Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
A va hadn’t had the guts to call Reed the night before. Every time she reached for her phone, her fingers hovered over his name, but the thought of hearing his voice, of navigating the inevitable tension, made her stomach knot. Instead, she spent the rest of the day and evening sorting through her things, trying to convince herself that she was simply being practical.
She’d divided her clothes into neat piles, organizing them with the meticulous precision she usually reserved for charting patient notes. Essentials to bring to Reed’s house. Off-season items for storage. Things she probably should have donated years ago but still hesitated to part with.
Her apartment lease had another year on it, and breaking it would be a nightmare. Her landlord was unresponsive at best, a full-blown jerk at worst. He hadn’t even bothered to fix her broken sink despite repeated requests. She doubted he’d be sympathetic to her needing to break the lease early.
Which was fine.
It gave her a safety net, an out. If things with Reed imploded, or when this sham of a marriage inevitably ran its course, she had somewhere to go. She could sublet it, keep it quiet. It was the perfect contingency plan.
And yet, when she remembered the hint of hurt in Reed’s voice yesterday, the way he had paused just a second too long when she didn’t immediately confirm that she’d move in, something inside her twisted.
She hadn’t expected to care.
But she did.
She shoved the thought away. On a practical level, secrecy was essential. If anyone at the hospital found out she was keeping an escape hatch, they’d see right through this marriage, and she could kiss her career advancement goodbye.
After her shift, she’d call Reed, unless she ran into him today. Which, now that she thought about it, she should probably know. Did he even have a shift today? Something his wife should know.
God. She was already failing at marriage.
The locker room door swung open, and Rachel’s voice rang out in a singsong lilt. “Good morning, Dr. Spencer-Campbell.”
Ava’s head snapped up. “Shut it,” she hissed, her eyes darting around the empty room, just in case. “We haven’t told anyone yet.”
Rachel grinned, leaning against her locker with an expression that spelled trouble. “Oh, sweetie, everyone knows. And I mean everyone. You sent it to the paper, remember? Brace yourself for a lot of questions.”
Ava groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Everyone?”
Rachel nodded, shutting her locker with a satisfied snap. “I should be pissed at you for upstaging my wedding, but honestly? I’m thrilled. Our families are losing their minds, but since you also eloped, they’re scrambling. They don’t know who to be mad at first.” She grinned. “It’s chaos. And honestly, it’s been a nice little reprieve.”
Ava frowned, picking up on the slight edge in her friend’s voice. “Rachel…”
She sighed and sat beside her on the bench, taking Rachel’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about how it would affect you and Kyle. It was your day, and we stole your thunder.”
Rachel let out a short laugh, though there was a brittle quality to it. “Trust me, I’m fine with it. But our families? Different story. I’ve had about fifteen guilt-tripping voicemails from my mom, my stepmom, my dad, my stepdad—” She rolled her eyes. “—plus, assorted step-siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, all demanding to know how I could be so selfish as to run off and get married without thinking of them.” She lifted her hands in mock outrage. “As if my marriage was about them and not Kyle and me.”
Ava heard the hurt beneath the sarcasm and squeezed Rachel’s hand. “Has it been that bad?”
Rachel blew out a breath and stood, brushing imaginary lint from her scrubs. “You have no idea. But enough about me.” She shot Ava a knowing look. “Ciponelli wants to see you.”
Ava stiffened.
Rachel smirked. “Good luck.”
And with that, she swept out of the locker room and into the controlled chaos of the emergency department, leaving Ava sitting there, her stomach twisting into a hundred anxious knots.
Showtime.
A va's knuckles hovered inches from Dr. Ciponelli's door, her heart fluttering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Being summoned to the department head's office never boded well, especially not after the whirlwind of the past few days. She'd barely had time to process her own impulsive Vegas wedding, let alone prepare for others' reactions to it.
She knocked; the sound was sharp in the quiet hallway.
“Come in,” Ciponelli called, his voice muffled through the heavy wood.
