Chapter 14 #2
That gets the whole table going. Somer laughs. Scarlet winks. Greer whistles. Even Dusty grins.
“No way,” Somer says. “If I were you, I’d count myself lucky. Brant’s the best one by far.”
It feels strange hearing everyone call him Brant. At work, it’s Dr. Harrison or just sir. “Brant” feels... personal. Like we’re friends. Like something’s different here… outside of the hospital.
“It’s been good so far,” I say, trying to keep it light. “Couple of arguments.”
“I wouldn’t call them arguments,” Brant cuts in smoothly. “More like two smart people disagreeing for the sake of the patient.”
I glance at him, unsure whether to roll my eyes or be flattered. But the way he’s looking at me with no trace of mockery unsettles me.
“It’s actually admirable,” he adds. “You care about the patients. You want what’s best for them.”
I take another sip of wine, bigger this time, trying to process the compliment. He’s said things like this before, at the hospital, even to my dad. But hearing it here, in front of friends, feels different. More real.
“I was right,” I say, unable to resist.
“You were,” he agrees.
“Wait, what happened?” Somer asks.
I forgot they don’t know the whole story. “Just a little girl who was sick,” I say, keeping it vague. “I thought it was one thing, and Brant thought it was another. We disagreed. I pushed back.”
Milton smirks.
Brant smirks too, and I hate how casual he is, because it makes him impossible to dislike. The table joins in with light laughter.
Scarlet leans over and ruffles Dusty’s hair. “We got to see her at work, didn’t we?”
Dusty bats her hand away, but his grin is wide. “She had the pajamas on.”
I laugh, leaning toward Dusty. “That’s our uniform. Brant just doesn’t like to wear it.”
“Why not?” Scarlet asks. “They look comfy.”
It pulls my attention back to him.
Brant shrugs. “It just doesn’t feel right for me. I prefer suits.”
“And why is that?” I ask, turning to face him.
He lifts his glass and takes a sip. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like I’m one of the staff if I wear them.”
Scarlet lifts an eyebrow. “And you’re above the staff, are you?”
He shifts in his chair, uncomfortable now.
“That’s not what I meant. I just… I’m in the running for chief.
They make the hard decisions. They set the tone.
If I’m in that chair, I can make sure everyone’s always paying attention.
They’re not friends with the staff; they’re the boss. The suits help draw that line.”
Like that explains everything, he shrugs and cuts his food.
Brant deserves to be chief; he’s amazing at his job. And I have to agree with his thoughts on the dangers of being friends with the staff. It helps put me at ease, knowing he absolutely won’t be interested in me now.
I finally dig into my smoked brisket before it goes cold, eating while the conversation shifts to Milton’s job. He still works as a veterinarian. He says he’s stepping back, but Somer laughs. “He’s been saying that for years.”
“I’m busy too,” she adds with a smirk. “It works. We’re both busy, but we find time to spend together. Golf, or whatever.”
Greer chimes in about his job next, and the table eases into a rhythm of stories and laughs. It’s nice, this… Everyone sharing.
Dusty opens up about school and how he’s doing youth track and flag football.
And for a second, I forget about the tension in my chest. I forget that Brant’s knee is back to touching mine, and this time, I didn’t move to separate us.
“Can we play again? Please?” Dusty bounces on his feet, tapping Brant’s arm.
I don’t want him to move. I’m enjoying the connection for a moment.
“Give me five minutes. I’m too full to move right now,” he says, rubbing his stomach.
“Dusty, let him breathe.” Scarlet laughs. “Go practice those kicks we talked about.”
“Okay. Five minutes, but watch.” He sprints off, already kicking the ball across the yard, and scores.
We all watch for a moment, smiling.
I turn to Somer and Milton. “Have you seen the ward expansion yet?”
They nod enthusiastically. “It’s amazing,” Milton says.
“It’s coming along so nicely,” Somer adds. “I can’t believe how much it’s changed. I really hope you get Chief, Brant.”
“Do you think your dad will give it to him?” Greer asks, looking at me now.
“Well,” Somer says. “I can’t speak much about other candidates. I’m sure they’re knowledgeable. But when it comes to personal experience? It has to be Brant.”
Something in the way she says personal experience my ears prick up. I look at Brant, then back at Somer. Her face makes me curious. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“You know… Brant’s condition.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him tense. His fingers grip the crystal glass, and he downs the rest of his drink in one go before putting the glass down on the table with a soft thud.
“No,” I say carefully, feeling uneasy. “I didn’t know…”
A condition? I scan him quickly, noticing nothing in his color or breathing, so I wonder if it’s chronic. Something he’s living with now or something from the past?
