Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Colton
Iopen the chart for the new patient. What I find already has my body preparing for a blow.
New admission. Advanced stages. Poor prognosis.
His notes are already thick with consults he’s had prior, but I don’t hesitate. I head straight for room 447. Paper never tells the whole story. I like to see my clients first before I make any recommendations.
I look over his latest scans. Imaging worse than I would have hoped.
When I walk into the room, Melissa is standing over him, adjusting his blanket with a big smile on her face. She looks up, and her eyes meet mine, and that pretty smile fades.
I did that.
“Good afternoon,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I’m Dr. Fisher.”
The man in the bed squints at me, then grins. “That makes you the boss, right?”
Melissa clears her throat softly. “He’s the chief oncologist,” she says, gentle but warm.
“So, yes,” the man says as he nods. “The boss.”
Despite myself, a huff of air escapes my nose. “You could say that.”
He studies me for a moment, as if he’s trying to put together a puzzle. “You look younger than I expected.”
“I get that a lot,” I reply.
“And more serious,” he adds, glancing between Melissa and me. “Which is interesting because, five seconds ago, this lovely woman was threatening to tuck me in so tight that I’d never escape.”
Melissa’s smile flickers back to life despite herself. “I said I was making sure you were comfortable.”
“I was comfortable,” he says. “Now I’m cocooned.”
I glance at Melissa before I can stop myself. Her shoulders relax a fraction, like the joke loosened the tension in her shoulders. The room feels lighter than it has any right to be.
“I’m Frank,” the patient says. “And before you even begin … yes, I know the situation isn’t great. Everyone keeps giving me that look, like they’re afraid I’ll crumple with the news.” He taps his chest. “I won’t. Not yet.”
Something about the way he says it—completely unafraid—makes me pause.
“We’ll talk through everything,” I say. “At your pace.”
“Good,” Frank says. “Because I hate when people whisper like I’m already gone.”
Melissa nods. “You’re very much here.”
He beams at her. “See? She gets it.”
I watch the interaction carefully. She’s good. Not performative. Not overbearing. She meets patients where they are, and they feel it. They feel seen and understood by her.
“I’ll step out and grab his vitals,” Melissa says after a moment, glancing between us.
She’s being professional, but I still feel the distance. How guarded she is around me. Careful.
She hesitates, barely, then moves past me toward the door. I catch the faint tightening of her jaw, the way she avoids my eyes.
The guilt strikes harder than I expected.
“Melissa,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
She pauses, turning back. “Yes, Doctor?”
The distance in her words stings.
“Thank you,” I say. “For settling him in.”
Her eyes search my face for something I’m not sure she’ll find.
“You’re welcome,” she replies evenly. Then she steps out.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence presses in.
Frank watches me with knowing amusement. “So,” he says, “you two are … what?”
“We’re colleagues,” I say quickly.
He hums. “That wasn’t a colleague look.”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I pull a chair closer to the bed and sit. “Let’s talk about you.”
As I explain the plan, I feel the weight of the room settle into a steadier rhythm. Frank asks good questions. Smart ones. He cracks another joke when the conversation gets heavy.
By the time I stand to leave, he gives me a look that’s gentler than before.
“She makes this place easier,” he says quietly.
I nod, unsure what to say.
When I step back into the hall, Melissa is there with her tablet tucked to her chest, expression neutral.
“Vitals are updated,” she says.
“Thank you.”
We stand there for half a second too long. I want to say more, to explain, to undo whatever I’ve done. Instead, I step aside to let her pass.
She walks away without looking back. And somehow, that feels worse than her anger ever could.
The next day, I find myself looking forward to going into room 447. I tell myself it’s because Frank eases the tension, but I also know I saw Melissa walk in.
Melissa is checking his line. She’s quiet. Focused. I can’t help but notice how she scrapes her bottom lip with her teeth as she concentrates.
“Good morning, Frank.” I nod my head at him. “Melissa.”
Melissa smiles faintly. “Dr. Fisher.” Her fingers, still on the line, pause for half a second before she continues.
“I was telling Mel how you could use a new chef in your kitchen. This food is atrocious.”
Melissa shakes her head with a hint of humor in her eyes.
“I can’t say I disagree with you there, Frank.” I stand at the end of his bed as I scan through his numbers. “How is your pain level this morning?”
“Pardon my French, Doctor, but it’s absolute crap. When are you gonna give me the good stuff? I know you’ve got it back there.”
Melissa meets my eyes. My lips turn up slightly.
