19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Weston
“ D o you know how to scrub?” I ask Caroline, as we walk side by side down the empty hallway.
I already know what her answer is going to be, but I’m trying to make conversation on the way to the operating suite since she’s been uncharacteristically silent.
When we ran into each other on the campus lawn, I could tell something was off. She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and whenever I feel that way, the only thing that helps is to step into the OR. It resets my mind and reorients me to a single task rather than the thousands of others on my plate. I don’t know if it’ll do the same thing for her, but I figure it’s worth a shot.
Caroline glances up at me with a soft scoff, like my question was offensive somehow. “And suture.”
I stop in front of the double door that leads to the OR and study her. “You already know how to scrub and suture as an M2?”
Most students don’t learn surgical skills until their second or third year of school. I definitely didn’t know shit until I got to clerkship, but I guess things could have changed in the past ten years.
Caroline shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “What? You really think Parker would go this long without teaching me his life’s passion?”
Her tone is sarcastic and unamused, but her deep-blue eyes are no longer lifeless like they were when I ran into her this afternoon. They’re glimmering with a hint of curiosity that makes me grin.
“Dude has no chill,” I snort as I lean back against the wall and pull out my phone.
I shoot off a text to the circulating nurse, letting her know that we’re ready to start the case. A response comes through almost immediately that anesthesia is running late—shocker.
“Christ,” I mutter under my breath, glancing at the time.
This should be a thirty-minute case, and it’s my last of the day. I'm not exactly in the mood to loiter around the hospital for hours on end, especially since I want this to be a good experience for Caroline.
A snide comment about my colleague is on the tip of my tongue as I send off a barrage of frustrated texts to the anesthesiologist on the case. When I finally glance up, I expect Caroline to be focused on something else. But she isn’t. She’s still watching me, now with a half-smile on her plump lips.
“What?” I swallow, feeling my stomach churn in a way that is wholly inappropriate.
The edges of her mouth tilt down like she’s trying to force her expression into neutrality, but it doesn’t last long because, after a short beat of silence, she lets out a sly laugh.
“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like this before.”
My attention drops to the polished floor, suddenly self-conscious that I have toilet paper on my shoe, or something. Once I confirm that I’m in the clear, I straighten and arch a brow.
“Look like what?”
“Serious,” she responds.
“Yeah, well . . . it doesn’t happen often.”
I get where she’s coming from because I can let pretty much anything roll off my back without getting flustered—it’s one of the reasons I’ve turned into a decent surgeon. But for some reason, when it comes to Caroline, the only word to describe how I feel is serious.
Caroline stifles a laugh again, and I feel myself relax a little bit because I like hearing the sound—it’s better than the alternative by a mile.
“What?” I prod again when she doesn’t say anything.
She snickers and leans back against the wall, staring out the window across from us. “Just thinking about how if Morgan were here, she would totally call you a stern brunch Daddy right now.”
Her remark comes out so casually, like she has no idea how sexy she sounds, and I have to cough to focus on something other than my impending boner.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s some romance book term,” she answers, pausing to smile at a custodian as they walk by. “Morgan’s always trying to label everyone. The other day, she called my brother an alpha-hole in our group text.”
I want to laugh and tell her that Morgan isn’t wrong, but I’m not interested in what our pint-sized friend thinks about me—or anyone else for that matter. The only opinion I seem to care about these days is the one of the woman standing beside me.
I glance down the hallway to make sure we’re alone before I take a single sidestep closer to her. If someone were to walk by, it would simply look like we’re waiting for our case to begin. Which we are . . . but it also feels like a hell of a lot more is happening between us when I lean in and our shoulders brush.
“And what about you, princess?” I ask, lowering my voice to barely a whisper. “Would you call me a stern brunch Daddy? Or just a Daddy?”
Caroline’s breath catches, but she doesn’t respond. She keeps her midnight-blue eyes glued directly ahead as she curls her fingers around the handrail attached to the wall behind us, almost like she’s grounding herself.
“Neither.”
Her comment would feel like a roundhouse kick to the gut if I didn’t feel the intensity of the energy flowing between us—if I didn’t know that she felt it too by the way the apples of her cheeks have flushed bright red.
“Is that so?”
I let my pinky finger graze hers, and somehow, that small gesture is more intimate than any that I’ve ever had in my life. It’s a challenge and a truce wrapped into one beckoning touch.
