Chapter 17
Regan
I stare at the surgical schedule board, my coffee with his creamer cooling fast in my hand. A slow unease creeps into my gut… something’s off.
Brant’s name sits in two time slots for tomorrow morning: a hernia repair at seven a.m., and then an abscess drainage, where they are looking for osteomyelitis at eight. My eyes dart back and forth between the listings, my stomach sinking with every second.
That abscess drainage? It’s the case. The Chief of Administration’s daughter. The kind of surgery that can shift someone’s entire career trajectory.
And now he’s double-booked.
I blink and set my coffee down on the edge of the counter, no longer interested in drinking it. I tap the screen. Mason’s name is beside both entries. The hernia repair was added just this morning.
I clench my jaw. I know exactly what this is.
Mason’s trying to ruin Brant’s chances for chief.
In a hospital, you don’t just miss surgery, especially one not involving the Chief of Administration’s daughter.
If Brant’s in the OR doing a hernia repair when he’s supposed to be performing that abscess drainage, he’ll ruin his career.
He can’t cancel the hernia repair or delay it either.
Either way, it makes him look unreliable, unprofessional, and incapable of managing his schedule.
The kind of surgeon who can’t be trusted with the role of chief.
And Mason knows that. He added it this morning, deliberately scheduling it to overlap with the most important surgery of Brant’s career.
If Brant doesn’t catch this in time, if he shows up to one case and realizes he’s supposed to be in another OR, the hospital protocol committee will have questions. And his shot at chief gone.
I check the time. If I’m lucky, Brant’s still doing rounds. I head down the corridor, weaving past nurses, doctors, and med students with a purpose that quickens my pace. By the time I reach the exit, I spot him. Case in hand, already halfway out the door.
“Dr. Harrison,” I call out. “Got a minute?”
He turns, clearly tired, but something flickers in his eyes when he sees me—surprise, or maybe even warmth. “For you? Maybe thirty seconds.”
I bite my lip, but step closer, steering him toward the empty corridor, out of earshot. “Did you see the surgical schedule for tomorrow?”
His eyebrows knit. “The Hendricks abscess drainage. Yeah. Why?”
“And the hernia repair? At seven?”
His head tilts. “What?” He sets his bag down and moves in beside me, shoulder brushing mine. “I didn’t schedule a hernia repair.”
“I know.” I hand over the papers. “Dr. Gould added it this morning. You’re double-booked.”
I watch his expression tighten as he scans the entries. His jaw locks as he exhales through his nose, causing his nostrils to flare.
“If you miss Hendricks,” I say, “Mason gets to swoop in. High-profile surgery. The board watching. Perfect opportunity for him to play hero.”
Brant runs a hand through his hair, the tension rippling off him. “If I cancel the hernia repair now, I look careless. But if I miss Hendricks…”
“You miss your shot,” I finish for him. “With the Chief of Administration right there.”
His eyes lift to mine. There’s something unreadable in them. “Why are you showing me this?”
The question catches me off guard. My mouth opens, then hesitates. Why am I?
“Because it’s wrong,” I say finally. “And because…” I trail off, honesty clawing at the back of my throat. “You shouldn’t lose your chance at chief because of sabotage.”
He studies me like he’s seeing something he hasn’t quite let himself look at before. “You’d do that?”
“I’d do it for any colleague being set up to fail.
” The words come out too fast. We both know it isn’t true, not entirely.
Because I’ve watched residents struggle before.
I’ve seen them miss opportunities, make mistakes, get buried under impossible schedules.
And I never stepped in. I told myself it wasn’t my place, that they needed to figure it out on their own. But with Brant? I can’t just stand by.
He nods. “Let’s fix it.”
We settle in side by side, phones out, calling to change the list. His arm brushes mine again. Each time, it sends a spark through me that I pretend not to feel.
“There,” I say after fifteen minutes, knowing I should be reviewing patient charts and preparing notes. But this feels more urgent. “Problem solved.”
“Not quite,” a familiar voice drawls behind us.
We both freeze.
Mason.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk carved across his face. “Working late together again?” He steps over, slow and deliberate. “How… dedicated.”
Shit. How long has he been standing there? What did he hear?
“Just correcting a scheduling issue,” Brant says evenly, not missing a beat.
