Chapter 5
Brant
I’ve already done my usual morning run and arrived at the hospital earlier than needed, partly out of habit, but mainly because I need the quiet before the day begins. Specifically, before I’m stuck babysitting Dr. Thomas’s daughter.
In the break room, I’m alone for now. I grab my mug, a plain white ceramic one with a tag on the handle that reads HARRISON, and reach for my creamer. I pause. The bottle feels… lighter.
I turn it around. My name is still scrawled across the label in thick black marker, but the level’s noticeably lower.
“I haven’t used that much,” I mutter, unscrewing the lid and peering inside. Did someone seriously steal my creamer?
Before I can decide if I’m paranoid or justified, the door swings open and a pack of nurses floods in, laughter and floral perfume trailing with them. I tighten the lid and try to step aside.
“Dr. Harrison,” one of them, Connie, I think… says with a grin. “We were just talking about you.”
“That’s usually a sign to run,” I reply dryly.
The group laughs, and another nurse, Dani, tosses her hair over her shoulder. “You do anything fun last night?”
“Worked all day, and then went home and crashed.” I offer a faint smile and stir my coffee.
“Oh, come on,” Connie says, nudging Dani. “You mean to tell us there’s no secret girlfriend tucked away somewhere? You’re too put together to be single.”
“I assure you, it’s entirely possible.” I take a sip of my coffee, gaze fixed on the far wall, purposefully avoiding eye contact with her. “I’m not exactly a thrill to date.”
“That can’t be true,” Dani says. “You’re stable. Smart. You don’t do surgery dances. That’s attractive.”
I chuckle politely. “Well, I appreciate the endorsement. But I’m married to the hospital. It’s a jealous spouse.”
My last relationship ended a few years ago. She wanted more time, more dinners at home, and fewer late-night pages. She didn’t understand the life, the constant pull. Eventually, she packed up and left town. And thinking about it makes me a mix of disappointed and angry.
There’s a moment of silence, and then Connie waves her hand. “You know, if you ever get divorced from medicine, we’ll be here, ready to hang out.”
“Noted.”
I nod once, still smiling. I don’t date co-workers or anyone from the hospital. I can’t allow it to interfere with my duty as a senior doctor… especially now, with the Chief of Pediatrics role in sight. I’ve seen what happens when lines blur. It’s not worth the risk.
I lift my mug like a parting gesture. “Enjoy your break.”
As I step out, I hear them whispering and giggling behind me, and I know they’ll probably read into it. But I meant what I said.
The hospital is the only relationship I have time for.
I need my office, where silence awaits and no one touches my damn creamer. But as I turn the corner toward the admin wing, I slow down.
There’s Dr. Thomas, already in conversation, and beside him is Mason Gould.
Great.
Thomas’s face is lit up, the way it always is when he talks about this new ward expansion. Both Mason and I are gunning for the leadership role. It's the first exciting opportunity in this place in months, and I need it after years of routine and nothingness.
Then Thomas waves toward someone, and Mason turns to follow his gaze. Regan steps out, and I see it clearly: Mason’s hand settling on her lower back as he guides her forward. Her hand brushes his arm in response. And how they’re too familiar and too comfortable with each other bothers me.
Mason’s already competing with me for the promotion, and now he’s got an in with the Thomas family’s child? That’s a strategic advantage I can’t afford to ignore. If she’s already aligned with him, feeding him information or putting in good words…
Regan is smiling, talking animatedly. And she’s yet to smile at me like that. She tosses her dark hair over her shoulder, half up, half down today. That’s distracting.
My jaw clenches. What is that tight feeling in my chest?
Just as I start to retreat behind a column, my foot catches on the edge of a cleaner’s cart.
The world tilts. My coffee flies out of my grip.
I hit the floor with a loud thud, the ceramic mug shattering beside me in a spray of hot, brown liquid. My hands burn. My pride burns worse.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath, scrambling upright.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can feel their stares. I don’t have to look. I know they saw. I’m expecting pity from Thomas, amusement from Mason, and from Regan? Probably that same smug expression she had when she stole my creamer.
“I’m so sorry,” the cleaner gasps, already bending to help me up. “I didn’t see you coming—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, holding up a hand. “Not your fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”
More like I was focused on a certain smug resident, and my enemy she’s charming.
