“Did you boost me today?”
His brow furrowed. “Boost you?”
“Like…” I should have planned this better. “Did you talk me up? Or change your score to make sure I’d win?” Man, this sounded bad. I continued, words spilling faster. “Because if you did, I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not fair to the others. I can talk to Garcia, withdraw or something?—”
“Finn.” Jesse’s voice was serious and steady, just like his gaze. “I gave you a four.”
My heart skittered somewhere up into my throat. “A…four?”
“Today, yes. Yesterday’s round was blind and you got perfect marks. Today you had five judges; you pulled three fives and two fours. Mine was one of them.” A faint wryness tugged at his mouth, maybe even a hint of guilt. “If anything, I lowballed you. But the other tallies already put you ahead. I knew you’d win.”
“Oh. I—okay.” Relief washed through me, left me just a little lightheaded. I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I just… I couldn’t help but wonder.”
“I get it.” He watched me for a beat, then exhaled visibly, his torso shifting with it. “But keep in mind that it’s a total of five judges who voted you to the top. My voice accounted for no more than twenty percent. Youdeservethis.”
Something sticky-sweet pooled in my stomach. I swallowed. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” His voice was low, his attention like a spotlight. “You did great, Finn. I’d have given you a five if not for—you know. In case anyone reviews the sheets later, I thought it’d be better this way. For both of us. Optics matter.”
Yeah. Fuck.
Optics, timing, reputations—they all mattered, far more than the way I wanted to lean in right now. Whatever I was to him—if anything—whatever he was to me, it wasn’t worth the risk. I got it. I did. Even if it sucked.
“Right,” I said softly. “They do.”
A second of quiet settled between us. Distant sirens floated up from below, a breeze brushing the back of my neck, the day’s humidity slowly fading.
Jesse inhaled, the setting sun edging his silhouette in gold. “All right, then. So. Your rotation starts Monday—three months of me filling out evaluations. Seems like a good moment to review the ground rules.”
“Yeah.” I folded my hands around the railing to keep from fidgeting. “The, uh. The no-repeats rule still stands. Obviously. And the silence rule for the hospital. Unless, like.” I stalled for a beat. “Unless we screw up without meaning to. Slip up somehow, in ways we don’t even realize. What then?”
“We won’t,” Jesse said, cool as a cucumber—and where did that even come from? What was so cool about cucumbers, other than their water content? Cucumber gazpacho, maybe? Anyway.
“But what if wedo?” I asked around a quick, sharp breath. “Should we be transparent?”
His chuckle was soft, almost self-directed. “Explain that we accidentally slept together before we had a clue we both work here?” He shook his head. “You’d lose your chance to scrub in on the twins. And I’d lose mine to finish the fellowship clean.”
He was right; I knew he was. Fuck.
“Yeah.” I stared past his shoulder at the river below, set ablaze by the dying day. “I get it. Like, how a clean record matters—especially for you, with the timing. And that surgery is a once-in-a-career thing, so I don’t want to risk that. For either of us.”
“Me neither.” It was quiet, followed by a short moment of hesitation before he held my gaze. “Look, I grew up in cornfield Missouri. No money, no connections, first one to go to college. Landing an attending spot? Means I can support my parents once they retire.”
Missouri? I wouldn’t have guessed it—he seemed to carry himself as if he were born to this city. Me, I was still trying to adjust to people who walked like they were chasing deadlines, to crowded sidewalks and honking cabs. Back home, the roads were so narrow that my dad liked to joke you could high-five the cows on both sides.
“I hear you,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “Family pressure, I mean. Like, it’s a bit different for me—my mom’s an artist, but Dad’s our town’s GP. Loves it. So it’s more about…continuing a family calling, I guess.” I paused and shook my head. “Which sounds douchey, doesn’t it?”
“Not really. Just a different shade of trying to make your folks proud.” Jesse shot me a half smile that sat mostly aroundhis eyes. “They must have loved that you won the”—a snort—“Suture Bowl.”
“Haven’t told them yet.”
“Because you weren’t sure you deserved it.” He made it more statement than question, and I shrugged one shoulder, glancing down.
“Kind of, yeah. But I’ll tell them now.”
“Good.”
The word hung between us for a second, then I shifted against the railing, turning to face him more fully. “And about what you said—yeah. We’ll just have to make sure there’s nothing to see, right? Professionals of the year.”
