Chapter 11
11
JARED
T he operating room was silent except for the steady beep of the monitors and the soft hum of the equipment.
I stood over the patient, a child with a brain tumor that had been giving us hell for weeks.
Unlike a lot of surgeons, I didn’t like music on while I was working.
I had to hear everything.
Sometimes, I swore I could hear my patient’s heart beating.
That was always a good thing.
My hands were steady, my focus razor sharp, but I could feel Gemma hovering behind me, her presence like a dark cloud.
She’d been trying to butt in all morning, offering unsolicited advice and second-guessing my every move.
It was infuriating.
“Jared,” she said, her voice sharp, “if you just adjust the angle?—”
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, not looking up.
“Focus on your own role, Gemma.”
She huffed and muttered under her breath but didn’t say anything else.
For now . The surgery was delicate.
This was the kid I pulled out of the Miami hospital, against Dr. Mitchell’s recommendation.
I promised his parents my aggressive approach was the right way to go.
I couldn’t let them or their son down.
I blinked, clearing my vision and looking through the operating microscope.
Gemma’s breathing was annoying, but I ignored it.
All I could see was the boy’s brain.
I couldn’t afford any distractions.
The tumor was nestled in a tricky spot.
One wrong slice could leave the kid with permanent damage.
Possibly death. And the tumor was deep.
No other surgeon would dare touch it.
But I wasn’t just any other surgeon.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and continued.
The hours blurred together as I worked, my hands moving with precision, guided by years of experience and an unshakable confidence in my abilities.
The tumor was stubborn, clinging to healthy tissue like it had a right to be there.
But I wasn’t about to let it win.
Not on my watch.
There was no going back.
I couldn’t put the piece of his skull back on and tell his parents good luck.
The only way out now was through.
I couldn’t quit.
“Jared, you’re going to kill this kid,” Gemma hissed.
I ignored her. “Clamp,” I said, my voice calm but firm.
The nurse handed me the instrument without hesitation.
I adjusted my grip, leaning in closer to the microscope.
“Suction.”
Gemma hovered nearby, her frustration palpable.
She hated being sidelined, hated that I didn’t need her input—or anyone else’s, for that matter.
But this wasn’t about her ego.
This was about the kid on the table.
This was about doing what no one else could.
“Careful,” Gemma muttered, unable to stay silent any longer.
I paused, my jaw tightening.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re taking too many risks,” she shot back.
“And you’re wasting my time,” I said coldly, not sparing her a glance.
“If you can’t stay calm, leave. Get it together, doctor.”
The tension in the room was thick, but I didn’t care.
My nurses knew me. I knew them.
We had done this dance in my OR hundreds of times.
They anticipated my needs and never questioned me.
They all knew how high my success rate was.
Gemma was less impressed with my work.
She was there to assist, but it seemed she wanted to be in charge.
Fat chance of that. Not in this lifetime and not in my operating room.
“Fine,” she said sullenly.
“Please proceed.”
I turned my attention back to the stubborn growth in the boy’s brain.
There were just a few dicey sections left.
In my head, I could see the cuts I needed to make.
“Got it,” I murmured.
“I’m right there. Come out you son of a bitch.”
“Jared…” Gemma’s fear was certainly warranted, but I couldn’t pay attention.
A millimeter too far, and everything could go wrong.
My hands didn’t waver as I isolated the tumor, my movements slow and deliberate.
The monitors beeped steadily, a reminder that the kid was strong.
If I got this right, he would have a long life ahead of him.
But I could feel the tension in the room, the collective breath everyone seemed to be holding.
Gemma’s voice cut through the silence again, sharp and insistent.
“You’re going too deep.”
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t afford to.
My focus was entirely on the delicate tissue beneath my hands, on the fine line between saving this kid’s life and destroying it.
Gemma was like background noise now, an annoying buzz of a mosquito.
The only thing that mattered was getting this tumor out—cleanly, completely, safely.
Everyone was leaving this operating room alive.
“Almost there,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.
My fingers isolated the last stubborn tendrils of the tumor.
And then it was done.
The tumor came free with one final pull.
I exhaled slowly, easing back from the microscope.
The room seemed to exhale with me.
I stepped back, pulling off my gloves and mask, and scrubbed a hand over my face.
The tumor was gone but Gemma was still there, her arms crossed, her expression tight.
“You know, this is why we broke up,” she said irritably.
“You can’t stand not being the smartest and most talented person in the room. You have to be in control, always.”
I turned to face her, my patience wearing thin.
“We broke up because you cheated, Gemma. Let’s not rewrite history.”
I walked out of the OR, pulled off the gown, and tossed it in the bin.
Gemma was right behind me.
“Oh, please,” she snapped, clearly interested in keeping up the argument.
