"Keeping appropriate boundaries."
"Appropriate." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You're sleeping in my guest room. You cook in my kitchen. You've seenme covered in blood and exhausted and at my worst. But kissing me would cross a line?"
"You lost a patient today. You're vulnerable?—"
"I'm a trauma surgeon. I lose patients. It's terrible, but it's not why I'm standing here wanting you to kiss me." She crosses her arms. "If you're not interested, just say that. But don't hide behind protective detail protocols and emotional vulnerability like I'm some fragile thing that can't make my own decisions."
She's right. And the honesty of it catches me completely off guard.
"I am interested," I say.
"Then why did you pull away?"
"Because—" I run a hand through my hair. "Because this is complicated. Because you're under my protection. Because if something happens to you while I'm distracted?—"
"So you are attracted to me, but you're committed to being miserable about it." She shakes her head. "That's very noble and very stupid."
"Gwen—"
"I'm going to bed. Alone. Again. Because apparently that's how this works." She turns toward her bedroom. "Goodnight, Thatcher."
This time I don't stop her. The door closes. Lock clicks.
I stand there in her entryway, replaying that conversation. The anger in her voice. The frustration.
She's not wrong.
I head to the guest room, but sleep won't come. I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the way she looked at me. The way she called me out for hiding behind protocols.
Four years of keeping distance. Four years of telling myself it was easier this way.
Gwen Abernathy just made it clear that easy isn't an option anymore.
And I'm not sure what that means.
5
GWEN
Last night replays in my head during the entire drive to the hospital. The way I told him he was being noble and stupid. The way he just stood there and let me walk away.
I tell myself we need professional distance.
I don't believe myself.
Thatcher drops me at the entrance in his truck. Corporal Martinez is already waiting in fatigues.
"Morning, sir. Doc." Martinez nods to both of us.
Thatcher turns to me. "Martinez stays with you until I'm back."
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will." He holds my gaze. "But Martinez stays."
There's weight in those words. An echo of last night's argument. You can make your own decisions, but I'm still doing my job.
Thatcher's truck pulls away.
