Chapter 13 #2
I blinked a couple of times, then shook my head to clear the fog. It mostly worked.
“Want to grab the printouts for 6B?” Tay glanced up from the chart he was reviewing. “They hadn’t updated on the system last I checked, but there’s a fresh set at the nurses’ station.”
“On it,” I said with what I hoped was a normal, totally-not-tired smile. “Be right back.”
He paused. “You okay?”
Well. Seemed Hollywood wasn’t about to come calling.
“Yup.” I added a slightly manic thumbs-up. “Just a Monday, you know. Other than that? Thriving.” I turned before he could ask again, setting off down the corridor, focus pinned on the rhythm of my steps. Not lightheaded, nope. I was a competent resident with things to do and places to be.
Then a door opened right in front of me. And—oh. Jesse.
He stepped into the corridor, right into my path—his hair slightly mussed, lab coat open over navy scrubs. God. His attention snagged on me, then he swallowed and let his gaze settle on Tay, following me at a slightly slower pace.
“Hey. Mind if I borrow Dr. Hayes for a minute?”
My pulse skipped and skittered, thudding against the side of my neck. Casual. I tipped my chin up just a hint and tried to keep my shoulders loose, as if this was a thing that happened all the time, no big deal, just about to have a relaxed chat with my former supervisor who’d ditched my ass.
For a good reason, though. I knew that. I just needed a day to feel it, too.
“Knock yourself out,” Tay told Jesse before he gave me a little shrug, all go on, then.
I followed Jesse down the corridor—far enough to grant some privacy, close enough to prevent questions.
We stopped next to a window. Sunlight cut in at an autumn slant, casting shadows across the linoleum floor.
A respectable gap stretched between us, my hands in my pockets, his arms crossed over his chest. Anyone watching would have thought we were talking labs or discharge notes—something safely boring and totally not worth overhearing.
Jesse took a moment before he looked at me. “This is not a punishment.” His voice was a shade too steady, eyes clear. “Just wanted to reiterate that.”
Something inside my chest tugged loose and left me a little lightheaded—as if I’d needed to hear it straight from him to truly believe it. I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and flicked a glance back toward Tay, who was now chatting with a nurse.
When I turned back to Jesse, he was watching me closely. The focused intensity made me feel strangely buoyant, warmth rising into my cheeks. “Yeah,” I said, low. “I wasn’t sure at first, but… I get it. I get why it’s the right move.”
“It is.” Jesse hesitated, expression shifting into something I couldn’t read. “And Tay will be a solid supervisor. Someone you can go to for questions and support. Fair.”
Unlike Jesse.
“Because you see me through rosy glasses?” I kept my voice quiet. “That’s what Tay said.”
He exhaled through his nose. “We both know I can’t be evaluating you. Not just because I’m hopelessly biased, but also….” His jaw flexed, just barely. “It’s just a little exhausting—constantly pretending that I hardly even know you.”
God, yeah—didn’t I just know it. I smiled a little, crooked and small. “Goes both ways.”
He nodded, silence settling for a few seconds.
The distance between us felt carefully calibrated—no leaning in, no softened edges.
Two professionals, but fuck, I wanted to reach for him and smooth out the tiny crease between his brows, wanted to pull him close the way we’d been two nights and a lifetime ago.
But I couldn’t. Which… Well. It sucked. It just really, really did.
I inhaled, heavy. “You understand why I left, right? That it wasn’t because I wanted to.”
“I know.” He sounded like it cost him to say it, jaw tight. His eyes were calm and sure, though, and that should’ve been enough. We’d cleared the air, needed to end this conversation before Tay started wondering.
This wasn’t a breakup. It wasn’t anything.
Another beat passed, then I took half a step back. My head was stuffed with wool. “We don’t have to go back to—like… strangers. Or whatever it was we tried for before. Right?”
“No. Not entirely.” Jesse’s mouth twitched into something marginally lighter. “Benefit of partial honesty, I guess—I don’t have to fake indifference.”
“Good.” It came out slightly too heavy and serious.
“Yeah,” he said, the shade of a confession.
A second passed while we stared at each other. Then the burst of a laugh down the corridor reminded me we weren’t alone—Tay, the nurse chuckling along. Right. Right. Life, still merrily marching on.
Jesse seemed to agree, his lips tilting into something soft and careful. “You should go.”
“Yeah.” Still I looked at him for one more beat before I made myself turn away with, “See you later?”