“I’ll get this,” I say quickly, crouching to help with the mess. “You don’t need more work because of me.”
“You okay, Dr. Harrison?” Thomas’s voice rings out.
Perfect. Now I get to explain to the hospital director why I just face planted.
Before I can answer, Regan cuts in with her signature sarcasm. “Want me to fix you a fresh cup? Black, splash of creamer, no sugar… unless someone drank it all.”
There’s a smile behind her voice. My head snaps up. She’s standing just to the side, eyes too wide and innocent. That lightness in her tone? It’s not lost on me.
I look down at my ruined white shirt, stained like a toddler.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“If you wanted attention,” she adds with a mock grin, “you could’ve just joined the conversation instead of throwing yourself on the floor.”
I glare at her, biting back the dozen replies fighting to be said. She’s lucky Thomas is still within earshot.
Mason laughs. My eyes shift to him, wordlessly telling him to shut the fuck up.
“Go change into scrubs,” Dr. Thomas says, pulling my gaze to him. “You’ll feel better.”
I wipe my hands on my pants as Regan’s already walking toward the break room, her smirk lingering like the coffee I’m wearing.
In the bathroom, I yank off the ruined shirt and toss it into the trash with a growl.
Scrubs don’t feel like me. In my suit, I feel sharp and in control.
In scrubs, I feel... young. Less like a boss, more like a peer.
And when it comes to Regan, I need the edge.
Especially when she stands there with that smug little smile, probably congratulating herself on getting away with stealing my creamer.
She thinks she’s clever. She thinks she won.
Still, I pull them on, freshen up, and head to my office with irritation still in my chest. I open a patient file from the ER and try to focus.
A soft knock doesn’t come. Instead, the door opens, and Regan slips in with two mugs balanced in her hands.
“You didn’t knock,” I say flatly.
She shrugs. “Hard to knock with both hands full.”
“Next time, knock anyway.”
Her nose scrunches as she glares at me, the tiniest wrinkle forming on the bridge. It’s... annoyingly cute.
“Why are there two cups?” I ask.
“Well, if I’m making you coffee, I figure I deserve one too.” She plunks mine down on my desk. “And yes, I used your creamer. It’s the best.”
I blink at her, mouth slightly open. She casually confesses it like she’s discussing the weather, but there’s something in her tone—playful, teasing, maybe even flirty? I can’t tell. And I hate that I want to figure it out. “You’re admitting to theft this time?”
She shakes her head. “I prefer to think of it as sharing.”
“Sharing involves permission. Next time,” I say, narrowing my eyes, “use your own or bring your own and label it. Keep your hands off mine.”
“Yes, Dr. Harrison,” she replies sweetly, dragging the word out like she knows exactly what it does to me.
My throat tightens. Why does that sound so good coming out of her mouth?
I glance at the coffee. It actually smells perfect.
I take a sip.
It is perfect. And I hate that.
“So, is it to your liking, sir?” she says again, with a devilish smile.
I roll my neck. “Don’t call me sir. It’s Dr. Harrison to you.”
Her tone is mocking, like she’s calling bullshit on my authority just for fun.
I set the mug down harder than necessary and answer her. “It’s alright.”
She sips her own coffee, eyes still on me. And I hate that we’re both wearing scrubs now. Hate that it makes her feel equal.
“What are you working on?” she asks, sitting with a presence I can’t ignore.
“I’m reviewing an ER case. But you,” I say, pointing at her with my pen, “need to check in on every patient on the ward before touching anything in emergency. I want detailed updates, where they’re at, progress notes, anything relevant. Then we’ll compare notes at eleven.”
She straightens slightly, her expression shifting to something more serious. “Can I finish my coffee first?” There’s no pushback in her tone; just a simple question.
“No,” I say, maybe too fast. “It’ll take you a while, so get moving. Meet me here at eleven. Don’t be late.”
She smirks, rising from the chair sipping her coffee. “Yes, Dr. Harrison.”
“Bring your own creamer tomorrow,” I call after her.
She looks back, throwing me a grin over her shoulder.
As soon as the door shuts behind her, I lean back in my chair and drag a hand down my face. Jesus Christ. I need to get it together.
I take another sip of the coffee.
Damn it.
It’s really good.