Chapter 13
13
JARED
I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon.
The nightmare was still fresh in my mind—a surgery gone wrong, the kind of thing that haunts every surgeon at some point.
But this time, it wasn’t just any patient on my table.
It was Amelia.
I sat up, running a hand over my face, trying to shake the image of her lying there, lifeless, while I scrambled to fix what I’d broken.
It was just a dream, I told myself.
Just my brain messing with me.
But it felt too real, too visceral.
I couldn’t shake the unease that settled in my chest.
I got up, stripping off my sweat-soaked shirt, and headed for the shower.
The water was lukewarm, bordering on cold.
I stood under it until my skin was numb and my mind was clear.
Or at least as clear as it was going to get.
Sleep wasn’t an option now.
I was the kind of person that only slept a max of six hours most days.
I performed better when I landed right in that sweet spot of six to seven hours.
I had only slept maybe four, but it didn’t matter.
I was up and that was that.
I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and headed to my office.
Work was the only thing that ever really helped when my brain was like this.
I was a neurosurgeon that couldn’t figure out how to shut off my own brain.
I couldn’t begin to count the number of surgeries my brain tried to perform while I was sleeping.
If I could find a way for some technology to read my brain and translate it into a document, I could write hundreds of papers to be published in various journals.
And they’d be good. People were always encouraging me to write a book, but I didn’t have the time.
There was a stack of files on my desk.
There were always files waiting for me to review.
People from around the world sent me cases, hoping I would take them on or advise them on what they should do.
I flipped open the first one.
It was a case from Germany.
A twelve-year-old girl with a rare form of epilepsy.
Her scans showed a lesion deep in her temporal lobe, right where it dipped into the hippocampus.
Risky. Too risky for most surgeons to touch.
The margins were razor thin, and one wrong move could leave her with permanent memory loss or worse.
But if I didn’t intervene, the seizures would keep escalating until her brain was irreparably damaged.
I scribbled notes in the margin, my handwriting sloppy and hurried.
Thankfully, my assistant could read my chicken scratch.
Technically, I had several assistants, but Janie was the one I relied on with case files.
Another one handled appointments.
And another one handled email replies.
Possible approach: minimally invasive laser ablation?
Need to consult with radiology and neuropsych first. I tossed the file into the urgent pile and reached for the next one.
The next file was thick, telling me it was one of those really complicated cases that always tickled my curiosity.
I loved to get a case that twenty other doctors couldn’t figure out.
It was a case from Brazil.
A man in his thirties with a glioblastoma that had spread like wildfire through his frontal lobe.
His scans were a disaster—tumors everywhere.
My gut twisted as I studied the images.
Even if I tried, even if I went in with every tool at my disposal, there was no way I could get it all out without leaving him a shell of himself.
I put the file in another pile.
The one that would be given a nicely worded response that there was nothing I could do.
Even I knew when there was no hope.
I hated to give up on anyone, but sometimes, there just had to be someone there to call it.
I flipped through case files for a while, trying to distract myself, but it didn’t take long for the monotony to set in.
I was restless, my mind still circling back to the nightmare, to Amelia and what happened in the lab.
I was doing my best to put that out of my head.
I crossed a line. I blamed it on the adrenaline rush.
I was primed and ready and seeing her pushed me over the edge.
I lost all self-control.
I needed something else to focus on.
Something that wasn’t her.
I opened my laptop, clicking through emails I usually ignored.
Sometimes, I liked to pop in and see how things were going.
I figured I might as well catch up.
That’s when I saw it—an email titled Pritchard—Insurance Dependent .
My stomach dropped. Dependent?
I clicked on it before I could stop myself.
It was addressed to me.
The email trail was between HR and Amelia, with me blind copied on it.
Apparently, Amelia had a dependent on her Welch Labs health insurance, and she’d requested a more expensive plan.
I frowned, scrolling through the messages.
She hadn’t mentioned a family to me.
No kids, no spouse, nothing.
So who was this dependent?
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen.
It wasn’t any of my business.
Amelia’s personal life was her own, and I had no right to pry.
But the question nagged at me, refusing to let go.
Who was she taking care of?
And why hadn’t she said anything?
Did she have a kid?
I’d only had a handful of conversations with her.
I was certain she never mentioned a child.
And where was the child?
Back in England? That seemed odd to me.
Whatever.
Not my business.
The sun was starting to rise, and it was time to officially get started with my day.
I got up and made myself a cup of coffee, watching as dark storm clouds rolled in over the water.
The air felt heavy, charged, like the world was holding its breath.
It was always like this before a big storm.
I sipped my coffee, trying to push the thoughts of Amelia out of my mind, but it was no use.
She was under my skin, and I didn’t know how to get her out.
That was one woman I didn’t think a man could have just one taste of.
She was the kind of woman that wormed her way into your very soul.
That was dangerous. How was I going to properly enjoy casual hookups if I was constantly thinking about her?
