But I’m shit at small talk, so say the first thing I can think of.
“They’re gonna look after Gremlin for me.”
She glances up with mild alarm.
“Is that… achild?”
“My cat.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Of course.”
“One of them is going over after practice. She’s temperamental.”
“The cat or the friend?”
The edge of my mouth curls. “Both.”
Dr. Park huffs a tiny breath, so small I almost miss it, but something in my gut eases.
Getting even the tiniest of reactions out of her feels good on some weird level. A confirmation that there’s a human with feelings under the white coat.
She sets the clipboard aside.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve just fucked my entire career.”
There’s no point in pretending it’s not a reality right now, and for some reason, saying it to a stranger feels easier than saying it to my best friends. Even if that stranger is about to be one of the surgeons holding a blade to my knee.
She nods. “Entirely normal.”
“Fucking up my career?”
“No.” She frowns, eyes pinning mine. “That feeling, as though you’re on the precipice of a make-or-break life moment—that’s normal. Means you care. And it means you’re going to work twice as hard to ensure it doesn’t happen.”
I swallow deep, and nod once. “You got that right.”
She tilts her head. “Which is why, Mr. Hutchison, I know you’ll have no problem removing your piercings to ensure the risk of infection is reduced.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, because damnit, she’s got me.
“Right now?”
She shrugs. “Or you can wait until we sedate you and let a nurse do it.”
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
“Fine.”
With a sigh, I reach for the hem of my gown.
“Nope!” Her voice goes sharp, and her hand dashes out as she turns her head away. “I am not—God, can you—just… do it under. The. Sheet. Blanket stays on.”
My hand freezes. “What? You said now.”
“Under,” she says instantly, flapping her hand at the blanket. “Everythingstays under.”
I scowl and drop the gown. “You should’ve led with that.”
