Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Don’t forget to write what you need
Carina
The scalpel slices clean, but my patience is already fraying.
“Retract a little higher,” I murmur.
The junior on suction misses the cue entirely, leaving a fine mist of blood to bloom up the side of my glove.
“Higher,” I repeat, sharper this time.
He startles, nearly knocking the retractor loose. I exhale through my nose, flexing my jaw behind the surgical mask. There’s a pause in my hands that only I would notice—just half a second too long, not enough to compromise anything, but just enough to betray me.
I’m tired.
And not the regular kind. Not the surgical-residency, twenty-eight-hour-call, skipped-lunch-again kind. This is a bone-deep exhaustion. A throb in my temples and a pinch behind my eyes that won’t let up, no matter how many coffees I guzzle in stolen moments.
Moreno’s voice cuts in calmly from across the table. “Let’s recenter. Dr. Park, you’re good to close once we get that tendon secured.”
I nod. I’m efficient. Professional. I know how to do this on autopilot.
Except my brain is a traitor, because in the quiet stretch of focus, between the clamp and suture, my mind drifts again.
Not to Levi’s funding and trial that we’ve finally got movement on, not to the hospital board email I need to answer.
But to Reid.
The press of his palms on the backs of my thighs, and the sound he made when I sank down on his mouth. The way he didn’t rush, just held me there and took his time. That deep, low rumble he made against my skin that unraveled something inside me I didn’t even know was knotted.
I force myself back to the task in front of me, tightening the suture with just a little more force than necessary.
This is ridiculous. It’s been days since I last saw him, and I have things to do, responsibilities to maintain. The last thing I need is to be flustered over a man who can make me forget what day it is with one look and two fingers.
Still, every time a memory pops into my head unannounced, heat simmers under my skin.
“Dr. Park?” the junior says quietly, eyes wide behind his shield.
I blink. I’ve already finished the last stitch.
“Good job,” I say stiffly, stepping back to peel off my gloves and strip the gown. “Get the post-op forms started. I’ll sign off in ten.”
My voice comes out flat and probably a little too cold. He doesn’t deserve that—he’s just learning. I pause in the scrub room, letting the hot water run over my hands, and feel the weight of my own annoyance pressing down on my sternum.
I don’t like snapping, but I don’t like slipping. In my job, you can’t afford it, especially while operating.
By the time I towel off and clip my hair back again, I’m more composed. But the fatigue clings to me like lint, and I know it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.
Back at my station in the ortho wing of the hospital, the admin stack has doubled. Of course it has. Jenny doesn’t even look up from her desk when I pass her by with a groan. She just smirks faintly, like my exhaustion is personally satisfying.
I ignore her.
We all know Jenny has a thing for Dr. Moreno, and has never loved the idea of me being the resident attached to his rotation for almost two years. She assumes proximity means something when it doesn’t, but nothing I say will ever change her mind. And to be honest, I’ve given up caring.
I pull my phone out of my lab coat before I even realize what I’m doing.
His name is still at the top of my messages, not that we’ve texted much. A few scattered things since the last time—mostly surface-level, just enough to pretend we’re not thinking about the next time we want to fuck each other’s brains out.
But he’s at the Moreno Clinic today, getting cleared by Heidi. I know because I checked the schedule, checked the Storm’s road game calendar, and made a note of it without meaning to.
I thought I could conveniently bump into him today. That it would be casual. I could say hello in passing and congratulate him on his clearance, then savor the way those navy specks in his eyes darken as they perused me for a moment.
Except I’m still at the hospital, and I’m not going to make it in time.
I stare at my phone for a moment.
Fuck it.
Me: Hope you pass your test, Hutch. Don’t forget to stretch.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it and shove the phone back into my coat pocket like it might bite me. Ten minutes later, while I’m reviewing discharge notes, it buzzes.
REID HUTCHISON: Worried about me, Doc?
I roll my eyes, but my fingers move faster than my brain as I make my way back to my locker.
Me: Only if you blow your knee out again and make me do paperwork.
