“Thanks.” I held my hand out for him to give back, and he didn’t.
“What time’s your interview?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided.”
He was still reading the letter. “What do you mean, you haven’t decided? It says here they confirm it. What time did they give you?”
“They haven’t given me one.”
He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “You’ve sent this back, though? You’ve accepted the position, haven’t you?”
I couldn’t look at him, and I dearly wished he would just fuck off. He personified and verbalized every shred of guilt and self-reproach that coursed through my blood.
“I don’t know yet.”
“WHAT?!”
“It’s none of your fucking business Hunter! Why are you even in here?”
He closed the door, which he’d left open when he’d barged in.
“You’re crazy if you don’t to take it. Do you know how many people want this Fellowship? And you’re giving it up?!”
“I haven’t given it up, I might just defer it.”
He planted his palms on my desk, leaning over. “This isn’t the type of thing you defer.”
The fact that he was right only made me feel worse.
“What has happened to you?” Disdain dripped off every word, it was practically seeping out of his pores and directed straight at me. His eyes dropped to Felix’s card. “Actually, never mind, I know exactly what’s happened to you. Ever since that fucking accident, you’ve gone soft and it’s pathetic.”
My mouth dropped open. Rage collided with the abject misery already whirling around my gut, but the shock at the brutality of his words stopped me from being able to form any of my own, which he took as a sign to continue.
“You’re a surgery junkie, Molly! You’ll never cope with knowing you could have had this Fellowship. You might last a couple more months, but you’ll soon be desperate for more.”
I blinked, halting the tears, which was always my childish reaction to injustice and unfairness. Because this was unfairness at its best. I’d done nothing to deserve this vitriol. Nothing.
“They fought for you here. You had offers from Stanford and Hopkins, and they fought for you. You should be embarrassed, you’re letting them down.”
My jaw was aching from the severity at which I was grinding it.
“You used to be my benchmark for success, but I can't even compete with you anymore because you're flagging. You used to push me. I'm an exceptional surgeon and I have no problem admitting you always had the edge, but now…” his lip curled up further, “I don't know what's happened to you.”
The air he’d been spewing into was now thick with loathing and animosity, and I’d been absorbing it all until I was ready to explode. Which was now.
“What? I'm not allowed a personal life because it makes you a better surgeon? Fuck you, Hunt. You want someone to push you, go and find Jameson.”
“I’ve never competed with James like I compete with you.”
“You know it's not a competition if you're the only one running? You think I’m pathetic, but what I’m looking at is nothing but a surgeon who’s not exceptional but mediocre on his best day, and who can’t seem to do his job unless he has some fucking cheering squad behind him twenty-four-seven.”
His nostrils flared, and if he was able, fire would be shooting out of them.
“Get the fuck out of my office!”
His chest was heaving with anger, his eyes barely visible through the slits he’d narrowed them down to. “My pleasure. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.”
He slammed the door so hard on his way out, the water in the vases shook from the tremor.
