Chapter 18 #4
Novak tapped a pen against the desk once, twice.
It broke the moment. “That’s the administrative side,” she said.
“For now, I’m choosing to believe in your integrity.
I won’t open a formal complaint as long as you don’t give me a reason to change my mind.
I expect you both to behave in a professional manner while Dr. Hayes finishes the last few days of his rotation. Is that understood?”
No formal complaint.
My lungs widened by a margin. “Crystal clear,” I said, just as Finn nodded almost too quickly, relief thick in his voice.
“Of course, yes.”
“Good. Prove me right.” She studied us for a second the way she might assess a particularly tricky procedure—making micro-adjustments in her head, correcting assumptions.
Then she slid Finn a look that was friendly but firm.
“Dr. Hayes, I think that’s all for now. I’d like to talk to Dr. Maddox alone, please. ”
His chin tipped up, spine straight as he turned to me. “D’you want me to stay?”
Jesus. As if my word mattered more to him than Novak’s. No wonder I’d fallen head over stupid heels for him—how could I not?
“No, go. I’ll be okay.” Hopefully. I wrestled a smile onto my face.
“Okay.” The moment he got up to leave, the air felt thinner. I didn’t let myself watch him, facing Novak as the door clicked shut behind me.
“Dr. Maddox.” She let it sit for a second. Then she sank back in her chair with a sigh, the office settling into a quieter hum. “Yesterday, I praised your assist in a very complex, very high-profile case. You earned that praise.”
This was an opener, a segue into… something bigger. I swallowed, voice quiet. “Thank you.”
“The unfortunate truth is, however, that Devon is small.” And there it was—a clear, frank look that spoke of regret.
“Whether you technically broke a policy is not the question, not really. People talk. So if you and Dr. Hayes choose to pursue a relationship, and if I indeed manage to open an attending line this winter?” A fractional shrug.
“Then I would strongly discourage you from applying.”
Something inside me snapped. My ribs hurt like that time in school when I’d taken a basketball to the chest and tried to smile through the pain so I wouldn’t come across as weak.
Fuck.
I sucked in a breath and then didn’t know what to say. Because—God, I had no right to surprise. Shane had warned me this could happen. I’d known it myself, but that didn’t blunt the shock slicing through whatever hope I’d held. My career at Devon, or Finn. That’s what it came down to.
After a moment, Novak continued, a shade softer. “I know this may seem unfair. But this department cannot spend the next year sidetracked by gossip on whether you got your intern boyfriend a spot in a once-in-a-lifetime case.”
“I gave him a four in the competition,” I heard myself say—idiotic, as if that could possibly sway her. “Four out of five in the presentation part. Full marks in the practical part, but that was anonymous.”
Her gaze did not waver. “I’m afraid that nuance won’t carry in rumor court.”
“That’s hardly fair.” The words scraped like gravel in my throat, and Novak shook her head.
“Perhaps not. But it’s also reality, and protecting the reputation of this department is part of my job. You knew the risks, Dr. Maddox.”
I had.
I exhaled, nodded. “You’re right. I did.”
Her posture eased, daylight catching a small line between her brows.
“I won’t pretend I haven’t made my own bargains with this job, Dr. Maddox.
” The honesty colored the air between us differently for a second.
“It’s not my place to hand out personal advice, but you may want to ask yourself what choice you’re more likely to regret five years from now, or ten. ”
There were other hospitals—plenty of them. I’d only ever fallen for one guy.
He’d risked his own neck to protect me.
“Thank you.” I raised my head, and this time, the smile felt slightly more natural—still wobbly, but no longer an ill-fitting mask I was wearing. “It’s been an honor to learn from you. I won’t forget that, no matter where I end up.”
Something like respect flitted across her face, gone so quickly that I might have imagined it. “And you,” she said, which didn’t really make sense. “It will be a loss when you leave in the summer.”
There was nothing left to say. I rose, limbs heavy, and only just remembered to ask, “The twins, are they…?”
“Right on track.” Again, she didn’t smile, but the lines around her mouth eased just enough to show. I nodded and turned to go.
“Dr. Maddox?” she called, just as I was about to reach for the door. “One more thing.”
God, no. Humiliation knocked into a stubborn kind of pride as I glanced back. “Yes?”
“Ashwick Presbyterian will be opening a pediatric surgery line next year.” Her voice was businesslike, like she was walking me through a surgery plan. “I know the department head. If you’re interested, I’m willing to serve as a reference. A strong one.”
Ashwick?
For a beat, I forgot how to move my face—then sound rushed back like the ocean once you break the surface.
Ashwick was, what, a forty-minute drive away?
A community hospital, nothing near as grand as Devon where everything was big—cases no one else touched, names that ended up in textbooks, the hours.
You walked these halls and felt history pressing in on you, like if you didn’t give your blood to it, you didn’t deserve to be here.
Ashwick wouldn’t look like much by comparison.
Less prestige, fewer miracles. But the trade-off?
Sleep. Space. Some actual green that didn’t come in the form of a neon sign, and maybe even the distant idea of mornings where I woke up and felt truly ready and rested.
Words tangled up in my throat. What came out was hoarse and simple. “Thank you.”
She nodded and reached for a folder. Class dismissed.
I left. In the corridor, I took a right, past the nurses’ station and to the stairwell. Let the metal door thud shut behind me, its echo bouncing along the walls like a fever dream. My hands shook when I pulled out my phone.
A text from Finn.
You okay?
Was I?
Rooftop in ten?
Tay will understand.
I didn’t wait for a reply, already moving. Devon had been my plan, and now that was ripped from me, brutal and clear. It burned. But threaded through it was the flicker of something else—hope, the ground tilting toward something I couldn’t quite picture yet.
Changing tides.