Ava stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the scent of coffee and leather that always permeated his office. Dr. Martin Ciponelli looked up from his computer, his salt-and-pepper beard freshly trimmed, reading glasses perched on his nose. He was in his late fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and the trim physique of a man who religiously attended the hospital gym before rounds. In the year she’d worked under him, Ava had come to respect his calm decisiveness in crises and his genuine care for both patients and staff. The office was a time capsule of his thirty years in emergency medicine—framed certificates, group photos of long-graduated residents, a model of the human heart that had to be at least two decades old.
He smiled, which sent an unexpected wave of confusion through her. Ciponelli's summoned meetings usually involved stern lectures about patient throughput or budget constraints.
“Ah, Dr. Spencer. Or should I say, Dr. Campbell now?” His eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling with unexpected delight.
Ava's mouth went dry. “News travels fast,” she managed, sinking into the chair across from his desk.
“Small town.” Ciponelli leaned back, looking more relaxed than she'd seen him in months. “I must say, this is wonderful news! Reed Campbell is a fine young man from an excellent family.”
The last thing she'd expected was enthusiasm. Relief washed through her, followed immediately by guilt at the lie they were perpetuating. Her muscles relaxed and she smiled wanly. “Thank you,” she said, her practiced response already feeling worn though she'd only been married three days.
“Campbell Contracting helped build the west wing of this hospital, you know. His father, John, and I go way back.” Ciponelli was practically beaming now. “And of course, his mother Diane runs half the charity boards in town.”
Ava nodded, mentally filing away these details about Reed's family that she should probably already know as his wife. The gold band felt suddenly heavier on her finger, a physical reminder of all she didn't know about the man she'd impulsively married.
Ciponelli's expression shifted, growing shrewder. “I have to ask, though. Did you marry him to secure a position in the ED? Some people are saying that.”
The question hit like a bucket of ice water; the sudden shift unexpected after his quick acceptance, though she should have been prepared. Ava's spine stiffened even as she broadened her smile, her cheeks aching with the effort.
“Of course not,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even. “We kept our relationship quiet specifically to avoid that kind of speculation. I didn't want anyone thinking I was looking for special treatment.” The lie slid out with surprising ease, considering how her stomach twisted with each word.
Ciponelli studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly before he nodded. “I like Reed. My son and I do some rock climbing with him. He's a good man. I've known his family for years.” His voice softened. “Just as I knew your parents.”
The mention of her parents sent a jolt through her chest. Ava's fingers curled into her palms, nails pressing half-moons into her skin. They had rarely spoken of her parents or the accident that stole them from her, beyond the initial day when Ava reported to the emergency department. She wasn’t prepared for this emotional whiplash so early in her shift and after such a stressful weekend.
“Edward and Marie were wonderful people,” Ciponelli continued, seemingly oblivious to how each word landed like a physical blow. “Your father had such a way with patients. That same compassion I see in you.”
Ava's throat tightened as memories crashed over her—her father's laugh, her mother's hands tucking her in at night, the police officer at the door with his hat in his hands. She was twelve again, standing in a black dress that itched at the collar while a parade of strangers told her how sorry they were.
“The accident was a terrible tragedy,” Ciponelli said, his voice dropping lower. “I’ve always felt we lost two of our best that night.”
She forced herself to nod, to breathe through the tidal wave of grief that still had the power to drown her twenty years later. “Thank you,” she whispered, the words inadequate but all she could manage.
“They would be proud of you, Ava. Of all you've accomplished.” Ciponelli's sincerity was evident, which somehow made it harder to bear.
She swallowed hard, wrestling back control of her emotions. “I hope so.”
Ciponelli seemed to sense her discomfort, mercifully changing the subject. He leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk, his expression shifting from sentimental to professional.
“You're doing an excellent job here. Your clinical skills are outstanding, and you have a wonderful connection with patients.” He paused, and Ava steeled herself for the inevitable but that always followed such praise.
“But,” he continued, right on cue, “you need to move faster. Remember, we're an emergency department. We bring patients in, assess them, and move them on to the appropriate department for treatment. You spend too much time with your patients.”
It was the same criticism she'd heard a dozen times before, but it still stung. “I believe a thorough assessment prevents missed diagnoses and routes them to the appropriate department for treatment,” she replied, the words automatic by now.
