Chapter 3
3
JARED
T he hospital administrator’s office was too small for the egos crammed into it.
I stood with my arms crossed, glaring at the head of neurosurgery, Dr. Mitchell, who sat behind his desk like some kind of self-important king.
This might be his hospital, but I was the one with the magic hands.
Shawn was leaning against the wall, checking his watch every thirty seconds like he had somewhere better to be, and Clair was perched on the edge of a chair, clutching her notes like they were a lifeline.
She looked uncomfortable, shifting every few seconds.
I didn’t blame her. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a scalpel.
Surgeon joke.
“You’re asking me to take an unnecessary risk,” Dr. Mitchell said in what I took to be a condescending tone.
“The tumor’s location is too precarious. A conservative approach is the safer option.”
“Safer for who?” I shot back, my voice sharp.
“For you? For your precious hospital? Because it’s not safer for the kid. That tumor is aggressive, and if we don’t take it out now, it’s going to kill him. Your ‘conservative approach’ is a death sentence wrapped in a bow.”
Mitchell’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk.
“You’re here as a courtesy, Dr. Welch. This isn’t your hospital, and that isn’t your patient. You don’t get to waltz in here and demand we risk a fourteen-year-old boy’s life on some experimental procedure.”
I took a step closer to the desk, my eyes locked on his.
“I’m here because you called me. You asked for my help because you know this case is beyond your skill set. So don’t lecture me about courtesy when you’re the one who can’t handle the job.”
“I have to look at the big picture,” he said.
I snorted. “You’re looking at getting your ass sued. You don’t want this case to be featured at the next M and M. Being a coward doesn’t save lives.”
Mitchell’s face turned a shade of red that would’ve been comical if I didn’t think the guy was such a prick.
He stood abruptly, his chair rolling across the tile floor.
“That’s enough, Welch. This meeting is over. We’ll proceed with the standard treatment plan, and that’s final.”
I didn’t budge.
“Standard?” I barked, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.
“Standard is what got us here in the first place. That boy doesn’t need your textbook bullshit—he needs someone who’s willing to fight for him. Someone who actually gives a damn whether he lives or dies.”
“You think I don’t care?” Mitchell snapped, jabbing a finger at me.
“You think I want to see a child die on my operating table? My job is to protect my patients, not to gamble with their lives on some half-baked theory!”
“Half-baked?” I took another step forward, my thighs bumping his desk.
“You call five years of research and a ninety-two percent success rate half-baked? Or are you just pissed because you didn’t come up with it yourself?”
Shawn cleared his throat from the corner of the room, his voice calm but pointed.
“Jared, maybe we should?—”
I cut him off with a sharp look.
“No, Shawn. Maybe we should let Dr. Mitchell here explain to that kid’s parents why he’s too scared to try something that could save their son’s life.”
“I’m not scared!” Mitchell argued.
“I’m practical.”
“This isn’t about egos or hospital politics,” I said.
“This is about a kid who’s running out of time. And if you’re too scared to do what needs to be done, then I’ll take him to my facility in Key West and do it myself.”
Mitchell’s face turned red.
“You’re out of line, Welch.”
“And you’re out of your depth,” I shot back.
“So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to let me save this kid’s life here, or are you going to let your pride get in the way?”
The room fell silent, the air thick with tension.
Clair looked like she wanted to disappear into her chair, and Shawn was pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a headache.
Finally, Mitchell sat back down, his expression dark.
“Get out of my office.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I turned on my heel and walked out, Shawn and Clair scrambling to follow me.
The hallway was quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
I could feel the weight of their stares as we walked.
They really shouldn’t have been that surprised.
“That could have gone better,” Shawn muttered, falling into step beside me.
“It went exactly how it needed to go,” I said, my voice tight.
“Mitchell’s too scared to take risks, and that kid doesn’t have time for scared.”
“What are you going to do?” Clair asked, her voice hesitant.
“I don’t want to be negative, but that boy really doesn’t have time. If we don’t act now, it’ll be too late.”
“I’m going to talk to the family,” I said, not slowing down.
“If Mitchell won’t let me operate here, I’ll take the kid to Key West.”
Shawn groaned.
“Jared, you can’t just?—”
“Watch me,” I said, cutting him off.
I knew the game. I knew the insurance and money bullshit was more important than a person’s life.
I didn’t give a shit about any of that.
We reached the waiting room where the boy’s parents were sitting, their faces drawn with worry.
My heart went out to them.
No parent should bury a child.
It wasn’t the natural order of things.
I was blessed with the power to prevent that from happening in many cases.
The mother looked up as we approached, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“Dr. Welch?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes,” I said, crouching down so I was at eye level with her.