“I just had something when I was a kid,” Brant says quietly, glancing at me. “Complete atrioventricular canal defect.”
I sit back, stunned. “That’s a congenital heart defect,” I murmur, almost to myself. A hole in the center of the heart. It’s serious, usually caught in infancy, requiring lifelong monitoring and sometimes multiple surgeries.
“Open-heart surgery,” I ask softly.
Brant nods. “Yeah.”
“Do you still see a cardiologist?”
“I do, but I go back to the city for it. It’s just easier that way.” His lips flatten, and he glances down at his plate. Is he regretting how much he shared?
“You know, patients seeing you take care of your own health could actually help them feel more comfortable taking care of theirs,” I tell him carefully, my chest suddenly tight. “It normalizes it.”
Scarlet chimes in, “Yeah, I agree. I never thought of it that way.”
Milton adds, “Maybe you could transfer to Pulse Point. We’d have to ask.”
“I’ve been with the same cardiologist since I was a kid,” Brant says. “Unless he retires, I’m sticking with him.”
“I respect that.” My cheeks feel hot, and I can’t help but worry I overstepped. Of course he has a relationship with his doctor; they’ve been through his entire journey together. I shouldn’t have implied he should change that. It wasn’t my place.
We sit with that for a beat as Somer refills her wineglass. Milton reaches for more bread.
When Brant exhales and seems more relaxed, I ask, “Is that why you chose to work in pediatrics?”
His eyes lock onto mine, and something in his gaze softens as he leans back in his chair.
“Yeah. Having gone through it myself, I know what those kids are feeling. All the poking, the surgery, the fear, it’s a lot.
But now I can relate to them. I can tell them how perfect my heart is now. How strong I am.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “Your story’s… incredible.”
“Well…” he says, smiling faintly. “Now you understand why I might deserve the job over Dr. Gould.”
“Yeah,” I say, recognizing his teasing but knowing he’s serious.
“I do.” I know Mason’s a candidate, as he’s very vocal about it.
But hearing Brant compare himself makes it real.
This isn’t just ambition; this is personal, as he’s lived it.
And there’s no one better suited for the chief role than Brant.
As the conversation shifts back to other topics, I fall quiet, my thoughts spiraling. I find myself scanning memories, looking for signs. Have I noticed any fatigue? Any clues? But I wouldn’t see any because he’s been managing it his whole life, so he’d know how to hide them.
Dusty’s voice carries across the yard. “Brant! Come play with me.”
But Brant’s deep in conversation with Milton, talking shop and probably still dodging the fact that he’s got a soft side under that crisp shirt and those harsh opinions. I glance between them and Dusty, who’s standing out there, kicking the ball around, hopeful eyes locked on us.
I push up from my chair. “I’ll play,” I call out, already walking toward him.
Dusty lights up. “Yes!”
I slip off my shoes and step onto the grass. “I haven’t played in years, but prepare to lose.”
“You’re going down,” he says with a laugh as he lines up the ball.
We kick back and forth, and I’m half-breathless from the running, half-laughing at how competitive Dusty is for his age. It feels good.
I hear footsteps behind me, and then Brant’s voice.
“You seriously started a game without me?”
I glance over my shoulder, watching him walk over. His eyes are bright yet focused on me, like I’m the only person here. It makes my stomach flutter.
“You were busy,” I say, feigning innocence.
“Uh-huh.” He steps beside me. “You just wanted the upper hand.”
I shove his arm playfully. “Admit it, you’re scared I’ll outplay you.”
“In your dreams.”
We both go for the ball at the same time, and our shoulders bump. I laugh and give him another little shove.
“Are you always this clumsy?” I tease.
“That was a tactical block.”
Dusty cackles and kicks the ball hard, and Brant intercepts it with ease. Show-off. He nudges it toward me, and our fingers brush briefly as I go to kick it back.
He smirks. “Nice footwork, Rae.”
I blink, stunned, by his nickname for me. No one’s ever called me that before, so it’s bringing out a mix of feelings. Warmth warring with fear. I force myself not to dwell on it and quickly reply smartly. “You didn’t seem so confident when I stole it from you five seconds ago.”
“Oh, please. I let you have that one.”
“Sure, you did.”
We play like that for a while, poking and teasing, all subtle touches and shared glances. It’s ridiculous and fun, and kind of perfect.
I forget we’re colleagues. I forget about the hospital and the pressure and the tension between us. Out here, we’re just two people being stupid and flirty over a football, while a kid runs circles around us.
Dusty kicks the ball so hard it sails past us and rolls to the edge of the lawn. He groans, “Ugh, not again.”
Brant chuckles. “Guess that’s my cue.”
He jogs off after it, and I stand there, chest pounding, wondering when everything between us got so… effortless.