Chapter 23
Sebastian
Monday morning greets me with annoyingly perfect weather, the kind that makes patients cancel appointments to enjoy the sunshine.
I stride across the hospital parking lot, steps lighter than they've been in months despite the weight of my messenger bag.
My mind refuses to focus on the day ahead, instead replaying every moment of the weekend with Mia—her laughter as I fumbled with her ancient coffee maker, the brush of her curls against my chest as she fell asleep during that documentary, the heat in her eyes when my hand slid up her thigh at breakfast yesterday.
Forty-eight hours without a single medical emergency, yet somehow the most intense weekend of my life.
The sliding glass doors of Sierra Mercy's main entrance whoosh open, hospital scent hitting me like a bucket of reality. Here I’m Dr. Walker, not Sebastian. Not the man who spent Saturday night tracing ice cubes down a redhead's body until she trembled.
"Well, well, look who finally emerged from his cave."
I freeze, one foot over the threshold. Fuck. Arjun materializes from behind a support column, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, and that knowing smirk I've wanted to punch off his face since medical school.
"Morning," I reply, deliberately clipped, already walking toward the elevators.
He falls into step beside me. "That's it? 'Morning'? After you vanish all weekend, ignore six texts, and show up looking like..." His eyes narrow, studying me with the same scrutiny he uses on complicated lab results. "Like someone who's been thoroughly debauched."
"I was busy." I jab the elevator button with more force than necessary.
"Busy," he repeats, drawing out the word. "Would this busyness happen to involve a certain fiery fellow with a penchant for challenging you?"
The elevator doors slide open and it’s mercifully empty. I step inside, Arjun right on my heels like the persistent parasite he is. I stab the button for the fourth floor, then press the door close button repeatedly, as if that ever actually works.
"I had a lot of research to catch up on," I say, pulling out my phone and pretending to check nonexistent messages.
A snort sounds from beside me. "Research. Right? Research doesn't put that particular gleam in your eye or that slight discoloration on your neck that suspiciously resembles a—"
My hand flies to my collar, tugging it higher, and Arjun's eyes widen with delight.
"Holy shit, there actually is a mark? I was fishing, but you just confirmed everything." His grin spreads wider than seems anatomically possible. "So, how was your, ah, research session?"
The elevator lurches upward, my stomach not quite following. "We're not discussing this."
"Oh, we absolutely are." Arjun leans against the wall, looking far too comfortable.
"After Friday night at Pulse? After you disappeared all weekend?
You're giving me details, or I'm telling the entire nursing staff you have a bizarre medical condition that requires hourly rectal temperature checks. "
I glare at him, but the threat isn't entirely empty. Arjun, for all his brilliance and loyalty, has the ethical boundaries of a toddler with a sugar high when it comes to hospital gossip.
"Nothing happened," I mutter, which is technically true if by nothing you mean we didn't actually have sex despite spending forty-eight consecutive hours in various states of arousal.
"Bullshit." Arjun's voice drops lower, suddenly serious. "Sebastian, I've known you for what feels like forever. I've seen you through the Debra disaster, through that fellowship rejection you pretended didn't bother you. And I have never, not once, seen you look like this."
I stare at the elevator numbers climbing. Two... three...
"Like what?" I can't help but ask.
"Like you finally remembered you're human." The sincerity in his voice makes me uncomfortable. "So either you had the best sex of your life, or..."
"Or?"
"Or you're actually feeling something beyond clinical detachment and control-freak tendencies." Arjun takes a sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving my face. "Which would be considerably more terrifying for you than just getting laid."
The elevator dings as we reach the fourth floor, saving me from having to respond. The doors slide open, and I step out, hoping the conversation will die a natural death. No such luck. Arjun trails me down the hallway toward the diagnostics department.
"Did she let you do that thing you mentioned once when you were drunk after the gala? You know, the one with the mirror and the vibrating—"
"Fucking shit, Arjun," I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. The hallway is mercifully empty, but hospital walls have ears. "This is a professional environment."
"So that's a yes." He nods sagely. "Good for her. She strikes me as the adventurous type. All that energy has to go somewhere productive."
