. Date. You want to date her.”
“No. Yes.” I shake my head. “No. Maybe. I mean, talking doesn’t mean dating.”
His forehead wrinkles when he raises his brows, and then he begins to hold up a finger for every point he’s making. “You don’t want her to date anyone else. You want to talk to her. You want to get to know her. I’m assuming you want to spend time with her too.”
I did. I do. I want all of that.
How do I get past the seventeen-year age gap? Surely, that will be an issue. It’s going to come up at some point when we need to make an important decision. For instance, having a family. I don’t want to be that much older than I am now to have kids. I’ve even been thinking about a surrogate or adoption. I’d need an egg donor, which I’ve already been researching.
I haven’t made a strict decision yet, but if I want kids, then I need to make a choice soon. I want to be young enough to play with my kids and be there for them during the most important moments of their lives.
“Yes,” I answer, wanting to be honest with myself about this.
“Well, just talk to her then. See what happens naturally. There’s no need to have a big, long lecture or discussion with her. She’s an adult, Elias. If you’re making decisions for her, then that will be the most upsetting to her.” His pager beeps and he tosses his head back, groaning. “I have to go. One of the ICU patients needs surgery.” He takes one last sip of his coffee and throws the cup in the trash can, running out of the room.
Checking my phone, I click her message and stifle a moan when an image of her in that velvet fucking dress appears. I can’t see her face. I think it’s become an unspoken rule, since we’re strangers, and I respect that.
The green dress hugs her body in ways I wish my hands could. Even the straps of her heels, the way they curve around her ankle…I want to be the one that slowly takes them off while I’m undressing her.
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath when my cock thickens in my scrubs at the thought of my fingers being allowed to touch her skin. The velvet looks so damn soft.
I close my eyes, imagining it’s me who she’s on a date with, and we’re in her room. It’s dark, but the feeling of the dress against my hands allows me to map her body. Gripping the back of her neck, I dive down, stealing her lips in a heated, desperate kiss.