“It is,” she confirms, turning her head to look at me. “But only because that’s not one of my kinks.”
Suddenly, all of the blood in my body rushes to my cock as I contemplate what her kinks could be. I’ve been spending all of my free time lately going through the resources that Walker sent me, learning about everything from everyday bondage to obscure fetishes. Considering the widespread variety, I doubt I could guess what she’s into off the top of my head . . . but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.
Given the way she reacted to having her hands held behind her back, bondage is the first thing that comes to mind, and a teasing comment is on the tip of my tongue when the charge opens the door to the OR.
“We’re ready for you.”
Caroline instantly stiffens like she’s done something wrong, and I give her finger a reassuring squeeze before shifting into work mode.
“Thanks.” I nod, letting go of the railing and shoving my hands into my pockets. “Let’s rock and roll.”
Normally, when I have a student with me, I let one of the techs take them through proper scrub technique and sterile procedure, especially if it’s their first time in the OR. But with Caroline, I want to be the one to guide her. To teach her. To experience this with her.
I have her watch me scrub, just in case she needs a refresher before she does it on her own. I expect her to sass me, or make some comment about how I think she’s dumb.
But she doesn’t.
She stands with perfect posture beside me, watching intently as I go through my routine.It’s funny because I’ve done this a million times, but this moment feels pivotal. It’s like I’m experiencing the thrill of the OR again for the first time, and that’s all because of the woman with me.
When I finish, Caroline steps up and begins to scrub with flawless technique.
It makes me wish that she could see herself the way I do. How she looks so confident, poised, and glowing beneath the fluorescent lights. How she could already pass as an intern because she’s such a natural. How incredible she’s going to be at this one day.
“Do you want to watch?” I ask, forcing myself to focus on the job I have to do. “Or do you feel up for assisting?”
I hope she chooses the second option, but I don’t want to assume.
As soon as I decided to bring her along, I sent a text to our circulating nurse and specifically asked to have this one solo. Usually, there is either a resident or medical student in the room with me, but I didn’t want anything to take away from this moment with her, regardless of how much she chooses to participate.
Caroline glances at me briefly but continues scrubbing. “You’re gonna walk me through it, right?”
“Of course.”
She’s limited on what she can legally do because of the scope of practice rules, but I want to give her the chance to try anything she’s comfortable with.
Caroline doesn’t hesitate when she responds, “Assist.”
I fight a grin that she can’t see because I have a mask on. “That’s my girl.”
I shouldn’t have said that because it’s the farthest thing from the truth, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m proud of her, and I want her to know that she has me in her corner, even if she doesn’t want me.
To my surprise, she doesn’t correct me, and I swear I can see the crease of a smile that hits her eyes as she silently finishes scrubbing, listening to me explain the basics of an umbilical hernia repair.
As we enter the OR, Caroline makes eye contact with a veteran scrub tech who gives her a funny look.
“Are you sure I’m allowed to be here?”she whispers, her confidence wavering slightly.
I chuckle as the techs help us put on our gowns and gloves. “I thought you agreed to trust me.”
“I did . . .” Her tone is hesitant as she spins around to face me, now fully prepped.
I meet her midnight-blue gaze, trying to read the expression beneath her surgical mask. It’s like she wants to believe that I'm being earnest, but she’s held back by the past.
I lean in, dropping my voice low so that only she can hear me. “Then trust me, princess.”
Caroline’s eyes widen like she’s fighting all of her natural instincts, but she offers me a single nod.
I take it as the go-ahead to begin, and step back.
“Everyone, this is Caroline Winters,” I explain to the staff gathered in the room. My lips curl into a grin, knowing what I'm about to say will ruffle some feathers. “We’d love to have her join us here for residency one day. So let’s be nice to her, okay?”
I almost add that she’s the most impressive woman I’ve ever met, but I figure that would be going a touch too far, even if it’s true.
Caroline’s cheeks flame beneath her mask, but she simply gives the team a friendly nod as she steps up to the table with me to begin the case.
As we progress through the surgery, I can’t stop myself from glancing up at her from time to time. From memorizing this moment with her.
Her dark hair is pulled into a bun and neatly tucked into my extra navy scrub cap. Her hands are steady and sure as she holds each surgical instrument, somehow anticipating each move I’m about to make, like she’s done this a million times before.
I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life—she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.