Chapter 29
Brant
I spent the morning at the hospital on a high after last night with Regan. Every time I’m with her, it gets better and better. It’s dangerous, but I can’t fucking stop myself.
I discharged the little boy who had his AV canal defect fixed. Standing there with his parents, watching them teary with relief as I explained his recovery plan, I felt that familiar tightness in my chest. He made it. He’s going home. He’ll have a scar like me, but he’ll live.
My pager went off, and I was pulled into an emergency just after sunrise.
What I thought was going to be a routine post-op infection.
Turned out, it was a child with a high white cell count.
Early signs of sepsis. I did everything I could—aggressive antibiotics, fluids, and close monitoring. We have to wait to see if he recovers.
Now it’s later in the day, and I’m out, running the streets. Pounding the pavement like I can push the fear out of me. Like if I run hard enough to exhaust myself, I won’t still see that boy’s glassy eyes staring back at me.
I reach the edge of the path, suck in a deep breath, and spot Nate already jogging ahead. He gives me a nod as I catch up beside him.
We don’t talk. That’s the best part.
Letting our footsteps do the talking.
My breath comes fast, chest rising and falling in sync with my strides. We pass by trees, cracked sidewalk, someone’s German shepherd pulling the owner on a leash.
The new hospital expansion wing’s a dream.
Brand-new monitors, smooth workflow, everything in the right place.
But shiny floors and pristine walls don’t save lives.
Not like this morning… when you’re praying a kid makes it through the next hour.
I don’t know how to shut off that part of my brain.
I wish Regan was here so I could talk to her and be near her and feel her comforting presence because she gets this part of our job. It’s hard.
I almost texted her three times already. Each time, I stopped myself.
Is there such a thing as seeing someone too much when it’s supposed to be casual? Because she’s in my head every damn minute. Her smart mouth. Her skin. The way she curls into my side like we’ve been doing this forever.
I need the weekend to breathe, to check in with family, to reset.
Get my head right. I’ve got that chief position announcement coming up, and her dad…
my boss is being cagey as fuck about it.
I thought I was the front-runner. I still do.
But he hasn’t made it official, and now I’m wondering what’s holding him back.
I can’t afford distractions. Even if that distraction has the softest skin and the sharpest comebacks I’ve ever met. So I planned a run with a friend.
I glance at Nate. “How’s it going?”
“Quiet.” That’s all he says.
Tonight, we’ve got dinner at Carl’s place with friends, where he’ll have sports on the big screen, cold beer, no pager, no pressure. For once, I’m not on call on a Saturday night.
I glance at my watch. Five miles. I could push to six, maybe even seven.
Then my pager buzzes at my hip.
Shit.
I yank it up, heart already sinking.
Another pediatric emergency.
“Gotta go,” I bark, already turning.
“Catch you later,” Nate calls after me, not breaking his stride.
I sprint toward my street, lungs burning. As soon as I’m inside, I kick off my shoes, strip down in the hallway, and jump in for the world’s fastest shower.
Towel still half on, I’m calling the hospital. “It’s Dr. Harrison. I’m on my way.”
I head back into the hospital for a couple more hours.
I check in, monitor the labs, write a few notes, and watch machines keeping a thirteen-year-old boy stable who came in with the sepsis.
His numbers are slowly moving in the right direction, which is great progress, but he’s still not out of the woods completely.
When I finally step into the break room, I’m alone, so I go for the coffee machine more out of habit than need. Normally, Regan makes it for me. I’ve barely done it myself since she showed up.
I take a sip. Instantly regret it.
I grimace. “What the hell…”
Same coffee, creamer, and mug. And yet, it tastes like shit.
I rub a hand across my face. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
She’s in my head again. Regan Thomas. With her too-curious eyes and that stubborn streak that won’t back down, even when she’s exhausted.
I take a seat, reach for the paper on the table, and read it.
Flipping open the front page, my stomach coils.
Fucking hell.
Right there in full color is a photo from the grand opening. But my arm is wrapped around her waist. Her head tilted back to me, leaning in, close enough to whisper something in her ear.
Of course, it had to be that shot on the front page.
“Fuck.”
Her father’s going to see it. He reads the damn paper every fucking day. Stomach twisting, I lean back in the chair and stare at the ceiling.
What am I even supposed to say?
We’re not a couple. That’s true.
I’m not lying. I’m just… not volunteering that I’ve had her in my bed two nights this week, and I’d do it again tonight if she asked.
I glance back down at the picture.
God, she looks beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes my chest squeeze.
Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed, and that impossibly wide smile that lights up the room shines right at me.
She’s so damn smart. She belongs in medicine, not just because she has the skills, but because she has the drive.
And I enjoy letting her take the lead. Watching her process a diagnosis, give orders. I see her hesitate, wonder if I’ll step in, and then light up when I don’t. When I let her take the reins.
She’s easy to read when she thinks no one’s watching. And because I can’t help myself, I watch her all the time.
But now this photo changes everything. I hope it doesn't ruin my chances at chief. Because I don’t have a backup plan if I don’t get it. It’s all I’ve wanted, all I’ve worked toward.
I flip through to the event spread. Scarlet and Dusty are arm in arm. The ward team is all smiles. Then there’s Dr. Gould.
My jaw tightens without meaning to.