Not a goodbye. Even if his quiet “See you around, Finn” hurt just the tiniest bit somewhere deep in my bones.
By Wednesday afternoon, Tay and I had established something like a rhythm. “Tell me something interesting,” he’d say, startling me out of nowhere while I was elbow-deep in charts or halfway through a yawn.
“Um.” I peered up at him, a little bleary.
“Today’s thing,” he clarified when I’d known, just needed a second to focus my thoughts. “Hit me.”
“Yeah, uh…”
“Ain’t got all day,” he said, teasing.
I was twenty-six—too old to stick my tongue out at him. But damn, it was tempting. “During rounds this morning,” I said. “The baby in 5C managed to poop onto Dr. Novak’s shoes. She didn’t even twitch; it was really impressive.”
“That’s awesome.” Tay’s grin flashed quick and true. “Here’s mine: Parents of the toddler in 8A brought me coffee from outside the hospital. I might want to marry them both.”
“Pretty sure that’s not actually legal,” I said.
“Eh. Details.”
Thursday rolled in with gray skies and a chill that crept under my scrubs and weighed every step down just a little.
I caught a glimpse of Jesse leaving just as I arrived, both of us huddled against the October breeze.
We exchanged small smiles, mine a little wistful and his…
something. I wasn’t sure. No time for more than a quick greeting since I was already running behind my mental plan.
Five minutes later, I stumbled into the break room to meet Tay. He glanced up from dissecting what looked like a homemade granola bar, took in the ID backup slip clipped to my scrubs, and raised both brows. “Badge?”
“Badge, yeah. Again.” Second time this week. I scuffed a hand through my curls. “Meant to run to work and had a small pack ready to go, badge and all. Very organized. But then I woke up too tired and forgot to repack it.”
“Well, hey.” He chuckled around a bite. “Then here’s my interesting thing of the day: I’m not the most scatterbrained guy around here.”
“You’re not scatterbrained at all.” And I usually wasn’t. I fiddled with the clip of my backup ID that I’d obtained after three security checks and a blood oath. Close, anyway. “Seriously, though. This happens one more time, and security will start greeting me by name.”
“Tell them you’re building rapport through repetition,” Tay said.
“Doubt they’ll buy that.” I sighed, the edges of a sore throat brushing my awareness. “My highlight was getting a handle on that new suture you showed me. Practiced some more last night, and now my knots look less like a failed art project and more like actual surgery.”
“Progress.” Tay tilted his head. “On the other hand, might be a devastating loss for modern art.”
By Friday morning, fatigue was creeping into my bones. Must be the shifting seasons—everyone seemed a little tired, a little off. Coffee helped, though, and so did Tay dropping by while I was copy-pasting notes under too-bright lights, my head pounding in time with each mouse click.
“Highlight?” he prompted, leaning his hip against the desk.
“Caught a minor error before it became a real issue.” I rubbed at my chest. “Yours?”
“I successfully convinced a terrified four-year-old that my stethoscope is a magic necklace. Morally ambiguous, but effective.”
My chuckle scraped a little against the back of my throat. Stupid cold. “Classic case of end justifying the means, right? Any ethics board would clear you.”
Jesse and me, on the other hand… Nope. Not thinking about that.
“That’s what I thought, yeah.” Tay’s eyes lingered a moment longer than usual, thoughtful. “Hey, you’re looking a little rough around the edges. Feeling okay?”
“Just tired.” I waved it off, voice raspier than I’d intended. “Season change, right?”
“Sure.” He looked unconvinced, though. “But please humor me—make it an early night, okay? No after-hours practice sessions.”
Sleep sounded heavenly. Preferably for about three weeks, or maybe a decade.
“Early night,” I agreed, nodding even as I fought off the tickle in my throat. A decent rest, and I’d be as good as new. I better be—I was on for a full day tomorrow, and I wasn’t keen to drag myself through it floating purely on caffeine and determination.
“That’s him?” Tessa asked. She’d redyed her hair to a pale shade of blond, with only one pink strand left. “That’s your new supervisor?”
I’d pointed out Tay as soon as I’d spotted him across the cafeteria. Now I wished I hadn’t. “Yes,” I said, trying to focus past a tapestry of interwoven sounds. “Please stop staring.”
“But he’s hot,” she said. “Why do you always get the hot ones? It just isn’t fair.”
“Friendly reminder that you already have a boyfriend,” I said. “He’s sitting right here.”
Khai, seeming half-asleep over his equally wilted salad, raised his hand for a foggy wave. “Hi.”