Chapter 7
SEVEN
FINN
Garcia’s eyes swept the room. A dramatic pause. Then—“Finn Hayes.”
My… name?
That—yes. That was my name Garcia had just announced. Oh my God.
Someone clapped. Several someones, actually. Just, Jesus, I barely caught it over the roaring in my ears. “Hell yeah,” Khai mumbled with a nudge to my shoulder. I turned to him, to Tessa.
“Did he just…?” I trailed off, and she gave me a crooked smile that looked genuine, even with how bummed she’d been about her own presentation. “I just don’t know what happened,” she’d repeated a couple of times. “I’ve never frozen like that before.”
“Congrats, Finn,” she said now. “You’ll have to tell us all about it. Every tiny little detail.”
I… Okay. So, yeah—holy shit. I’d won.
I’d won.
When I got up, it was on unsteady legs, my stomach flipping over like I’d just turned feet over head on a roller coaster. “Thank you,” I managed in Garcia’s general direction, too aware of every gaze tracking me. Was I… I should sit back down, right?
All right, I could do that. Not too fast or it’d seem cocky, not so slow I looked as dazed as I felt.
Wow—a once-in-a-lifetime assist. Plus, pediatric surgery rotation starting Monday.
Meaning I’d be working under Jesse. Which I’d known.
In theory. But now, shit. Now it was real.
Three months of long hours, teaching moments, and pretending I didn’t know his laugh and the way he fucked.
Uh, yeah. Easy.
I exhaled and smiled through Garcia giving his version of a pep talk about how this was the final day of boot camp—“Better enjoy it while it lasts, because trust me, it only gets harder from here. You think this little competition was stressful? Wait until you’re rotating through ER and you’ve been rushing from one patient to the next for six hours straight, no time to eat or drink, all while getting yelled at by people in the waiting room who feel it should have been their turn hours ago. ”
Well, hey. Dude sure knew how to crank up the anxiety to eleven. Also, I’d won.
It wasn’t like…
I’d earned it. Right?
Like, yeah, I knew I’d done well yesterday.
Quick fingers, precise lines—that was my jam.
Some people knitted to calm their minds; I stitched up yoga mats.
But today… I’d been nervous at the start, clinging to my notes and Tessa’s reminder to lead with the basic facts, Khai noting that it wasn’t a race measured in words per minute.
I’d found my footing, but I was sure others had done better.
Tessa would have, on a normal day. So why me?
When everyone else started gathering their things, I followed suit, filing out behind Khai and Tessa.
On the way to the exit, I risked a glance at the front of the room.
Jesse was talking to one of the other judges, not exactly smiling, but he didn’t look upset either.
For a flickering second, he caught my eye—so brief I almost missed it.
Acknowledgement? A hint of warmth? Gone when he turned away after just a beat.
I forced a breath and kept walking, heart thudding a heavy rhythm in my chest. He didn’t have the power to single-handedly swing a win for me, but he must have cast a positive vote.
“I won’t sabotage you, but I won’t favor you either.”
Really? Or had he been kinder than I deserved?
I should let it go. Except, fuck, now that I’d started wondering, it was lodged under my skin like a splinter, a pinprick kind of sting with every step.
I needed to know. And with my rotation hanging over us, well.
Better to walk right up to the elephant in the room, pat it on the trunk, and ask about personal triggers before it sat on my chest for the next three months.
So, yeah. I needed to talk to Jesse.
I did have his number. But after he’d answered my second text with nothing but an emoji a couple of nights ago—not that he should have replied, of course—anyway, just, the idea of calling him felt…
pushy. There was a mixer tonight, though, in the atrium outside the lecture bay.
A last hurrah, Garcia had called it. We were supposed to mingle before our rotations sent us careening into different directions, get to know the senior fellows who’d act as our supervisors in the various departments. Jesse was one of them.
Not the most private setting, granted, but sometimes, the best place to hide was in the middle of a crowd.
So, yes, I’d find a way to talk to him. Before Monday.
Before he officially became the guy signing off on my surgical future because, to quote Garcia: “What actually moves careers here are letters and your in-service—keep your evals clean, build real relationships, and study smart.”
Jesus. No pressure or anything.
The atrium looked… festive. Sort of. Plasticky string lights zigzagged above folding tables, hospital cafeteria trays offered cheese cubes and crackers, and someone had blown rubber gloves into balloons. A laminated sign in one corner invited us to a round of supervisor speed-dating.