He’s standing next to Dr. Thomas, flashing that fake-as-hell politician smile like he runs the place. My hand curls into a fist against the paper.
Ass-kissing bastard.
Everyone thinks he’s a team player, but he clocks in, does the bare minimum, then disappears. He never stays late. Never goes the extra mile. He just coasts.
Meanwhile, I’ve got seven patients, including one hanging by a thread. I haven’t even left the hospital, even though my on-call ended an hour ago.
I take another sip of coffee.
Still fucking bitter. I check the creamer; it’s still in date.
“Yeah, not the creamer,” I mutter. “It’s just her.”
I head back up to the ICU to check in on the kid one last time. Good news, he’s now stabilized. Heart rate’s strong, blood pressure’s holding.
After I leave, he’s someone else’s responsibility. I won’t get an update until Monday.
Unless I call, which let’s be real, I will. I won’t be able to help myself.
I check my watch. Time for one more ward round and handover before I can call it a night.
By the time I make it home, the adrenaline has drained from my system. I throw on a pair of jeans, yank a T-shirt from the drawer, and run a hand through my hair in the bathroom mirror.
Five minutes later, I’m out the door, heading to my buddy’s place.
Carl’s place has changed since high school—the cracked leather sofa replaced by a fancy cream sofa, no foosball table in the corner, but he’s kept the same stocked fridge with too many beers and not enough real food.
We've been friends since we were in school, but now we’re all working different shifts due to our jobs, so catching up is rare.
But when we do, it’s like no time has passed.
Someone tosses a bag of chips on the coffee table as the game blares from the TV, the sound low enough for us to talk over.
“I got two extra tickets to next Friday’s game,” Carl says, holding up his phone. “Anyone free to watch it live?”
“Let me check,” I say, already pulling out my calendar. I scroll through my schedule. “I’m off. I’ll take one. But,” I add, glancing up, “if I get Chief, that could change.”
“Oooh, look out… Chief coming in hot!” Jackson, who’s one of the local firefighters, shouts.
“Better get used to calling him Chief!” Nate adds.
I roll my eyes and lean back on the couch. “Shut up, you jerks.”
Laughter rolls through the room, and Carl slaps my back. “Nah, man. You’ve earned it. I hope you get it.”
“So do I,” I admit, then regret opening my mouth because he adds, “Hey, speaking of surprises, what was that pic in the paper today? You got a new girl or what?”
My stomach knots all over again.
“What picture?”
He grins. “Don’t play dumb. Your hand on her waist. Looking real cozy, Dr. Handsy.”
I groan. My mind goes to Regan and the way she looked that night. The way she felt in my hand. I wanted to kiss her right there in front of everyone. “Will you get a life?”
He’s already pulling it up on his phone.
“It was just a picture,” I add, trying to downplay it.
“Yeah, a picture where your hand’s gripping her like you own her. And look at her… she’s leaning in.”
He zooms in. I want to throw his phone across the room. Because that was our private moment, and I hate that it’s now being dissected by my buddies over beer and pizza.
“We work together,” I say flatly. “We’re around each other all the time. Obviously, we’re comfortable.”
“So you're saying you’re not hooking up?”
I pause, just a beat too long. “No,” I lie, hating the way it lumps in my throat.
I don’t want to lie to these guys, but I also can’t risk this messing with the chief role. Not when one wrong word could get back to the wrong person. And what am I even supposed to say? That we’re sleeping together, but not dating? That it’s casual, but I can’t stop thinking about her?
No, it’s too messy.
“Well, if I were you,” Carl says, “I’d be tapping that.”
“Yeah, well, glad I’m not you.” I try to control my anger that’s brewing. “Anyway,” I say, desperate to change the topic. “What’s new in your world?”
“Not much,” says Jackson. “Still putting out fires, literally. Saved a cat from a tree last week.”
He pulls up a photo of an orange tabby in his arms and holds the phone up like a trophy.
I smirk. “Do you pick up women with that story?”
“Obviously.” He winks.
My friends are all charm. Half of them are serial daters. None of us has figured out how to settle down, not really. Maybe it’s the shifts, or maybe we’re all just wired for burnout.
But one of us has a shot at something real.
“How’s Sophie?” I ask Nate, who’s been seeing her for a few months now.
He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but he can’t hide the smile. “She’s good.”
“Moving in? Ring shopping?”
“Nah, nothing like that. Too soon. But she’s over most nights.” He grins. “Feels like she already lives there.”
I nod, not sure what to say to that.
The thought of Regan being over every night flashes through my head, and I can easily picture it. Her toothbrush next to mine, her scrubs draped over my chair, the sound of her laughter in my kitchen in only my T-shirt.
My chest tightens.
“Maybe with some luck, we’ll all find that,” Nate says, clapping my back.
I give him a faint smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“But hey,” Carl adds, grinning. “You said you’re not seeing her. So… you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out?”
The room goes still. Every muscle in my body tenses. The thought of anyone touching her, kissing her, being with her the way I’ve been with her makes me see red.
“You’re not allowed to touch her,” I say. There’s an edge to it. “My boss would have a damn fit.”
He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Dude. You just gave yourself away.”
I don’t respond. Just take a slow sip of my drink and shift my gaze back to the game on TV, pretending like I didn’t just reveal more than I should’ve.
But yeah.
I’ve got it bad.
And no amount of pretending is going to change that.