68. BLAKE
BLAKE
I glanced back at Tessa, praying my face didn’t betray my raw disdain for Eli. I didn’t want to be that guy. The perpetually threatened boyfriend who couldn’t handle his girlfriend’s past. Yet here I was, wrestling with an inflammation of jealousy I couldn’t seem to suppress.
That’s what this had to be, right? Jealousy?
Having never been in a relationship before, I had no reference point for this visceral urge to insert myself between them, to create distance. This burning need to separate them.
Okay, fine. I also had the urge to relocate his teeth.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Two glasses of champagne.”
“Dr. Morrison.” Dr. Elias Vaughn, chief of surgery, appeared to my left.
His steady hands, more accustomed to scalpels than scotch glasses, held his drink with the same precision he brought to the OR.
Even here, amid the wedding’s exuberance, his presence commanded attention—the kind of authority that could make or break careers.
Case in point: he was a commanding force on the committee choosing the new chief of emergency medicine.
“Dr. Vaughn,” I said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Father of the groom and I go way back.” He swirled his scotch, ice clinking against crystal. “You know how it is. Hospital board, country club, the circles overlap. You?”
“My girlfriend is the wedding planner.” I motioned toward the vision in emerald.
“Girlfriend.” His eyebrows lifted, but his expression remained calculated. “I was under the impression the—what do they call you, Iceman? —didn’t have a girlfriend.”
“I suppose things change.”
“They certainly do.” He studied me over the rim of his glass, gaze sharp despite the casual setting. “The committee has been following your career closely, Blake. Your outcomes data is exceptional. Lowest mortality rate in the ER’s history, and your residents’ success rates are unprecedented.”
“Thank you.”
“You know what impresses the board most? Your consistency. Crisis after crisis, you maintain absolute clarity. Take last month’s bus accident.
You orchestrated that response like conducting a symphony.
No emotional decisions, no protocol exceptions.
Pure, clinical efficiency.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Do you know how rare that is? Most chiefs eventually crack. They start making exceptions, letting emotion cloud their judgment. One tearful family member, one child that reminds them of their own, and suddenly, they’re bending protocols, reallocating resources based on heart rather than head.
Bad for the bottom line. Plus, they expose the hospital to liability.
One emotional disclosure to a grieving family, one promise we can’t legally keep. The ripple effects are devastating.”
“And that strict adherence to protocols, does that drive better patient outcomes?”
Silence. For several seconds.
“One could assume so,” he allowed.
Unbelievable. Assume so. Why hadn’t they studied patient outcomes to the extent they did the financial benefits? Weren’t we here to serve patients first?
I took a slow sip of my drink, buying time to choose my words carefully. “And if that approach isn’t always what’s best for the patient?”
He studied me for a long moment. “Are you suggesting your methods haven’t been effective?”
“I’m suggesting that medicine isn’t one size fits all. Sometimes, protocols need adaptation. Sometimes, listening to instinct, or, yes, emotion, leads to better outcomes.”
“Interesting perspective.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Especially given that your emotional detachment is what sets you apart from the other candidates for chief.”
I kept my expression neutral. “Is that the primary factor?”
He set his empty glass on a passing tray. “The board believes your … traditional approach is exactly what Mercy Harbor needs right now. In fact,” he continued, “barring any surprises, you’re our top choice for the position.”
My spine stiffened. This was the most coveted promotion in the hospital system, one that I had wanted more than anything.
Pride and happiness flickered within me, but it was unexpectedly muted, like a television with the volume low. The achievement I’d dreamed of felt hollow, a shell of what I’d imagined.
What the hell did that mean?
“I appreciate the committee’s confidence,” I said carefully.
“Just maintain that legendary composure of yours, Blake.” He clapped my shoulder. “Don’t give us any reason to question our assessment of you.”
In one night, Tessa and I both had our career dreams come true. I should take her out to dinner and celebrate, and I would celebrate her . But why did I not feel like celebrating my career accomplishment?
Because you’re not sure your career is enough anymore. Because for the first time in your life, you’ve found something that matters more than medicine.
“Thank you, sir.” I managed to hide my inner conflict. For now. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded.
“Do you know Dr. Tristan Rhodes?”
Dr. Vaughn scratched his chin, a fresh crystal glass the bartender offered dangling casually from his fingers. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“He’s in private practice, affiliated with Mercy Harbor.” My ribs tightened. “When my girlfriend, Tessa, was at her sickest, she saw him, desperate for help. She had an array of physical symptoms, but when the first labs came back normal, you know what he told her?”
Dr. Vaughn waited, his expression neutral.
“He told her he didn’t believe she was actually sick. Said her problems were all psychological.” My voice turned to ice. “This from a doctor with zero psychological training.”
It had taken every ounce of self-control not to beat Rhodes to a bloody pulp.
After Tessa refused to give me his name, I’d scoured through her medical records and found the evidence in black-and-white, Rhodes’s own damning notes in her chart.
I’d even driven to his house, my fist itching to reshape his facial bones, but something stopped me at his front door.
A beating would only last minutes. He deserved something far more devastating: the end of his medical career.
I’d planned to escalate this to the medical director, but sometimes, you can’t pass up an opportunity like this. Dr. Vaughn’s power in the hospital system was massive.
His fingers tightened around his glass. “Perhaps Tessa’s case was uniquely complicated.”
“Complicated?” The word sliced like a surgeon’s ten blade. “So, anyone whose symptoms are tricky to figure out, who comes to us for help at their physical and emotional worst, deserves to be dismissed as delusional?”
“No,” he agreed, but his tone remained diplomatic.
“I looked into Rhodes’s cases. In the last six months, he’s told twenty-eight percent of his patients their problems were psychological.”
Dr. Vaughn’s features hardened slightly.