“I need to talk to you about your son’s surgery.”
The father leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay? The nurse said he hadn’t been taken back.”
I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.
“Your son’s tumor is in a very delicate location. The approach Dr. Mitchell wants to take is… conservative. But I believe we need to be more aggressive if we’re going to save his life. I don’t want to give you a few months. I want to give you years. If all goes well, decades. A long, natural life.”
The mother’s eyes filled with tears.
She reached for her husband’s hand.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I want to remove the entire tumor,” I said, my voice steady.
“But Dr. Mitchell doesn’t agree with my approach. He’s not willing to take the risk.”
The father’s face hardened.
“So, what are our options?”
“I can take your son to my facility in Key West,” I said.
“I’ll perform the surgery there, and I’ll do everything in my power to save his life.”
The mother’s face fell.
“Key West? But… we can’t afford that. The travel, the surgery… it’s too much. We barely got the insurance to approve this surgery. We had to take a second mortgage on our house just to pay our portion. We’re tapped out.”
I shook my head.
“You won’t pay a dime. Not for the surgery, not for the travel, not for anything. I’ll cover all of it.”
The parents stared at me, their eyes wide with disbelief.
“Why would you do that?” the father asked, his voice rough with emotion.
“Because your son deserves a chance,” I said simply.
“And I’m not going to let money or politics stand in the way of that.”
The mother burst into tears, clutching her husband’s hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Thank you so much. Please. Please help us.”
I stood up, nodding to Clair.
“Dr. Morgan will give you all the details. We’ll get your son transferred as soon as possible.”
I stepped out into the hallway, Shawn following close behind.
“Jared, you can’t just offer free surgeries to everyone,” he said, his voice low.
“You’re not a charity.”
“Why not?” I asked, turning to face him.
“I’ve got the money. And if I can save a life, why shouldn’t I?”
Shawn sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re impossible, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” I said, smirking.
Clair joined us a few minutes later, her notes clutched tightly in her hands.
“They’re on board,” she said.
“I’ll get everything arranged for the transfer.”
“Good,” I said, nodding.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“How do you go from being a world-class dick to the nicest guy on the planet?” Shawn asked.
“I am who I am,” I said with a wink.
We left the hospital and climbed into my car, a sleek black sports car that purred to life as I started the engine.
Shawn groaned as I peeled out of the parking lot, but I ignored him, weaving through traffic with ease.
The private airport wasn’t far.
Within minutes, we were pulling up to the tarmac where my jet was waiting.
As we boarded, I noticed Clair glancing at her phone.
“What’s the hold-up?” I asked, sinking into my seat and opening my laptop.
“We’re waiting for the new researcher,” Clair said, her voice excited.
“She’s hitching a ride with us.”
I shrugged, not particularly interested.
Researchers were Clair’s domain, not mine.
Let them get some results and then I might learn their name.
I was about to dive into my emails when I saw an Uber pull up on the tarmac.
I couldn’t see who got out, but Clair jumped up, her face lighting up.
“That’s her!” she said, practically bouncing on her toes.
“Shawn, you have to meet her. I tracked her down at the hotel last night—she’s incredible. Her research on Alzheimer’s and TBI is groundbreaking.”
Shawn raised an eyebrow.
“Sounds impressive.”
“It is,” Clair said, her eyes shining.
“I can’t wait to pick her brain.”
I barely glanced up as the new researcher boarded the plane, but when I did, I froze.
It was her. The woman from the bar last night—the one who’d walked away from me without a second glance.
She was even more stunning in the daylight, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her curves accentuated by a fitted blouse and pencil skirt.
She had a full figure, the kind that made it impossible to look away, and for a moment, I was completely captivated.
Clair practically dragged her over, introducing her to Shawn.
“This is Dr. Amelia Pritchard,” she said, her voice brimming with excitement.
“Amelia, this is Shawn, one of our senior surgeons.”
Shawn shook her hand, smiling warmly.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Pritchard. Clair hasn’t stopped talking about your work. Exciting stuff.”
Amelia smiled.
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
Then Clair turned to me.
“And this is Dr. Jared Welch.”
I gave Amelia a cocky smile, leaning back in my seat.
“We’ve met.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I could practically feel the heat of her glare.
If looks could kill, I’d be flat on the floor.
But she didn’t say a word, just turned and followed Clair to her seat.
I risked a glance at her as she sat down, taking in the way her skirt hugged her hips, the way her blouse stretched just slightly over her chest. She was gorgeous, no doubt about it, but there was something else—something sharp and unyielding—that made her even more intriguing.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to be a problem.
But then again, I’d never been one to back down from a challenge.
And something told me Dr. Amelia Pritchard was going to be one hell of a challenge.