I stepped outside the mansion and inhaled.
The air was thick with the scent of salt and the very unique smell that always preceded a storm.
The wind had picked up, whipping my shirt against my chest as I started down the path toward the lab.
The sky was a swirl of gray and black, the sun barely breaking through in streaks of muted gold.
It was going to be an early storm season apparently.
The growing roar of the wind pushed me forward.
Palm trees bent like they were bowing to some unseen force.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pants, coffee sloshing in the reusable mug I carried.
The first drop of rain hit my arm, telling me to move my ass unless I wanted to get drenched.
The compound was quiet this early, most of the staff still asleep or just starting their day.
My mind drifted back to the email as I walked.
A dependent.
I made it into the building before the rain started properly.
It was just teasing right now.
Would it downpour or would the storm blow over?
I headed for my office and flipped on all the lights.
I had barely sat down when Shawn came in.
“Got a minute?” he asked.
“A single minute?” I questioned.
“You know what I mean.”
“What’s up?”
Shawn sat and swiped through his iPad, pulling up a chart.
“You remember that case we discussed last week? The one with the rapid cognitive decline?”
I leaned back in my chair.
“Yeah. The genetic mutation. What about it?”
“Well, I’ve been working on the drug trial protocol. We’re targeting the mutation directly. It’s risky, but if it works, it could slow or even halt the progression.” Shawn looked at me, his face a mix of excitement and caution.
“But we’re going to need FDA approval fast-tracking. And… well, I need your signature on the proposal.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Fast-tracking? You think they’ll bite?”
“They might,” Shawn said, leaning forward.
“This isn’t just a niche case anymore. We’ve got three more patients showing similar symptoms. If this mutation is as widespread as I think it is, we could be looking at a new class of neurodegenerative diseases. The FDA won’t ignore that. And they like you. Your name on the trial would move mountains.”
I tapped my finger against the desk, thinking it over.
“This could be huge,” he said, his tone serious.
“If we can slow the progression, it’ll change everything for these patients.”
I was still mulling the idea over when Clair waltzed into my office.
Her usual upbeat, caffeine-fueled energy filled the room.
“Hey, Jared,” she said, plopping down in the chair next to Shawn.
She turned and looked at him with a smile.
“Shawn.”
“Clair,” Shawn mumbled without making eye contact.
“Is everyone up early this morning?” I asked.
“Just wanted to let you know I’ll be spending the next few weeks working directly with Amelia. We’re combining labs.”
I frowned, leaning forward.
“Why? I don’t want you off your cancer research.”
Clair waved a hand, dismissing my concern.
“Amelia found some kind of connection between her TBI work and my cancer research. We’re going to start experimenting, see if we can find a crossover. It’s exciting, Jared. This could be big. She’s got a lot to offer. And even if we don’t find a connection, I want to learn from her. She’s so smart . Purposeful. I like her style. You’re never too old to learn something new.”
I felt a flicker of irritation to have my lab dynamics upset, but I kept my expression neutral.
“Fine,” I said, nodding.
“I trust your judgment. Keep me updated.”
Clair grinned, standing up.
“Will do. Oh, and Jared? Try to get some sleep. You look like hell.”
She left, and Shawn raised his brows at me, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Sounds like Amelia might be coming for your ‘mad scientist of the century’ crown.”
I wasn’t going to let him get to me.
“She’s good,” I admitted, my tone begrudging.
“But she’s not there yet.”
Shawn chuckled, shaking his head.
“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the genius around here, you’re not giving her enough credit. She’s sharp, Jared. And she’s driven. That’s a dangerous combination. I don’t know if we can call her your protege, but the master may have finally met his match.”
“Doubtful,” I muttered.
“She’s pretty fucking brilliant.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I said absently.
“I’d love to open her head and see what goes on in there. She’s an amazing researcher. She’s so driven. Dedicated. I don’t get it.”
Shawn’s smirk widened.
“Why is she under your skin so much?”
I hesitated, debating how much to say.
“I met her informally before she started here,” I admitted.
“At the awards ceremony. I hit on her, and she didn’t appreciate it. It’s been tense between us since.”
Shawn raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing there was more to the story, but he didn’t push.
“Ah, I see. You want to dissect her brain to find out why she’s the one woman on this planet who is immune to your charms.”
That wasn’t entirely true but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Whatever,” I said. “I’ve got enough shit on my plate. I don’t need to worry about stupid drama.”
He nodded.
“You’re right. Bad weather’s on the way. You don’t need to add to the chaos.”
“Have you heard if it’s just a thunderstorm or are we getting a jumpstart on hurricane season?”
“I think it’s just a regular storm,” he said.
“Phone hasn’t gone off with emergency alerts.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to write up a proposal for this trial. Do I have your support?”
“Write it up and I’ll review,” I said without committing.
Shawn left, leaving me staring out the window as the rain hit the glass.
I needed sleep. I was getting all moony.