“I wonder how many of those patients never sought another doctor.” My voice dropped lower. “And I wonder how many might die because they don’t.”
“I’d have to look at those cases individually before forming?—”
“Doctors having each other’s backs? Really?”
“What, exactly, are you hoping to gain from this conversation, Dr. Morrison?” His diplomatic veneer cracked. “Because I can assure you the decision for chief of emergency medicine isn’t in ink yet, and the board doesn’t look kindly on people who?—”
“Who hold doctors to ethical standards?” I cut in. “Mercy Harbor is a world-renowned level-one trauma center. Any doctor affiliated with it should represent excellence in patient care. Period.”
“Do you not find this somewhat hypocritical?” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard about your bedside manner. You’re harsh and uncaring.”
“While that’s true, I respect my patients. I believe them.” I leaned forward. “And this isn’t about me; this is about a doctor who’s a bad seed, and you know it. Before I consider accepting chief of emergency medicine, I’d like to understand Mercy Harbor’s position on doctors like these.”
“Are you giving me an ultimatum?”
“I’m giving you facts. Now I’d like to see what Mercy Harbor does with them.”
In that moment, I wondered what the old me would have done. Would I have pushed Dr. Vaughn to take action against a doctor treating patients unfairly? I’d like to think so. But all I knew for certain was that my experience with Tessa had transformed me, both as a human, and as a doctor.
Dr. Vaughn released a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’ll look into Rhodes. We can’t afford the liability of patients getting sick or dying.”
Not the heartfelt reaction I’d hoped for, but it would achieve the same result.
“Thank you, Dr. Vaughn. It’s important?—”
A woman’s shriek sliced through the evening’s gentle murmur. I spun away from the bar, my heart already climbing into my throat before my mind could process why.
Tessa wasn’t where I’d left her. Instead, a light crowd was gathering, their formalwear a black sea around something on the floor. Exactly where she’d been standing minutes ago when I’d turned to order our drinks.
No.
My feet moved before my brain could catch up, medical training warring with primal fear. The crowd parted as I approached, and the sight knocked the air from my lungs.
Tessa lay sprawled on her back, the emerald silk of her gown pooled around her like spilled paint. Her skin had taken on an ashen quality that made my medical instincts scream. To her right, a shattered champagne flute glinted among droplets of pale gold liquid.
“Tessa.” I dropped to my knees beside her, muscle memory taking over as I pressed two fingers to her carotid artery.
Dr. Vaughn appeared, already shrugging off his dinner jacket. “Pulse?”
“Weak.” My voice came out clipped, professional. Focus on the medicine. Don’t think about how still she is. How pale. I pointed to a woman clutching her phone. “Call 911. Now!”
“Oh God, Tessa?” The bride appeared at the edge of the crowd, her voice pitched high with panic.
“Did anyone see what happened?” Dr. Vaughn—thank God he was here—began his own assessment.
“I think she fainted,” someone offered.
“She was talking to a guy and just … collapsed.”
Eli. The name crashed through my ears like a record scratch. Where the fuck was he? My eyes swept the ballroom, finally landing on him at the far end. He wasn’t concerned. Wasn’t rushing to help or even asking if she was okay.
No. The bastard was smirking.
Our eyes locked across the space, and in that moment, I knew.
“He did this to her.” The words came out as a growl.
I turned back to Tessa, my hands moving in practiced patterns as I checked for obvious trauma: stab wounds, injection sites, anything that could explain this. Nothing visible, but that might mean … my gaze fell on the scattered champagne.
“No one touch that glass,” I ordered.
Dr. Vaughn gave a sharp nod, understanding immediately the way two seasoned doctors can.
Something in the drink.
Sadly, a number of women wound up in our emergency room each year from date-rape drugs, but this time, I suspected the toxin was lethal.
“Her pulse is deteriorating,” Dr. Vaughn reported, his fingers replacing mine at her throat.
I glanced back at Eli, who still hadn’t moved. Still wore that knowing smirk. “I think that man poisoned her. We need to know with what, or …” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Eli’s smirk widened as he backed toward the ballroom doors, his movements deliberate, taunting.
“The paramedics are four minutes out,” a woman in the crowd called out.
Four minutes. Without knowing what poison was in her system, those four minutes could be the difference between life and death.
I started to rise, but Dr. Vaughn’s hand shot out, gripping my arm.
“Where are you going?” he asked with an edge of horror.
“I need to know what he gave her.”
“And you think he’ll just tell you? If you’re right, he’s dangerous, possibly armed, and he just poisoned someone in a room full of witnesses. What do you think happens when you corner him?”
“And what if he hurts other people tonight?” Admittedly, that fell far second to saving Tessa’s life, but it was there. “If I can identify the poison before we reach the ER?—”
“The police are on their way,” Dr. Vaughn pressed.
“Keep her in recovery position,” I said, already rising. “When the paramedics arrive, tell them suspected poisoning, onset within minutes of ingestion. Symptoms suggesting neurotoxin.”
“Blake.” Dr. Vaughn’s voice darkened. He wasn’t used to someone not obeying him, evidently. “You walk out that door, you can forget about chief of emergency medicine.”
His intentions were good. I knew that. He wanted to protect me from what he saw as a dangerous mistake.
And maybe protect himself too. After all, a prominent doctor at his hospital couldn’t be caught assaulting someone who might be innocent.
That’s why he tried using what he thought was my weakness against me. But he’d miscalculated.
I met his eyes. “Then I forget about it.”
As I sprinted toward the doors, one thought hammered in my head: this was exactly what Eli wanted. He’d orchestrated this whole scene. The dramatic collapse, the lingering smirk, making sure I saw him leave.
He was separating me from Tessa.
And I was letting him.
What choice did I have?
To save her, I’d gladly give my life.