Chapter 20 - Damian
DAMIAN
I am too tired to be polite.
The night was relentless. Not catastrophic, just grinding.
The kind of shift where you don’t sit once.
Where Meron leaves early and then returns in the morning to review metrics, as if he personally carried the department on his back.
My shoulders and calves ache. My eyes burn.
My patience is thin and caffeine-dependent.
I step out into the parking lot just as dawn begins to bleed into the sky. The hospital looks harmless in daylight. Brick facade. Symmetrical windows. No hint of the exhaustion pulsing inside.
I pull my keys from my pocket and hear an engine behind me. Meron’s car slides into a parking spot two rows down.
That figures. He shows up when the night is over, so he looks like he’s been here all night for the administrators.
The nurses could tell them differently, but no one wants to counter Meron, or he can make their lives difficult.
If I cared more, I’d stay to tell the administration what actually goes on here, but lately, I have fewer and fewer fucks to give this place.
It’s not that I don’t care about the hospital—I do. But given how little care the administration puts into things, caring is becoming increasingly difficult.
So when Meron pulls in, I don’t alter my pace. I’m off the clock. I owe him nothing, not even an information handoff. He can read the charts and learn what he needs to. I’m done.
“Damian!” His voice carries across the asphalt.
I keep walking.
“Damian!” His voice reminds me of a petulant toddler.
I open my truck door.
He closes the distance quickly, heels striking pavement with unnecessary force. Giant, stomping baby. “Ignoring me is real mature.”
I pause before climbing in, simply because his temper tantrum might be amusing. “What do you want, Meron?” My tone is flat. Not hostile. Just tired.
“You left without checking in.”
“I was under the impression you knew how to read a chart without me explaining it to you.”
“You could have waited. It’s polite—”
“I did two people’s jobs last night. Yours and mine. I’m done.”
His jaw tightens. “Another example of your unprofessional behavior.”
“Unprofessional how?”
“You know exactly how.” He lowers his voice, as though the empty parking lot might judge him. “Dating a patient is unseemly. Especially one that young. Especially a new mother.” His tone sharpens. “Honestly, Damian, what were you thinking?”
“To be honest, part of me was thinking Amber wouldn’t say anything, because that would mean admitting she went to Dos Hermanos. It’s hardly her kind of restaurant, and she hates Blackbriar.”
His whole body goes smug. The posture, the sly smirk on his face. “Dos Hermanos is where we used to go to avoid Snow Valley—and you—finding out about us when we first started dating.”
For a split second, rage flares. At the way he positions himself as an arbiter of propriety while screwing my ex-wife behind my back before we were separated.
The bastard is a hypocrite of the highest order.
But the rage doesn’t last. It pops, like a balloon pricked at its weakest point.
And in the silence that follows, something rearranges in my mind.
He thinks he has leverage over me. Because I work here. Because I handed him that leverage a long time ago.
It’s time to take that back.
“What was I thinking? I was thinking that Perry is incredibly attractive and smart, and I like those qualities in a woman. It’s not that serious, Meron.”
He shifts his weight, satisfied, as if the lack of immediate pushback confirms his authority. “You know how this looks to the administration. It’s an ethical minefield. She’s vulnerable.”
“She is not vulnerable,” I say calmly. “She’s an adult who makes her own choices—”
“She just had twins.”
“You think that stops her from having proper cognitive function to make choices? Because that’s deeply sexist of you. Plenty of new mothers make all sorts of choices every day, and you’re calling her adulthood into question, like some man from the fifties. Distasteful of you.”
“She was your patient, Damian. You know it’s wrong.”
I hold his gaze. “She is not my patient anymore.”
“That’s a technicality.”
“No,” I correct evenly. “It’s policy. Remember? Snow Valley is too small to forbid everyone in the hospital from dating patients. You literally wrote the policy on that.”
He exhales sharply. “After the wedding, you should seek other employment.”
The parking lot feels strangely quiet. No cars passing. No ambulances screaming in. Just morning air and two men who used to share drinks after shift.
“You’re suggesting I resign.”
“I’m suggesting it’s not a suggestion.” He smirks, self-satisfied.
“You’re not a reckless intern. You’re a senior physician.
There are standards, and you failed to live up to them.
You’re out, Baylock. You have until your son’s wedding to make other arrangements.
I don’t want to embarrass you before such a big event for the community. ”
I watch him carefully. The rage that flared earlier is gone entirely now. In its place is something colder. Logic. The thought crystallizes so suddenly it’s almost physical. If I don’t work here, he has nothing. No leverage. No proximity to dictate who I see or how I live.
I don’t need this job. I chose it. Family money sits untouched. Investments hum quietly in the background of my life. I work because I prefer usefulness. I love saving lives. It’s my calling. But I have choices.
Meron continues talking. “…unseemly, Damian. It reflects poorly on the hospital. On leadership. On you.”
He assumes I’m tethered to this place. What if I’m not?
