Page 20 of I’ll Find You

Chapter

Fourteen

Rose

Istare in awe at the surgical field projected onto the monitor. The gallbladder is severely inflamed, and the tissue surrounding it is angry and swollen. Even through the camera lens, I can see how friable everything looks. The surgeon’s movements are precise and deliberate as she dissects the gallbladder free from the liver bed. The laparoscopic instruments move with controlled efficiency, the metal tips gliding through the tissue with just the right amount of careful pressure.

The familiar rhythm of the operating room washes over me. Here, everything has a purpose, every sound a meaning. It's one of the few places where my mind always knows exactly what to do. The rest of the world falls away, leaving only the patient, the procedure, and the next step.

Once the gallbladder is completely freed, Dr. Morgan places it in an EndoCatch bag and carefully guides it toward one of the laparoscopic ports. With a gentle pull, the bag slides free.

“You can pass the specimen off,” Dr. Morgan instructs.

“Specimen: gallbladder,” the circulating nurse calls out as she labels it. The surgeon returns her focus to the monitor, inspecting the liver bed carefully.

“No evidence of bleeding,” she says, nodding to herself. “Good.” Satisfied, she injects local anesthetic in a field block, watching under indirect visualization. A moment later, the pneumoperitoneum is released, and the patient’s abdomen slowly deflates as the instruments are withdrawn.

“Rose.” Hearing my name cuts through my concentration, causing me to glance up quickly. The surgeon is looking at me. I blink twice as if this is a dream.

“Do you want to close the port incisions?” she asks, a knowing glint in her eye. My heart jumps. This is the moment every student waits for, and I’m ready.

“Yes. Thank you,” I say quickly, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. She steps away from the table, and I toe the stool aside as the circulating nurse pulls it away. Dr. Morgan and the physician assistant, Lauren, move to either side of me, guiding me into position. The lights are brighter throughout the operating room now as everyone looks expectantly at me. I will my shaking hands to remain still under their intense scrutiny. I take the needle driver from the scrub tech and position the first stitch, focusing on the small incision. I’ve done this countless times in the simulation labs, on pigs’ feet, on synthetic skin models designed to mimic human tissue. This is different. This is real, with an audience watching every move I make. I take a cleansing breath and drive the needle through the skin, watching the edges come together exactly the way they’re supposed to.

“Nice,” the surgeon murmurs. The knot ties cleanly. My shoulders ease just a little, releasing some of the tension. One stitch. Then another. My hands begin to move more confidently with each pass, muscle memory taking over.

Still, thoughts of Alex slip through my mind uninvited as I find my rhythm lulled by the mechanics and white noise.

Alex. The way his eyes looked at me last night. The warmth of his breath when our lips brushed together. The way my heart nearly stopped when he stood there in the doorway. I tighten the next knot and refocus on the task at hand. It’s not the time, and most definitely not the place. The final suture of the last port site slides into place, and I trim the tail carefully.

“Good work,” Dr. Morgan says. A rush of pride spreads through my chest. Maybe it's the compliment I've always wanted to hear, the simple acknowledgment that I did something well. For the first time all morning, the knot of tension inside me begins to loosen. Whatever chaos is waiting outside this operating room, whether it's Maxwell, Alex, or everything tangled between them, can wait. Here, everything makes sense.

Dr. Morgan smiles at me before stepping away to finish the case. Once the patient is transported to recovery and the operating room has been cleaned, I head down the hallway toward the lounge where I'm supposed to meet her.

“Do you know the way back, Rose?” Lauren calls as she turns down the opposite corridor toward the ICU. “I have to check on a patient in the unit.”

“Yeah, thank you,” I reply, lifting a hand in a small wave.

“Good job, by the way,” she adds with a smile.

I return it, grateful for the encouragement. Lauren’s eagerness to see me succeed makes the long hours and pressure feel a little lighter. The tips she gave me on suturing were exactly what I needed to find my rhythm. It’s the kind of thing you can’t really learn from a textbook. It’s more of something that only comes from years of repetition and experience.

I’m passing the stairwell when the door suddenly swings open. I gasp in shock as a hand shoots out and grabs my arm. Before I can react, I'm yanked backward into the narrow stairwell. The door slams shut behind me. A body wraps around me, tightly and all too familiar. He moves like he has every right to invade my space. His cloying cologne assaults my senses, as I struggle immediately, forcing my hand between us before shoving him away as hard as I can. He stumbles backward, nearly losing his footing on the steps before catching the railing just in time. For a moment, we both stand there, breathing hard. And the look on his face tells me this conversation is about to be anything but calm.

“Maxwell, what the hell are you doing?” I snap, my voice sharp with equal parts fear and anger. “I’m at clinicals. I have somewhere to be. I don’t have time for your theatrics.”

“Rose,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. This was the only way I could get you to talk to me. I need to explain.”

I hold my hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Look,” I say firmly. “I can’t do this here. I have to meet Dr. Morgan, and I’m not getting into trouble over this.” I don’t want to piss him off by telling him he’s not worth it, so I leave that part out. “Honestly? I don’t care what you have to say.” The words fall harshly from my lips, but I force them out anyway. “It’s over,” I spit out as I step toward the door.

He moves in front of it, blocking my exit. My stomach tightens with dread. I never really felt safe around him, but now, for the first time, I really look at his face. The desperation in his eyes makes my pulse skyrocket. Desperation is the point at which anything is possible, and I’ve seen the worst of it rooted in the same look on his face.

“Rose,” he says again, almost frantic now. “I need you.”

The words hit somewhere deep inside me, but not in the way he hopes. Panic begins creeping up my spine. Then the door above us opens. Voices drift down the stairwell, and laughter permeates the air. Footsteps grow louder, echoing on the metal steps, as I take this opportunity. The momentary distraction is all I need. I move quickly, slipping past him and grabbing the door handle.

“Not my problem, Maxwell,” I say, pushing the door open forcefully. He calls my name behind me, begging me to give him another chance, but I don’t stop. I walk quickly down the bustling hallway, trying to calm my breathing and racing heart, hoping Dr. Morgan hasn’t noticed how long I’ve been gone.

When I reach the lounge, I punch in the three digit code and slip inside. Dr. Morgan sits at the desk, typing notes into a chart while dictating the surgical case into the phone. She glances up briefly. I offer a small smile in return and take a seat beside her, pretending that my heart isn’t still racing. If she notices I’m late, she doesn’t say anything. I silently thank my luck for dodging that.