He definitely doesn’t hold anything back. I appreciate that in a person.
“He was a bit cranky this morning when I first came in,” Melissa adds as she pats his leg. “I gave him his next dose of pain meds, and he’s easing up a bit.”
Just then, a woman with silver-threaded hair walks in, holding a coffee. She seems a bit timid and tender.
“Ah, there she is. Dr. Fisher, this is my wife, Diane. She couldn’t stomach your coffee, so she went downstairs for the real stuff.”
Diane looks horrified. “Frank,” she warns.
“It’s quite all right, ma’am. I do the same when I need a little extra boost for the day,” I say to ease her obvious embarrassment.
Frank shifts against the pillows with a groan. “I swear these beds are designed by people who’ve never had to lie in one.”
“They’re designed to keep you from trying to escape,” I say dryly as I scan his vitals. “Which, given your personality, feels necessary.”
Frank snorts. “I could outrun you on one good leg.”
Melissa hums quietly as she adjusts the IV line, checking it before flushing. “You couldn’t outrun a shopping cart right now, Frank.”
He gasps, clutching his chest theatrically. “Betrayal. Absolute betrayal.”
Diane winces as she takes a seat in the corner. “Frank, please don’t antagonize the people keeping you alive.”
“I’m not antagonizing,” he says. “I’m bonding.”
Melissa’s lips twitch. She glances at the monitor, then at me. “His blood pressure’s been a little stubborn overnight. Pain seems controlled for now, but he’s still uncomfortable.”
“I can feel it,” Frank adds. “Like someone’s using my insides as a punching bag.”
“That’s a medical term,” I tell him. Then I turn slightly toward Melissa. “What’s your read on how he’s tolerating the current plan?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “We could modify his pain regimen. Less reactive dosing, more scheduled coverage. He’s chasing the pain instead of staying ahead of it.”
I nod. That was my thought too.
Frank raises an eyebrow. “You two always talk about me like I’m not here.”
“It’s because you interrupt,” Melissa says sweetly.
“Fair.”
I scroll through his chart, then glance back up at him. “Frank, we can make you more comfortable. But it means tweaking your meds. You’ll feel a little groggier.”
Diane stiffens immediately. “Groggier how?”
Melissa turns toward her, voice gentle but steady. “Sleepier. Slower. But more comfortable. And we’ll monitor him closely.”
Frank looks between the three of us. “Am I gonna miss anything good?”
I meet his gaze. “You’ll still be you but with less pain.”
He considers that for a moment, then sighs. “All right. But if I start saying weird things, I want it on record that I warned you.”
Melissa smiles. “Duly noted.”
Diane reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I want him comfortable,” she says quietly. “That’s all I want.”
Melissa meets her eyes. “We want that too.”
There’s a beat of silence after that. Not awkward. Heavy.
I clear my throat. “All right. We’ll make the adjustment and check back in a few hours.”
Melissa steps closer to administer the medication. She finishes up, then straightens, her gaze flicking to mine. “I’ll stay with him for a bit. Make sure he tolerates the change.”
“Good,” I say. Then, after a half-second hesitation, “Thank you.”
She looks surprised by that. Only for a moment.
“You’re welcome, Dr. Fisher.”
As I turn to leave the room, I glance back once more. Frank’s eyes are already drooping. Diane is smoothing his hair with careful fingers. Melissa stands nearby, steady, present as she gathers her things to leave.
It hits me then—how naturally we slipped into that decision together. No tension. No distance. Only trust.
And that realization sits heavier in my chest than it should.
The door clicks shut behind us. I hear Frank’s muffled voice and the steady beep of the monitors on the other side. Melissa walks beside me for a few steps, then slows.
“So,” she says carefully.
I feel it immediately. The shift. The way that single word isn’t about the patient anymore.
I keep my eyes forward. “So.”
She stops walking. I don’t at first, but I feel it. The absence at my side, the pause that demands attention.
I turn back.
She’s standing there with her arms folded loosely across her chest, not defensive exactly… bracing. Her brows knit together, confusion flickering across her face before she schools it away.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks.
The question lands heavier than it should. I run a hand along the back of my neck. The fluorescent lights feel harsher all of a sudden. Too bright. Too revealing.
“This isn’t—” I start, then stop.
She waits. That’s the worst part. She doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t fill the silence. She watches, like she’s learned how to read rooms and people who don’t say what they mean.
“That in there,” she says softly, nodding toward the room, “that was good. We worked well together.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“And yesterday,” she continues, “you barely looked at me.”
There it is.