“And I agree. But you need to trust your assessment and move on.” Ciponelli's tone remained kind but firm. “You are too cautious with your diagnosis, ordering multiple tests before being confident with your assessment.”
Ava bit back her defense. Those additional tests often confirm her assessments and ensure she was accurate. Instead, she nodded. “Understood.”
“Good.” Ciponelli's smile returned as he stood, signaling the end of their meeting. “And congratulations again on your marriage. Perhaps now our concerns about your roots here have been put to rest.”
The comment landed exactly as intended—a reminder that her personal choices had professional consequences. Ava rose from her chair; legs unsteady beneath her.
“Thank you, Dr. Ciponelli.”
She left his office feeling hollowed out, as if the conversation had scraped something raw inside her. The grief for her parents, always just beneath the surface, mingled uncomfortably with the charade of her marriage and the constant pressure to compromise her medical standards.
“Well, well, if it isn't the blushing bride.”
Joe Salvini's voice cut through her thoughts like a scalpel. He stood across the hall at the nurses' station, entering information into the computer with his usual two-finger typing. His smirk was visible even from ten feet away.
“Hello, Joe,” she said, too drained for a proper sparring match with her most competitive colleague.
“I hear you got married.” He abandoned all pretense of working, leaning against the counter. “Hoping that will secure you the position? Doubtful, Ava.” His voice dropped, though not enough that the nurses couldn't still hear. “You have a way to go to beat me. I treat more patients and get more done.”
Her patience, already stretched thin, snapped. “Quality over quantity, Joe.”
“Kissing up won't help you,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “Ciponelli likes his metrics, and yours aren't matching up to mine.”
Ava stepped closer, keeping her voice low but intense. “I’d rather give my patients good care than rush them along. But then, we have different priorities, don't we?”
Joe's smirk faltered for an instant before returning in full force. “Your priority should be keeping your job,” he said simply, before turning back to the computer.
Ava walked away, her white coat a poor shield against the chill that had settled into her bones. The wedding band on her finger caught the fluorescent light, a glinting reminder of how quickly life could change—and how some things, like the constant battle between thoroughness and efficiency, never seemed to change at all.
R eed could hear the laughter before he even reached the break room door—a sound that usually signaled a rare moment of levity in the otherwise chaotic emergency department. But something in the pitch of it, a slightly forced quality, had him quickening his pace.
His instincts didn’t disappoint. Pushing through the door, he immediately spotted Ava at the center of a small cluster of nurses, her body language screaming discomfort even as she maintained a polite smile. Rachel stood beside her, both of them clutching coffee cups like shields.
And front and center, leaning against the counter with arms crossed and a twist to her lips that promised trouble, was Tracy Brooks.
“All I’m saying is,” Tracy was saying as he entered, “it seems awfully sudden for someone who’s been working here for what, three years now? And we never saw you two so much as flirt.” Her tone dripped with disbelief.
Reed had always found Tracy attractive in an objective sort of way—tall, blonde, confident. They’d flirted casually over the years, the way people who work in high-stress environments sometimes do to blow off steam. But he’d always deflected her more direct advances with his workplace dating rule, a principle he’d maintained until Vegas and tequila and Ava Spencer in a sparkly dress had demolished his better judgment.
Judging by Tracy’s expression, she hadn’t forgotten those rejections.
“We kept it quiet,” Ava was saying, her doctor voice firmly in place—calm, professional, betraying nothing of the wild-eyed panic she’d shown in their Vegas hotel room when they realized what they’d done. “We didn’t want to make things awkward at work.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t do a double ceremony with Rachel and Kyle,” Nurse Jen Martinez said, her tone genuinely curious rather than accusatory. “You two have been friends forever, right?”
“I wanted Rachel to have her own time in the spotlight,” Ava said, the rehearsed line sounding natural enough. “It was her day.”
“So noble,” Tracy murmured, just loud enough to be heard, a hint of disbelief in her tone along with something else, something not so nice.
Reed stepped fully into the room, deciding it was time to rescue his wife. The word still felt strange in his mind, like a shirt that didn’t quite fit. “Ladies,” he greeted, projecting the easy confidence that had gotten him through countless tough situations. “Gossiping about me again?”