“Was it an issue?” Mason twirls a pen between his fingers. “Funny. I don’t recall it being flagged earlier. And yet here’s Dr. Thomas, very invested in your schedule, Harrison.”
Heat flares in my cheeks, but I force my expression to stay neutral. “The hospital runs better when the schedule makes sense, Dr. Gould.”
Eyes glinting, he tilts his head. “Of course. Pure professionalism. Though I have to say, I’ve never seen a resident put this much effort into their mentor’s schedule.
Usually, they’re too busy trying to keep up with their own workload.
” His gaze shifts between us, holding long enough to make his point clear.
“But I suppose when you’re the hospital director’s daughter, you have more…
flexibility in how you spend your time.”
The words land like a slap. The implication hangs there between us.
I open my mouth, about to respond, but Harrison steps forward before I can.
“If you’ve got something to say, Mason, say it to my face.”
Mason shrugs with mock innocence. “Just pointing out how things might look. People might get the wrong idea when two doctors are this... close. Especially when one of them has a direct line to the top.”
I feel Harrison tense beside me. This is usually where he should back away, establish boundaries, say something safe. Something... self-protective.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he lifts his chin. “Dr. Thomas flagged a scheduling conflict and corrected it. That’s called competence, Dr. Gould. You might want to try it.”
Then he steps closer to me. He doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t have to. The space between us vanishes. My breath hitches. His protective presence at my side is completely inappropriate, given where we are and who might be watching. But I don’t move away. I can’t.
“And since you seem so curious,” he continues, “her help reflects the kind of professionalism and integrity this hospital should be built on.”
Mason's smirk falters for the first time. This wasn’t the reaction he expected. Pride blooms in my chest. Brant didn’t just defend me. He turned Mason’s accusation into a compliment; made it sound like working together was exactly what we should be doing. Like there’s nothing wrong with it at all.
“How touching,” he sneers. “I’m sure her father will be equally moved.”
“Feel free to tell him,” I snap. “I’d be happy to explain how you tried to sabotage a high-profile surgery.”
His eyes narrow. For a second, I can see him weighing his options before he turns to go.
“Enjoy your moment tomorrow, Harrison. I’ll be watching.”
When he’s gone, I finally exhale. Mason doesn’t hold any real power over me; he’s not my mentor or my supervisor, but he has influence.
And if he decides to make this a problem, if he goes to my dad or to the committee with some twisted version of what just happened, it could complicate everything for Brant and me.
I’m hyper-aware of how close Brant still stands. Of the warmth of him beside me. The faint scent of woodsy cologne clinging to his shirt. My pulse thuds in my throat.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly. “He’s going to talk.”
Brant turns, eyes dark and unreadable as they latch onto mine. “Let him.”
“My father—”
“I know the risks.” He picks up his case, then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my cheek, lingering just a second too long.
“Some things,” he whispers, “are worth the risk.”
And then he walks away, leaving me standing in the corridor with my heart pounding and the ghost of his touch burning against my skin.
The nurses’ station is noisy with chatter, tapping and phones ringing. I lean over the counter, flipping through a patient chart, when I hear a snort of laughter from behind the medicine cart.
I glance up at the nurses. Jade and Mira exchange a look, then quickly glance away when they catch me watching.
I frown. It’s the kind of look I remember from childhood.
Like the time I caught Scarlet stuffing candy in her bag.
She’d grinned just like that, like mischief was a language only the two of us understood.
It’s been years, but that expression still tugs at something familiar. And I know better than to ignore it.
I narrow my eyes. “Okay. What’s going on?”
Mira shakes her head, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Nothing,” she says.
Jade just shrugs. “Just… observing our fearless leader.”
A familiar voice cuts through the hallway. “Let’s focus, team.”
I whip my head toward their focus. And there he is: Dr. Brant Harrison. Suited up. Hair styled perfectly, and checking his watch. Again.
Realization hits me like a sudden rush of cold air. “Wait. Are you playing some kind of game?”
Jade bites her lip, not answering. Her silence is answer enough.
“You are,” I hiss, thrilled. “You’re playing bingo, aren’t you?”
“Shh!” Mira says, eyes wide but sparkling. “We keep it low-key. Harrison Bingo. We don’t talk about it, at least not where he can hear.”
“What’s on the card? Let me guess. Checking his watch, saying ‘no,’ correcting someone’s chart—”