Eh. Been there, done him.
“Okay,” Khai muttered from beside me, clutching a cup of punch-colored something. “It’s official: Garcia was on his high-school prom committee.”
“Or he missed prom night and is still trying to heal,” I said.
“Third option,” Khai said. “He doesn’t sleep and feeds off our stress.”
Hmm. Yeah, that kind of tracked.
The man in question beamed from the drinks table, wearing a button-down and the mildly unsettling grin of someone who thought that IV poles made for decorative statement pieces.
Meanwhile, a portable speaker blasted songs that followed a clear thematic thread—from Fix You to Bad Blood to Motion Sickness.
I grabbed a beer and shot a covert glance at the supervisor corner—at Jesse.
He wore simple charcoal jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, laughing with another fellow I didn’t recognize.
Not flirting, no, but relaxed and confident.
A handful of interns lingered, hanging on their every word, and for a stupid second, I wanted to walk over and say, ‘Hey, remember how I made you laugh?’
Which, yeah. Pathetic. Very much not on my agenda for tonight.
I pulled my attention away just in time to notice Khai’s eyes flicking toward the bar, where Tessa stood with one of the other interns—tall, handsome, and obviously interested if the way he kept leaning in was any indication.
Well, hey, some secrets were harmless, like having a thing for a pretty new friend.
Others? They involved your future supervisor and cash on the nightstand. Lucky me.
“You could go over,” I told Khai.
For a moment, he seemed tempted to deny it. Then he sighed and rolled his upper lip over his teeth. “You think I should?”
I nodded, tipping my beer at him. “You’re better looking than that guy, and she already likes you. What’ve you got to lose?”
He frowned down at his drink. “A friend, for one?”
“It doesn’t have to be a big thing,” I said. “Just, you know… talk. Ask if she wants some fresh air. See where it goes.”
He gave me a long look before he smiled, sudden and hopeful. “Okay, yeah. I’ll give it a try. But if I crash and burn, you owe me drinks and moral support.”
“Sure.” I smiled back. “If you crash and burn—which I doubt—we’ll get out of here and sulk about how we’re better off alone. It’ll be fun.”
He snorted, then raised his cup to tap it against my bottle. “I’m glad I met you, man. Wish me luck.”
“Got all my fingers and toes crossed for you.”
His shoulders steadied. “All right. I’m off.”
With that, he turned into the crowd—nerves and all, more purpose than confidence.
When Tessa spotted him, her face lit up.
It wasn’t romantic, not necessarily, but her body language reoriented, shifting to make space for Khai, open and warm without being rudely dismissive of the guy beside her.
He stuck around for a minute, finishing whatever casual line he’d been working on, then read the room like a grown-up and wandered off toward the drinks.
Khai leaned in to say something. The way Tessa laughed made me release a slow breath.
Okay, he was good, at least for now. He’d done the thing—put himself out there, made his move rather than keep wondering.
I took a sip of my lukewarm beer and slid another glance at Jesse.
It wasn’t the same, was it? I couldn’t just walk up and ask whether he’d inflated my score because he liked my ass.
Even under the dedicated umbrella of mentor speed-dating, the atrium buzzed too loudly, every word at risk of being overheard.
Yeah, definitely not here.
Okay. New plan.
I moved to the edge of the crowd, stopping here and there for a word and a nod, before I found a quiet spot near a wilting veggie platter. Good enough. I pulled out my phone and his name in my contacts.
Got to ask you something. Roof in 10?
A deep breath, then I sent it, tucked the phone away, and faked a keen interest in cucumber sticks while keeping Jesse at the edge of my peripheral vision, tracking every change in his posture.
Across the room, he looked down at his own screen, one brow lifting the tiniest fraction.
When he looked up again, his gaze found mine with instant precision.
So—oh. He’d been aware of me, too.
No smile, just a single, barely perceptible nod. Message received.
Fuck, okay. I was about to confront the guy who controlled the next three months of my life. My pulse skittered as I reached for a baby carrot I didn’t want. Still better than another beer, though, what with how that would feel like a bad rerun of last week.
I slipped out of the room just as the playlist segued into Madonna’s Die Another Day. Copy that.
Evening softened the harsh angles of the rooftop, shadows pooling in the corners—less blinding heat and more burnished skyline, the kind of lighting people tried to capture for movies. Dumb choice to meet under a sunset haze, but hindsight was twenty-twenty.