Several of the nurses laughed, but Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “Just trying to figure out how the department’s most devoted bachelor ended up married after a weekend in Vegas.” She tilted her head, blonde ponytail swinging. “Must have been quite the sales pitch.”
“Or quite the blood alcohol level,” another nurse—Megan, he thought—joked, though her smile suggested she meant no harm by it.
Tracy seized the opening. “Are you sure your wedding wasn’t just a drunken mistake? I mean, people do crazy things in Vegas.” The question hung in the air, uncomfortably close to the truth.
Reed saw the flash of panic in Ava’s eyes, the slight tightening of her grip on her coffee cup. For a brilliant trauma doctor who dealt with life-and-death situations daily, she was a terrible liar. It was oddly endearing.
“Yeah, I broke my rule for her,” Reed said, crossing the room to stand beside Ava. He slipped an arm around her waist, feeling her initial tension and then the way she deliberately relaxed against him. “What can I say? She’s worth it.”
He hadn’t planned the words, but as they left his mouth, they carried a ring of truth that surprised him. Ava glanced up at him, something unreadable flickering across her features.
“Come on, Tracy,” Rachel interjected, her loyalty to Ava clear in the edge to her voice. “Some people just know when it’s right.”
“Mmhmm.” Tracy’s skepticism remained evident, but she seemed to recognize she was outnumbered. “Well, congratulations, I guess. Though I have to wonder about a woman who marries a man whose dating history is...extensive.”
“Tracy,” Jen warned, clearly embarrassed by her colleague’s behavior.
“It’s fine,” Ava said with a calm dignity that made Reed inexplicably proud. “The past is the past. I’m more interested in the future.”
The tension in the room was broken by the arrival of Dr. Mendes, who barreled through the door with his usual lack of awareness.
“Incoming trauma, five minutes out. MVA with multiple victims,” he announced before disappearing again.
The group dispersed with the practiced efficiency of emergency personnel, Tracy brushing past Reed with deliberate closeness, the scent of her perfume lingering as she left. Only Ava remained, setting her coffee cup in the sink with careful precision.
“Thanks for the rescue,” she said quietly when they were alone. “I wasn’t sure how to handle that.”
Reed reached into his pocket, suddenly certain about what he needed to do next. Their cover story would fall apart under scrutiny unless they committed fully. He pulled out his house key, the spare he usually kept for emergencies, and pressed it into her palm.
“For when you come over later,” he said, closing her fingers around it.
Ava’s eyes widened; the key evidently more significant to her than the wedding band had been. “I?—“
“We have to make it real,” he said, his voice lower now that they were alone. “Tracy’s not going to be the only skeptic. If we’re going to sell this, we need to be all in.”
She nodded slowly, tucking the key into her scrubs pocket. “I know. It’s just a lot.”
“When are you bringing your stuff?” he asked, practical concerns taking over. “Do you need some help? I can swing by after my shift. My truck is a heck of a lot better for moving your things than your hatchback.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, the first genuine one he’d seen from her today. “Your truck does have certain advantages over my car.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for years, Doc.” He grinned back, surprised by how easily they’d slipped into this banter. “Just one of many ways I plan to improve your life as your husband.”
The word hung between them, heavy with implications. Husband. Wife. A lifetime commitment made in a moment of Vegas-fueled impulsivity.
Something shifted in Ava’s expression—uncertainty giving way to a quiet determination he recognized from watching her work. “Tonight,” she said. “We can start moving things tonight.”
Reed nodded, ignoring the unexpected surge of something that felt dangerously like anticipation. “It’s a date, Mrs. Campbell.”
The trauma bay doors burst open down the hall, and the spell was broken. They moved in opposite directions without another word, Reed heading for the ambulance bay while Ava rushed toward the incoming patients.
Only when he was safely in the ambulance bay, waiting with the other EMTs, did Reed allow himself to acknowledge the truth beneath their charade: pretending to be in love with Ava Spencer might be the easiest role he’d ever had to play. And that, more than their drunken Vegas wedding, was what truly terrified him.