Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Melissa
“Morning, Mel,” Trudy says while I pour myself a cup of coffee in the break room.
Despite the less-than-mediocre taste, I fill the cup to the rim. I’ve been struggling with my sleep lately. Every time I close my eyes, I see him, and my body feels like it’s been struck by lightning.
“Morning,” I reply softly, then turn to face her.
She is sitting at the table, finishing her morning coffee and crossword puzzle. It’s her way of entering her shift calmly. I can’t seem to get myself up earlier than absolutely necessary. Maybe when I’ve been doing it as long as she has.
“I hear yesterday was eventful.” She smiles mischievously.
I narrow my eyebrows. “What do you mean exactly?”
“Oh, you know, just a little heated rivalry going on in 447 between an oncologist and cardiologist.”
I stop in my tracks. “Where did you hear that?”
“A certain patient whom I went in to see when you were with 458. He’s quite the talker. He also thinks he’s a matchmaker.”
I hide my smirk behind my cup and take a quick sip. Frank is something else.
“I wouldn’t believe everything Frank tells you,” I reply coolly.
“Oh, I’ve seen enough around the halls between you and Colton to know Frank is onto something.”
I shake my head. “Don’t hold your breath, Trudy. Colton doesn’t know what he wants.”
With that, I walk out of the break room and head for the nurses’ station. I can’t handle any more opinions right now. I’m barely hanging on as it is.
I convinced myself Colton’s reaction yesterday was in my head. Now I’m not so sure.
After I drink as much of my coffee as I can get down, I begin my morning rounds. When I walk into Frank’s room, he’s dozing off in his bed while Diane sits in her chair, reading a book. She smiles softly at me as I move to check his IV.
“I’ll be back to check on him in a couple of hours,” I tell Diane. “I don’t want to disturb his rest.”
“Thank you, Melissa,” she replies.
The morning seems to fly by as I buzz in and out of patients’ rooms.
I get back to Frank’s room in the early afternoon lull, where the hospital seems to hold its breath. I glance up from the chart.
He must be tired today because he smiles briefly at me, then closes his eyes. Diane’s purse is in the corner, but she isn’t in the room.
A soft knock sounds at the door while I check his vitals.
“Come in,” I reply.
Dr. Owens steps inside with an easy smile, jacket slung over one arm, sleeves rolled enough to look casual without trying.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he says.
“No,” I reply. “He’s resting.”
“Good,” he says, lowering his voice. “I wanted to follow up before I headed out.”
He comes closer, stopping beside the bed. We both glance at Frank, then at each other.
“I reviewed his latest echo,” he says. “No surprises. He’s holding steady.”
Relief loosens the knot in my chest. “That’s good.”
“It is.” He studies me for a moment, not uncomfortable, more attentive. “You’ve done excellent work with him.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it,” he adds. “Not everyone catches the small things.”
I nod, used to that kind of praise, comfortable with it. Then his gaze shifts subtly but unmistakably.
“And I have to say,” he continues, voice light, “you make these floors feel less … clinical.”
I blink. “I’m not sure what that means.”
He smiles. “It means patients respond to you. And …” His eyes flick briefly to my face. My hair is pulled loose today instead of pinned back. “You bring some warmth with you.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Before I can respond, Frank stirs.
“Am I missing compliments?” he murmurs without opening his eyes. “Because I feel like I should be awake for that.”
Dr. Owens chuckles. “Nothing scandalous.”
“Shame,” Frank mutters. “I live for scandal now.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. It’s not polite laughter. Or professional. It’s a soft, surprised giggle that catches me off guard as much as it probably does anyone else.
Dr. Owen’s smile deepens.
“Well,” he says, straightening, “I’ll let you get back to it. If you ever want to talk shop—or anything else—I’m usually around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, still smiling.
As he turns to leave, I feel it before I see it. The shift.
Colton stands in the doorway.
His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his posture isn’t. His shoulders are rigid, his jaw set so tight that it looks painful.
Dr. Owens nods at him. “Fisher.”
Colton doesn’t return the smile. “Owens.”
Their eyes hold for a beat too long. Then Dr. Owens leaves, yet Colton doesn’t move to give him the respectful room to exit.
Once he’s gone, the silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable.
Frank opens one eye. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” Colton says shortly. “You’re fine.”
Then he turns and walks out himself. Just like that. And I don’t have the energy to analyze it.
The rest of the shift crawls.
I don’t see Colton again until the end of the day, and that feels deliberate. He avoids the nurses’ station. Leaves rooms when I enter. Speaks to me only when necessary. And even then, he’s clipped.
By the time I reach the locker room, my nerves are shot. I’m halfway through untying my shoes when I hear the door open behind me.
I don’t have to look to know it’s him. The air changes. The space feels smaller. I straighten slowly, turning to face him.
He’s standing by his locker, white coat already off, sleeves rolled up, leaning against the metal.
“So,” he says coolly, “looks like you had a good afternoon.”
I frown. “What?”
“With Owens,” he continues. “You seemed comfortable.”
The words hit sharper than I expected.
“Excuse me?”
“You appear to enjoy getting cozy with another doctor.”
The accusation hurts. My composure snaps.
“Is that what this is?” I ask. “You ignore me all day, then corner me with that?”
“I’m not cornering you.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff. “You’ve been hot and cold for weeks.”
He steps closer. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” I say, my voice shaking now. Not with fear, but frustration. “You don’t get to act like you care and then punish me for someone else noticing I exist.”
His jaw tightens. “This isn’t about caring.”
“Then what is it about?” I challenge.
Silence. He doesn’t answer. And that’s my answer.
I laugh bitterly. “You know what? At least other doctors have the balls to take what they want.”
The words hang between us, sharp and undeniable.
His eyes flare.
“You don’t mean that,” he says.
“I absolutely do,” I reply. “Because I’m done trying to read you. I’m done waiting for you to decide whether you’re in or out.”
I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder.
“Figure it out,” I add quietly. “Or don’t. But stop acting like I owe you restraint when you won’t even be honest.”
I push past him, heart pounding. The locker room door swings shut behind me, and I don’t look back.