Chapter 11
Cormac
Shell-shocked from seeing Scarlett, I zombie-stroll into Bradley Ford’s office and take a seat, mirroring Darragh.
Ford, wearing a sharp navy suit, his salt and pepper hair in a precise, neat crop close to his scalp, turns to us after shutting the door.
“Darragh,” Ford says warmly, shaking my brother’s hand. Then he assesses me. “And Cormac O’Rourke. Hard to believe it’s been…what? A decade?”
His gaze holds mine too long, like he’s measuring for flaws.
I just stepped onto the campus, and I already have one. That student who just left his office, I fucked her!
My God, this isn’t happening.
“Yes, almost a decade,” I answer, my voice is steady, but my palms are ice.
Ford walks behind his desk and folds himself into his office chair. My brother and I take the seats in front of his desk, facing him.
His diplomas gleam in perfect rows on the dark wood-paneled walls of his office. On a credenza off to one side, sit an array of photos of him at award ceremonies, medical galas, and shaking hands with politicians.
“What have you been doing since Cascadia, Cormac?” he asks, and here we go, right out of the gate. “I read the conference papers. You were poised to become the next surgical prodigy. Shame what they did to you.”
I might have an ally.
Darragh jumps in, my original, loyal ally. “He’s an institution man. Didn’t want to tear down Cascadia with lawsuits. They had a difference in opinion on process. But that kind of break is hard on anyone. He went to Vegas. I have a villa there. He got centered.”
And arrested.
“He’s ready to be back in the field,” Darragh keeps speaking for me. “And a spot at Hamilton is what he wants.”
Ford nods at Darragh and then looks at me. “Anything to add?”
He knows how we operate. How we champion each other. I’m supposed to be humble. And it appears to have worked.
“I want to be where the purest part of medicine is,” I say my practiced line. “At the start. With fresh minds.”
“That’s good. Can I borrow that?” Ford grabs a pen and scribbles on an embossed notepad.
I don’t add that I also want to be in the mouth of that student who just left. She sucked me better than any woman ever has.
Fuck.
“Now, originally, I had planned for you to take over Darragh’s freshman course,” Bradley says, clicking his pen closed.
Darragh nods. “He’d be perfect for it.”
“Yes,” Ford cuts in. “But plans change. That position has already been filled.”
My jaw tightens. Here comes the pain. It sounded too good to be true. Too easy.
Darragh stiffens. “Filled?”
“By a doctor who doesn’t have half the credentials as you do, Dr. O’Rourke.” Ford’s gaze flickers to me. “However, another opening has come up. Pharmacology. MS-3s. One hundred and twenty-minute lectures. Three days a week, one lab. Large hall, seventy students.”
My pulse stutters. Seventy students. Third years? Serious kids.
Darragh grabs that lifeline immediately. “That’s perfect. We’ll take it.”
We.
I swallow the bitterness. My brother means well. He always fucking does.
Ford locks eyes with me. “Can you handle that, Cormac?”
“Absolutely,” I force out, holding Ford’s stare until he nods in a volley.
“Good. Now there’s no doubt you have a brilliant mind and a lot to offer. There is, however, one final matter to settle,” he says, leaning back.
He knows. He knows everything.
I feel the walls close in like the white cinderblock confines of Dunbar.
I’ve been clean since California, but that was a medical detox program.
When I broke out of there, I went into withdrawal all over again.
The worst symptoms hit when I was in Ireland.
No meds to ease the pain there. I spent many nights screaming into a flat, hard pillow.
Calling out for my son, who I said I didn’t want. He was all I thought about.
But I’m not that man anymore, and I can’t let Ford see even a trace of the hollow shell I once was.
“And what would that matter be?” I ask.
“The specific rules for faculty.” Ford raps his fingers on the leather desk blotter. “If you’re to work here, teach here, be a part of who we are, represent us in the field, then our reputation must be protected.”
My stomach tightens. Here comes the punch dressed as protocol.
“Students model themselves after those who lead them.” He clears his throat. “There is a code of conduct that demands a stable personal life. Professors are expected to be married.”
I blink, sure that I misheard.
“Married?” I repeat, flat and hoarse. Fucking dumbfounded.
He nods as if it’s self-explanatory.
I glance at my brother, who doesn’t meet my gaze. This is what he meant. I should have heeded the warning better. Apparently, there is something worse than being sent to a prison camp for a year. Being forced to spend the rest of my life with someone.
“It was buried in the bylaws,” Bradley responds. “No one had taken it seriously in years. Deans from other older, elite medical schools and I had a summit last spring and agreed unanimously that we return to several foundational standards. This one included.”
“What other schools?” I ask with a stuttering pulse and outrage twisting through my chest.
Bradley twitches. “I’m sure you can guess.”
“Surely, as a new dean, wouldn’t you advocate for a more modern approach?” Darragh argues.
“I have fully embraced this new direction for my faculty. These are times to come together and believe in a common value.” He fiddles with a pen and says low, “Marriage sets a solid example for future physicians. A life of purpose includes a meaningful relationship with a spouse.”
Brad didn’t invent this doctrine. But he’s certainly weaponizing it to create a culture of doctors who breathe stability, at least in appearance.
“It also reduces the risk of inappropriate relationships. Prevents boundary breach.”
Like temptation. Me? I’m no fucking prize despite the wrapping.
And what does that mean for him? He recently lost his wife. I’m not in a position to ask that. Perhaps widowers get a pass.
“You’re dictating my relationship status as a condition of teaching.” It isn’t a question. “My performance is what should matter.”
“You’re brilliant. But brilliance without grounding…” He sighs, “I want to make sure you stay on the right path.”
My hands curl into fists. “And if I don’t find a wife?”
He leans back. “I’m not asking you to go out tonight and scrounge up a wife from the streets.”
“I should hope not,” Darragh says, wiping his brow.
Funny, that’s exactly where I found Scarlett. Now if I had to marry someone…
God, this is wrong. Illegal, really. I should run. Then, I might never see Scarlett again. But she’s a student. I can’t have her. Still, I’d like to see how she’s doing. I picked her up off the ground. She was homeless. I’d like to know if she’s all right.
“We’ll find someone perfect for him. We’ve wanted him to settle down, too,” my brother piles on.
Darragh!
“Dr. Ford, I’m not even dating anyone at the moment,” I say. “What is the deadline to find a wife so I can be hired full-time?”
Bradley’s nose twitches. “This semester is a probation period. If you’re not married by the last day of class, I will not be able to offer you a full-time contract for the next semester.”
And not having a stable job means I might not get partial custody of my son.
Married. By the end of the semester. Darragh looks like he’s already thinking of women to set me up with, I bet.
My brother stands up and shakes Bradley’s hand. “We appreciate you giving Cormac the opportunity.”
“Yes, I look forward to being a part of the faculty.” I manage to smile and reach out to shake his hand too, even though I’m thinking: Really? WTF?
“Watch your email for HR forms and lesson plan details.” Bradley shakes my hand with a firm grip.
The weight of it feels like chains. Drowning me with impossible demands.
“Sure,” I say, not wanting to sound ungrateful.
When we step into the hallway, Darragh looks at me like a proud parent. “That went well. You got the job.”
Yay! No. I want to scream.
Instead, I nod. “Thanks for pushing me.”
Right off a cliff.