I halt so abruptly that Arjun nearly crashes into me. "We're not discussing Mia's energy or where it goes."
"And your tongue was probably in her—"
"Enough." My voice drops to the tone that makes residents scatter like startled mice. It has absolutely no effect on Arjun.
"Fine, fine. But you know you'll tell me eventually." He adjusts his glasses, his expression turning serious again. "Just... be careful, Sebastian. Not just with her career, but with..." He gestures vaguely at my chest.
"My heart?" I scoff. "What are we, sixteen?"
"And for fuck's sake, use protection," he goes on as if I hadn’t spoken at all. "The world only needs one Sebastian Walker." Then his expression softens a fraction. "But yeah, that too. The heart thing. You tend to go all in or not at all."
My jaw tightens, shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of words that hit closer to home than I'd like. The last time I went all in, I got my heart thoroughly stomped on.
"I've got a patient to see," I finally say, forcing a reluctant smile.
Arjun nods, recognizing the deflection but allowing it. "We're still on for lunch?"
"If Cheryl's case doesn't explode." I back away, grateful for the reprieve. "And Arjun? Not a word of this to anyone."
"My lips are sealed." He makes a locking motion over his mouth, then immediately ruins it by adding, "Unlike yours all weekend, apparently."
I flip him off and turn toward Cheryl's room, my professional mask sliding back into place with each step. Cheryl’s sleeping, or appears to be.
Her body looks impossibly small against the white hospital sheets.
Her skin has taken on that distinctive translucence of the seriously ill, blue veins visible at her temples where her hair lies flat and dull.
In the week since I last examined her, she seems to have shed pounds she can’t afford to lose.
Fuck. We're missing something crucial, something that's stealing her away one cell at a time.
I move silently to the monitoring equipment, checking her vitals. Then I flip through her chart, scanning the night nurse's notes. Refused dinner. Mild disorientation at three in the morning. Two episodes of tremors.
My jaw tightens as I pull up her labs on the tablet.
The latest results don't make sense with our current theory, subtle shifts in her electrolytes that point to something systemic rather than neurological.
Every new piece of data tightens the knot in my chest. I've been working on her case for weeks, trying every diagnostic avenue, every treatment protocol that might remotely apply. Nothing's working.
"Well, well," a raspy voice interrupts my thoughts. "Looks like someone finally got some."
My head snaps up to find Cheryl watching me through half-lidded eyes, a ghost of her usual mischief playing at the corners of her mouth. She lifts herself on frail arms, the movement visibly costing her strength she doesn't have to spare.
"Ms. DuBois." I clear throat in a piss-poor attempt to cover the surprise. "You're awake."
"And you're glowing." She settles back against her pillows, studying me with an unnerving perception that illness hasn't dulled. "Don't look so shocked. I spent years teaching hormonal teenagers to arabesque. I know the look of someone who's been properly kissed."
Heat climbs my neck, and I needlessly adjust my tie. "How are you feeling this morning?"
Cheryl smiles that knowing smile of hers. "That's what I like about you, Sebastian. Always trying to maintain that perfect control." She waves a thin hand dismissively. "I feel like shit, but that's not nearly as interesting as whatever, or whoever, put that softness in your eyes."
I move to the side of her bed, determined to remain professional despite the urge to smile at her bluntness. "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?"
"Seven when I move, five when I don't." Her answer comes without hesitation. The honesty surprises me—Cheryl usually downplays her discomfort, telling us she's just fine even when her vitals say otherwise. This admission is concerning. "Now, don't change the subject. Was it Birdie?"
The monitor beeps softly as her heart rate increases slightly. I frown, checking the connection to make sure it's not a technical error. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Mmm." Cheryl's eyes crinkle at the corners. "So it was her. Good. She'll keep you honest."
I adjust the flow rate on her IV, focusing on the task to hide my expression. "We need to talk about your lab results, Ms. DuBois. I'm concerned about—"
"Dying?" She says the word so matter-of-factly that I look up sharply. "I know what dying feels like, Sebastian. I've been circling this drain for months." Her voice wavers slightly. "But I'd rather spend my remaining time discussing your love life than my impending demise."
