Chapter 7 #2
I paced a slow line near the railing, palms damp, forcing myself to breathe in for four counts, out for four counts, hold for two, just like my mom had taught me. Stop speculating. Talk, clarify, move on.
Behind me, the service-stair door rasped open.
Gentle steps crossed toward me, regular and measured. I turned and found Jesse drawing closer, hands tucked into the pockets of those jeans, shoulders a little tense, the low sun washing his skin in bronze. His dark polo clung to arms I remembered far too well.
“Hey,” he said, quiet and even.
“Hey.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks for coming.”
“Figured you didn’t summon me to talk about the weather.” He glanced at the humming AC unit beside us, then leaned sideways against the railing, facing me. “What’s up?”
Right. Rip off the Band-Aid.
“Did you boost me today?”
His brow furrowed. “Boost you?”
“Like…” I should have planned this better. “Did you talk me up? Or change your score to make sure I’d win?” Man, this sounded bad. I continued, words spilling faster. “Because if you did, I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not fair to the others. I can talk to Garcia, withdraw or something—”
“Finn.” Jesse’s voice was serious and steady, just like his gaze. “I gave you a four.”
My heart skittered somewhere up into my throat. “A… four?”
“Today, yes. Yesterday’s round was blind and you got perfect marks.
Today you had five judges; you pulled three fives and two fours.
Mine was one of them.” A faint wryness tugged at his mouth, maybe even a hint of guilt.
“If anything, I lowballed you. But the other tallies already put you ahead. I knew you’d win. ”
“Oh. I—okay.” Relief washed through me, left me just a little lightheaded. I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I just… I couldn’t help but wonder.”
“I get it.” He watched me for a beat, then exhaled visibly, his torso shifting with it. “But keep in mind that it’s a total of five judges who voted you to the top. My voice accounted for no more than twenty percent. You deserve this.”
Something sticky-sweet pooled in my stomach. I swallowed. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” His voice was low, his attention like a spotlight. “You did great, Finn. I’d have given you a five if not for—you know. In case anyone reviews the sheets later, I thought it’d be better this way. For both of us. Optics matter.”
Yeah. Fuck.
Optics, timing, reputations—they all mattered, far more than the way I wanted to lean in right now. Whatever I was to him—if anything—whatever he was to me, it wasn’t worth the risk. I got it. I did. Even if it sucked.
“Right,” I said softly. “They do.”
A second of quiet settled between us. Distant sirens floated up from below, a breeze brushing the back of my neck, the day’s humidity slowly fading.
Jesse inhaled, the setting sun edging his silhouette in gold. “All right, then. So. Your rotation starts Monday—three months of me filling out evaluations. Seems like a good moment to review the ground rules.”
“Yeah.” I folded my hands around the railing to keep from fidgeting. “The, uh. The no-repeats rule still stands. Obviously. And the silence rule for the hospital. Unless, like.” I stalled for a beat. “Unless we screw up without meaning to. Slip up somehow, in ways we don’t even realize. What then?”
“We won’t,” Jesse said, cool as a cucumber—and where did that even come from? What was so cool about cucumbers, other than their water content? Cucumber gazpacho, maybe? Anyway.
“But what if we do?” I asked around a quick, sharp breath. “Should we be transparent?”
His chuckle was soft, almost self-directed. “Explain that we accidentally slept together before we had a clue we both work here?” He shook his head. “You’d lose your chance to scrub in on the twins. And I’d lose mine to finish the fellowship clean.”
He was right; I knew he was. Fuck.
“Yeah.” I stared past his shoulder at the river below, set ablaze by the dying day. “I get it. Like, how a clean record matters—especially for you, with the timing. And that surgery is a once-in-a-career thing, so I don’t want to risk that. For either of us.”
“Me neither.” It was quiet, followed by a short moment of hesitation before he held my gaze. “Look, I grew up in cornfield Missouri. No money, no connections, first one to go to college. Landing an attending spot? Means I can support my parents once they retire.”
Missouri? I wouldn’t have guessed it—he seemed to carry himself as if he were born to this city.
Me, I was still trying to adjust to people who walked like they were chasing deadlines, to crowded sidewalks and honking cabs.
Back home, the roads were so narrow that my dad liked to joke you could high-five the cows on both sides.
“I hear you,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “Family pressure, I mean. Like, it’s a bit different for me—my mom’s an artist, but Dad’s our town’s GP. Loves it. So it’s more about… continuing a family calling, I guess.” I paused and shook my head. “Which sounds douchey, doesn’t it?”
“Not really. Just a different shade of trying to make your folks proud.” Jesse shot me a half smile that sat mostly around his eyes. “They must have loved that you won the”—a snort—“Suture Bowl.”
“Haven’t told them yet.”
“Because you weren’t sure you deserved it.” He made it more statement than question, and I shrugged one shoulder, glancing down.
“Kind of, yeah. But I’ll tell them now.”
“Good.”
The word hung between us for a second, then I shifted against the railing, turning to face him more fully. “And about what you said—yeah. We’ll just have to make sure there’s nothing to see, right? Professionals of the year.”
“Of the decade,” he corrected with another tug of a smile.
It faded to something thoughtful. “I’ll do my best, all right?
To be absolutely fair, evaluate you the way I would anyone else.
Today’s four—part of me feels like I cheated you because I knew you’d win anyway.
It won’t be like that during your rotation.
So if there’s ever a point when I’m being too harsh, tell me. ”
Something warm bloomed behind my ribs. Professionals, I reminded myself—even if part of me wanted to step closer.
No repeats. For all intents and purposes, we were hardly more than strangers.
“I appreciate it,” I said. “But I’m probably not the kind of guy who goes ‘hey, man, I deserve better.’”
“No, I guess you’re not.” He studied me with a strange, almost unsettling intensity. “It’s on me to get it right, then. And to have others weigh in whenever possible.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yeah.”
We watched each other as the city hummed beneath our feet. A breeze lifted the tips of his hair, his features washed in shadows. I took a step back and tucked my hands into my pockets. “So—Monday?”
“Monday,” he agreed—tone quiet, almost formal. A full stop. “See you on service, Dr. Hayes.”
I drew a breath and nodded. “Good night, Dr. Maddox.”
With that, I pivoted toward the stairwell door and slipped back into the building, didn’t allow myself to look back. Clinical overhead lights flashed on, and I blinked into the sudden brightness.
Inhale, exhale. Move.
Halfway down, I pulled out my phone to send Khai a text.
You good?
He shot back a smiley face, which I took as a yes. Permission to leave, then. I’d wallow a little, maybe hit another bar and find a hot stranger, no strings attached. Yeah—because that had worked so well for me last week.
Either way, Monday would be a fresh start.