“Like you were some saint in that relationship.”
I shook my head, too tired to argue.
“Lucky for both of us, none of that matters now. Last I heard, you were engaged to your affair partner. I would congratulate you but there must be trouble in paradise if you’re back here sniffing around me. Did he finally realize what a mistake he made? Did you cheat on him too?”
She wiggled her ring-free fingers, her expression smug.
“It’s over. But if you’re looking for company before my flight back to Miami, you know where to find me.”
I stared at her, disgusted.
“Giving a hand job to a busboy in the bathroom?”
“He wasn’t a busboy, he was the chef.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Well, either way, I’m not interested in his table scraps. Find someone else’s life to ruin.”
“You always like a good screw after a surgery like that,” she said.
“You know you’re high on adrenaline. All of that energy has to go somewhere.”
“Not you.”
She rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving me alone.
I ran a hand over my face.
Gemma always brought up old, bad feelings, and tonight was no exception.
I couldn’t shake the tension she’d left in her wake.
I rolled my shoulders and then my neck.
That surgery had been intense.
To myself, I could admit there had been a few times I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.
But I did.
I washed my hands and headed toward the waiting room where his parents were.
I paused outside the door.
I could hear them crying.
My stomach dropped. I hated this part.
When I walked in, they leapt to their feet.
The mother’s face was wet with tears; the father looked like he’d aged years in the few hours his son had been on the table.
“Everything went just as we hoped,” I said.
Their knees buckled, and they clung to each other, sobbing quietly in relief.
I gave them a moment, then explained everything they needed to know before heading back to my office.
I was halfway there when I passed Amelia’s lab and noticed the light was still on.
I paused, peering through the glass.
She was sitting at her desk, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun as usual.
Her face was illuminated by the glow of her computer screen.
She looked intense. Focused.
And for some reason, I found myself walking in.
“Working late?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She jumped, startled, and turned to look at me.
“Jared. What are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing,” I said, stepping inside.
“It’s well past quitting time.”
She shrugged, turning back to her computer.
“I had some work to finish. What’s your excuse?”
“I had a surgery that went long.”
She frowned.
“Good outcome?”
“Of course, but there were some… challenges.”
She smiled.
“Does that mean you were nervous?”
I thought about my answer.
My usual response would be no.
“I wouldn’t say nervous, but I did have some thoughts that the outcome might not be what I expected. No other surgeon wanted to operate on him. Too risky.”
Her lips twitched.
“But it worked out?”
“I got the fucking tumor!” I announced.
“Congratulations. That’s great news.” She smiled at me like she meant it.
“Thanks.”
“Do you typically go out and celebrate after a successful surgery?”
I shook my head.
Gemma knew exactly what I liked to do.
“No. Not always.”
“Well, congratulations, anyway.”
I should just turn and walk away.
But I didn’t want to leave.
Her smile was extra inviting, as was the way her breasts strained against her blouse like they were begging to be free.
“You know, you don’t have to spend your entire life in this lab. You’re allowed to have a life outside of work.”
She glanced at me, the smile gone.
“This is where I need to be.”
“Why?” I asked.
The question came out sharper than I intended.
It was the residual frustration from dealing with Gemma.
The woman was a great surgeon but a terrible person.
“What’s so important that it can’t wait until morning?”
She looked like she wanted to kick my ass.
“Not everyone chooses this career path for the glory, fame, and awards, Jared. Some of us actually care about the work.”
I stared at her, taken aback by the venom in her voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” she said, stepping closer, “that not all of us are in this for the ego boost. Some of us have real reasons for doing what we do. I have no desire to be some ego-tripping wannabe god.”
I felt a flicker of anger, making me rise to her challenge.
“And what’s your reason, Amelia? What’s so important that you’re willing to throw away your life for it? It’s not healthy to spend all your time in a lab.”
She hesitated, her expression faltering for a moment.
But then she squared her shoulders, her eyes blazing.
“That’s none of your business. My health is just fine, thank you.”
I stepped closer, my frustration and curiosity warring with each other.
“Isn’t it? You work for me. I think I have a right to know what’s driving you. What’s got you spending every waking minute in here?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t get to know everything, Jared. Not everyone is an open book like you.”
I stared at her, my chest tight with emotions I couldn’t quite untangle.
It was the adrenaline from the successful surgery and frustration and white-hot desire.
I knew what was coming, but I told myself it was the wrong move.
But fuck it. Before I could stop myself, I kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle or sweet.
It was heated, intense, fueled by all the tension that had been building between us.
For a moment, she froze.
I thought I’d made a mistake.
I expected to get kneed in the nuts or slapped across the face.
Or both. But then she kissed me back, her hands gripping my shirt as she pulled me closer.