I consider the alternatives in quick succession. Private practice. Consulting. Volunteer trauma work. Anything that removes his shadow from my daily orbit.
My pulse steadies. I straighten slowly. “You’re done?”
He frowns. “Excuse me?”
“My apologies. That sounded like a question. I should have said it this way—you’re done, Meron.”
His irritation spikes. “You should take this seriously.”
“I am,” I reply.
Meron mistakes the shift in me for compliance. “I’m advising you for your own good,” he says, tone settling into patronizing calm. “This will blow up. Amber won’t stay quiet. The board won’t like it. And if it becomes a complaint—”
“If what becomes a complaint?” I ask evenly.
He falters for half a beat. “You know how these things escalate. It’s obviously not serious between you two, and the moment you break up with her, she could sue the hospital. Honestly, Damian, you can’t believe we’d let something like this go unchallenged.”
I let a slow smile form. “Thanks.”
“For what?” he asks sharply.
“For clarifying something.”
He narrows his eyes. “I’m not following.”
“Without this job,” I continue calmly, “you don’t have anything to hold over me.”
His confusion deepens along with his frown.
“I don’t have to worry about who might see me with Perry. I don’t have to worry about propriety or any of the other bullshit buzzwords you and others use to keep people in their place.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it.
“See you later, Meron,” I add, climbing into my truck. I shut the door before he can recalibrate.
He stands there, genuinely perplexed. As I start the engine, I watch him in the side mirror. He remains frozen for a second. Then he pulls out his phone. Calling Amber, I imagine. To inform her that their carefully orchestrated pressure tactic has backfired.
The thought of her disappointment makes my smile grow. I pull out of the parking lot without another glance. The sun is fully up now, the world brightening with my mood. I feel lighter than I have in years.
I don’t go home immediately. I drive.
The roads are mostly empty at this hour—early commuters already at work, school traffic finished. Snow Valley looks deceptively harmless in daylight. Brick storefronts. Trimmed hedges. The illusion of contained lives. The occasional orange leaf dancing in the wind along the sidewalk.
For years, I’ve allowed this place to define the perimeter of my decisions. Allowed reputation to sit quietly in the back seat like a supervisor I never asked for.
Meron believes he can leverage his authority to make me his puppet.
Amber believes she can manipulate the world around her.
For years, they were correct. That’s how Snow Valley operates, and they were working within that structure.
What none of them seem to grasp is that money bypasses all of their bullshit.
I’m not financially tethered to the hospital.
I work because I choose to. If that choice becomes a leash, I can remove it.
I pull into my driveway and sit in the truck for a moment, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. This is not impulsive. This is clarity.
I reach for my phone.
Perry answers on the third ring. “Hey,” she says, slightly breathless.
“Morning.”
“You sound…awake.”
“I am. For the first time in a long time.”
There’s a small pause. “That sounds ominous.”
“It isn’t.” I shift in my seat. “I’d like to take you to Jason’s wedding.”
Silence. Then a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s bold.”
“You like bold.”
She exhales slowly. “What about Amber? And Meron? Are they going to make your life miserable if we show up together?”
“They don’t get to do that anymore. I’ve decided to go into private practice.” It’s not entirely decided. But it is now inevitable.
There’s a pause on her end. “Wow. That’s a big deal, Damian. Are you sure?”
“It’s time.”
“And if you’re not working at the hospital, then…” She trails off.
“Then no one has grounds to dictate who I see or what I do in my free time.”
I hear something shift in her breathing. Her voice is soft. “You’re doing this because of me.”
“I’m doing this for a few reasons, actually.
I’m done dealing with the whims of administrators who have never helped a sick person in their lives.
I’m done with Meron and Amber’s games. Trust me when I say, it will be better for me not to see my ex-wife’s affair partner every day.
And it’s time for me to help people my own way. ”
That’s not the full truth. But it’s not a lie.
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I’m the maid of honor,” she says finally. “I’ll have duties.”
“Congratulations, and I expect you’ll be at Faith’s beck and call for the day, but all the same, I’d like to attend it with you.”
“Then, I’d be happy to be there on your arm.” The warmth in her voice hits deeper than anticipated.
This isn’t how I imagined my life shifting. Not from a parking lot argument with my former best friend. Not because of a woman who once kissed me in a restaurant bathroom and now occupies my thoughts with dangerous consistency.
For years, I’ve allowed the hospital to function as a pillar of identity. Senior physician. Respected. Steady. Reliable. It gave shape to my days. Structure to my weeks. It justified long nights and tolerated isolation.
It was also the excuse I used to avoid my marriage.
Once I knew I had begun to fall out of love with Amber, the hospital became a convenient excuse to avoid being home.
When I realized just how deeply her talons had sunk into Jason, the hospital became my refuge.
A way to dodge my personal responsibility.
Without it, I have nothing to use to avoid building a life with Perry. If she wants that. If not, I’ll figure something else out, but I won’t use my career that way again. I got into medicine to help people. It’s time to get back to that.
It’s time to get back to myself.