"You're not dying," I grind out. "Not on my watch. We're just missing something, and I intend to find it."
Cheryl's laugh is weak but genuine. "Oh, honey. You can't control everything, no matter how hard you try." She reaches out with a trembling hand, her fingers barely brushing my wrist. "Sometimes the kindest thing is knowing when to let go."
"No." I pull up her latest scans on the tablet, angling the screen so she can see. "Your white cell count is fluctuating in a pattern I haven't seen before. There's something we're missing, an autoimmune component, maybe—"
"Sebastian." Her voice is gentle but firm. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, I lift my eyes from the screen. Her gaze is steady, clearer than it's been in days. There's no fear there, just acceptance, and something that looks almost like peace.
"I've had a good run," she says softly. "Longer than I thought I would when all this started. But you need to hear this, if it's my time, it's my time. And you beating yourself up won't change that."
My throat tightens. "It's not your time. Not yet."
"You know what your problem is? You think caring means controlling. But sometimes caring means accepting what you can't change." Her fingers squeeze my wrist weakly. "Like whatever's happening with our Birdie."
"There's nothing happening—"
"Bullshit." The curse sounds foreign in her refined voice, but her eyes spark with familiar fire. "I may be dying, but I'm not blind. The way you two dance around each other, all that delicious tension..." She trails off, that knowing grin back on her lips.
I feel heat creep up my neck again. "Ms. DuBois—"
"Did you at least kiss her properly?" She leans forward conspiratorially. "Was she as sweet as she looks?"
Immediately, images of the weekend flash through my mind and my traitorous cock twitches at the memory.
"I'm not discussing this with a patient," I manage, though my voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
Cheryl's eyes widen with delight. "Oh my heavens, you're blushing. Actually blushing." She claps her hands together weakly. "This is better than cable television."
"We need to focus on—"
"The sex was good, wasn't it?" she interrupts. "I can tell by the way you're fidgeting. Did she let you do all the deliciously wicked things you've been thinking about?"
I nearly choke on air. "Holy fucking shit, Cheryl—"
"Language, young man." But she's grinning now, more alive than she's looked in days. "Though I suppose I should take that as confirmation. Good for you. You needed someone to ruffle those perfectly pressed feathers of yours."
Heat floods my face as I fumble for my professional composure. "Right. This is my cue to leave. Ms. DuBois, I’ll see you during rounds later."
I step into the hallway, Cheryl’s laughter short on my heels.
For a moment, I just stand there, back against the wall, giving myself the luxury of a deep breath before my next performance.
Staff meeting in ten minutes. The first time I'll see Mia in a professional setting since I watched her arch beneath me, gasping my name as she came apart under my tongue and fingers.
Fuck. This is going to be more complicated than I thought.
My hand instinctively reaches for my tie, straightening what's already straight. I need to compartmentalize. Need to erect those walls that have served me so well over the years.
Smoothing down my lab coat, I head toward the conference room and abruptly pause when I round the corner.
I can see her through the glass walls. Mia sits with her back to the door, that wild red hair contained in her usual braid.
She's gesturing animatedly as she speaks to one of the nurses, hands moving in those expressive patterns I've come to recognize.
Even from here, I can see the enthusiasm in the set of her shoulders, in the tilt of her head.
My body responds instantly, muscle memory kicking in with embarrassing predictability.
I know the silky texture of that hair between my fingers.
Know the exact pressure point at the base of her neck that makes her gasp.
Know the taste of her skin, the sound of her laugh, the way she whispers my name when she's on the edge.
"Get it together," I mutter to myself, adjusting my grip on the tablet to hide any visible evidence of where my thoughts have wandered.
I can do this. I've spent my entire adult life maintaining perfect control, perfect boundaries. One weekend—no matter how mind-altering—doesn't change that. I refuse to be the cliché attending who can't separate his professional and personal lives.
With one final deep breath, I square my shoulders and push open the conference room door.
But even as I step inside, even as heads turn and conversations quiet at my entrance, even as I feel myself slide into the familiar role of department head, a single thought betrays me.
What will I taste on her lips when I kiss her in my office later?