It’s her favorite, and I want to do something, anything, to make it easier for her. It doesn’t seem enough, but that’s the best I can do at six in the morning after a sleepless night.
She actually smiles. “Yeah. Ekiben’s good.”
It’s a small victory. I tuck it away like oxygen.
By the time I get to the hospital, the day’s already chewing me up. Rounds, a post-op debrief, a staff meeting that could’ve been an email. I’m in surgeon mode, but my head is at home.
Is everything going to be okay?
When did our marriage get so off track that she asked me to sleep in the guest room?
How can I fix this?
The cafeteria is not serving lunch when I get there, so I grab a coffee and a sad-looking ham and cheese from the vending machine before sinking into a corner table. I barely get two sips in beforeTory slides into the seat across from me, her smile wide.
“You’re looking a little rough, Dr. Prescott.” There’s a flirtatious lilt in the way she saysdoctor.
“Am I?” I ask vaguely, not sure how to feel about Tory. She’s anotherthingI don’t know how to handle. I know she’s interested in me, and it’s flattering, but I’ve never crossed the line, never will.
Is enjoying her attention wrong?
She tilts her head, that mix of sympathy and curiosity. “What’s going on? Is it stillhellat home?”
Her words hit like a misplaced suture. Tiny and sharp, making me realize that, yes, enjoying her attention is wrong. “What?”
She licks her lips. “Well…you said yesterday that things were tough at home.”
I did that, and now she wants to talk more about it. Talk about self-inflicted arrhythmia!
“Things are fine,” I mutter and pick up the sandwich. If I have something in my mouth, maybe I won’t say something dumb to her.
I resist the urge, however, to look around to make sure Jayne isn’t listening to us this time, like my wife is some kind of stalker who’s spying on me.
Christ!
Before Tory can say anything else,thankfully, Paul shows up.
He’s got a bit of a Dr. House vibe going—gray beard, scrubs, gym bag slung over his shoulder, lookingornery as hell. But what you see isn’t what you get. Paul is soft-spoken, thoughtful, and kind.
Unlike me, he’s popular with the residents. I’m told I’m a hard-ass.
Well, fuck, we’re cutting people open and playing with their hearts—this isn’t a drill. So yeah, I’ve got to be a hard-ass.
“Hey, Tory, how’s it going?” He slides in next to me.
“It’s going very well.” Tory glances between me and Paul, her smile slipping a little. “Ah…I have to go. Rhys, we can continue our conversation later. I’m always here for you.”
I give her a blank look and shrug.
Fuck no, I don’t want to talk to her about my marriage or my wife.
And what the fuck does she mean by she’s here for me?
“Well, see you around.” She hesitates, then leaves, her heels clicking down the hall.
I watch her go, a wave of unease creeping up my spine. I regret talking to her freely because now she’s making it sound like it was something intimate we shared.
Good God!
