“That’s to be confirmed,” I mutter.
“Your dressing change schedule,” she says, offering me the sheet.
I reach for it, but her hand doesn’t drop away the second I touch it. Our hands brush lightly—warm and dry, just a touch. Not long enough to be anything, but enough to feel the texture of her skin. The press of her thumb as she releases the page.
She glances up at the same time as I do, but neither of us says a thing. The contact is brief and probably accidental, but something coils in the space between us, and fuck if I don’t feel it all the way down my spine.
“Thanks.”
“And make sure you’re icing properly.”
Her voice is clinical again, but her tone’s different. Less detached.
“I am.”
“Good.” She turns back to her desk and busies herself with paperwork. “Don’t skip it, Reid. Even if you’re super busy logging everything like a maniac.”
I glance back, just long enough to catch the edge of her profile, watching as she takes her hair claw back out, and her hair tumbles out onto her shoulders.
My mouth twitches. “Bye, Doc.”
Jenny’s back behind the desk when I limp out. Still cool, still polite, but not overly impressed by my existence. I confirm my next session, mutter something about waiting for a print-out from Heidi, and drop into a chair by the window next to Viktor.
He’s flipping through a magazine. “All good?”
“Yeah.” I scroll through my phone, but don’t see the screen. I’m still thinking about the way Carina’s skin felt against mine. “Met your physio friend.”
He looks up at that. “Heidi?”
I nod, but before I can say more, there’s a sharp laugh followed by footsteps. Carina and Heidi emerge from the hallway, both mid-conversation. Carina’s clipped her hair back again, and Heidi’s grasping that stupid green glitter bottle and a fresh stack of print-outs. She’s talking at a volume loud enough to overhear.
“She said his pain was at a nine, but then casually mentioned taking a yoga class that afternoon,” Heidi’s saying. “Like, babe, be fucking serious.”
“I’m still not over the guy you said faked fainting to avoid core work.” Carina laughs.
Heidi cackles. “To be fair, he did almost break his tailbone on the glute roller. I nearly passed out laughing.”
She’s bright, relaxed. Laughing with a friend. It’s both strange and exhilarating to see such a different side of her. As they reach the reception desk, Jenny calls out.
“Dr. Park, that email about the fundraising gala just came through. The slideshow for the tribute portion’s been moved forward. They want it played before the auction starts.”
Carina freezes, just for a second. Then her hand tightens around the clipboard she’s holding. It’s barely a shift, but I see it.
Heidi pauses, too, her tone softening. “That’s for your osteosarcoma patient, right? The eight-year-old?” She shakes her head. “Poor kid. Hope the fundraiser brings in enough for the trial enrollment.”
Carina just nods, and I watch as her throat works. She holds her expression neutral, then takes one smooth and deep inhale, before turning back to a folder on the reception desk.
Heidi watches her for a beat, sighing as she taps the print-out against her hand, then glances over to where Viktor and I are seated. She crosses towards us and holds it out.
“Here. Custom-modified protocol. Don’t make me regret giving you an inch.”
I grunt and take it. “No promises.”
But I’m not looking at her. Carina’s moving back to the corridor now, standing by the corner and pausing before the hallway splits off. Her posture’s straight, but her hands shift like she’s not sure where to put them.
She turns just enough to look back, and her eyes catch mine. Neither of us smiles, but she lifts her chin slightly. Her version of a nod.
I match it back, and then she’s gone.
