Page 52 of Asystole

“It won’t be wild and crazy, but I’d love to host with dinner and drinks. Maybe a couple rounds of poker and a nice cigar for those who are interested.”

Everyone murmurs excitedly. It’s not too often that we get glimpses of our mentors’ personal lives. Especially this mentor.

Dr. Porter holds his cards very close to his chest. Supposedly, some scandal a couple years ago landed him with a security detail for a while after an obsessed patient made false claims of sexual misconduct against him. Come to find out, the patient was pissed because Dr. Porter turned down her sexual advances, and then he denied her additional pain medicine. Dr. Porter was cleared, but I’m sure it takes a toll on you when everything you’ve worked for is on the line like that. We’ve all been warned not to bring it up and certainly not to make crude jokes that even hint at inappropriate relations between any member of the staff and a patient, considering it’s almost always grounds for losing your medical license. Not to mention, Boston Memorial has a zero-tolerance policy where that’s concerned due to the unwanted attention Dr. Porter received and the way it was used against him.

“You’re welcome to bring your plus-ones,” Dr. Porter continues. “Just please let me know how many are coming by the end of today so I can make sure I have enough food,” he finishes as we stop outside the next patient’s door.

My plus-one.

I immediately think of Logan. But… would that be weird? I mean, we can go as friends, right? The prospect of going to Dr. Porter’s party without him doesn’t appeal to me at all.

Time is a funny thing. Logan and I haven’t been hanging out all that long, but he’s somehow become a safe place for me in a very short amount of time. I breathe easier around him. I sleep better knowing he’s next door. And when I hear his key in the lock, I get excited to hear about his day and to tell him about mine.

Somehow, I force myself to refocus on the patient we’re discussing, knowing I’ll be pumped for information in the next few minutes, but focus doesn’t come easily.

Once labs are ordered, medications are reconciled, and I pop in to say hello to Marcy—who’s doing extremely well after her last round of chemo—I text Logan. It’s after seven p.m., so I know he’s got to be here somewhere unless he’s out on a run.

Chase

Where are you?

Logan

MD lounge.

Chase

Stay there. I’m coming down.

Winding my way through the halls, up a flight of stairs, and across to the old wing, I badge into the physician’s lounge to find Logan in one of the armchairs with a book.

“What are you reading?”

He chews on his lip.

“I really wish I could tell you it was something highly intellectual like how to start a company, but uh, it’s The Hunger Games,” he says, holding the cover up for me to see.

“Nothing wrong with that. I miss reading. I mean, reading something other than Netter’s Atlas of Human Anatomy and patient charts, at least.”

“You like to read?” Logan asks with a tone of surprise.

“Oh yeah. Big fucking nerd over here,” I say, flopping into the chair next to him, waving a hand at my lab coat. “Obviously.”

Logan studies me for a minute before saying, “You come in here just to shoot the shit? What? Did you run out of patients?”

“Yeah, right,” I say with a laugh. “I have more job security than anyone on the planet. I was actually wondering if you had plans for New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah,” Logan says seriously. “Stay inside and avoid all the drunk assholes. Be asleep by ten. You know, grown-up shit.”

I reach out and smack his thigh.

“I’m serious. One of my attendings is having a get-together. Come with me,” I demand instead of asking.

Logan cuts his eyes at me.

“Does this count as our third date?” he teases, placing the bookmark in his book and taking a sip from the Styrofoam coffee cup on the side table.

“I guess that’ll depend on whether you kiss me at midnight,” I joke back. When Logan stays silent, I add, “Please? I don’t want to go by myself, and I’ll have a lot more fun if you’re there.”