REID HUTCHISON: Think I’ll just stick to blowing your brains when I make you cum.
My throat goes dry, and scramble to pocket my phone before I can even attempt to respond. Instead, I press my forehead to the cool metal of the locker door.
“You good?”
I jump, looking up to see Elodie, my favorite surgical nurse.
“I’m fine.”
“You look like you haven’t slept since Monday.”
“Because I haven’t.”
She laughs softly. “You know you’re allowed to rest, right?”
“Elodie.” I shoot her a look, but there’s no heat behind it.
“Come on. What’s on tomorrow?”
I blink. “What?”
“Your schedule. What’s on it tomorrow?”
“I—” I hesitate as I recall. “I’m off.”
“It’s a miracle.”
“It’s an administrative glitch,” I correct, but she waves me off.
“You should sleep for twelve hours straight. Maybe fifteen.”
“I might.”
“You should also get laid, but judging by the way you were just mooning over your phone, that’s already covered.”
I snort. “Shut up.”
Elodie grins, patting my shoulder. “See you back on Friday.”
By the time I make it back to the Moreno Clinic, it’s late afternoon. Moreno’s car is gone, and the main lights are dimmed. Only a few members of staff are left inside, finishing off paperwork, and cleaners are ambling their way from room to room.
I wave to the janitor as I head inside, a few folders under my arm. There’s still paperwork to finish, and part of me hopes Heidi’s around so I can casually ask about Reid.
But when I push open the door to my office, I stop cold.
There’s a burger on my desk.
Neatly boxed up from the same place we went for lunch months ago, when we were planning the fundraiser. And tucked into the top flap is a sticky note.
Don’t forget to write what you need.
My stomach lets out a low, traitorous growl, and I stare at the note for a long second, then go back to close the door behind me.
The box is still warm when I walk back to my desk and pick it up. A name’s scribbled on the side in marker pen.
Havoc
A surprised laugh escapes before I can stop it, sounding strange in the emptiness of my office.
Of course it’s Reid. Of course he remembered the burger ketchup thing, and of course he remembers I create havoc when I’m tired and clumsy.
My fingers hover over the box for a moment longer, then I open it. Inside is a perfectly done cheeseburger, no pickles. My usual. And tucked into the side are two little packets of ketchup.
I reach for my phone.
My thumb hovers for half a second before I unlock it, weighing something bigger than a text. Which is ridiculous, because it’s just a burger. With a note. And a stupid inside joke that shouldn’t feel this loaded.
Me: Is this burger bribery?
REID HUTCHISON: Depends what you write with the ketchup.
My mouth quirks despite myself, and I drop into my chair, toe nudging the edge of my desk as I slide the burger box closer. The cardboard creaks as I open it again, and the smell alone makes my stomach ache. I stare at the two ketchup packets tucked next to it again.
Me: I’m considering just writing ‘sleep’ and calling it a day.
There’s a pause this time, long enough that I take a bite and chew slowly, feeling some of the peakiness bleed out of my body. The first real food I’ve had since… I honestly don’t know.
REID HUTCHISON: That bad, huh?
I hesitate, not because it isn’t true, but because admitting it feels like stepping over a line I’ve been carefully skirting.
Me: I’m wiped. 72hrs straight will do that
REID HUTCHISON: You off tomorrow?
The question feels casual on the surface, but something about it tightens in my chest. I decide not to examine it too closely, though.
Me: Miraculously, but don’t jinx it.
There’s another pause, longer this time, while I wait for a reply, but nothing comes. I stare at the screen for a beat longer than necessary before locking my phone and setting it face down on the desk, like that will quiet whatever’s started buzzing under my ribs.
I eat the rest of the burger, finishing my notes between bites. The clinic is nearly silent now—just the hum of the lights, the faint echo of a vacuum somewhere down the hall. The kind of quiet that usually calms me. Tonight, it doesn’t.
I don’t want to want him like this. I don’t want the ease of him, or the way he sees through me without making a production of it.
I don’t want to replay the sound of his voice in my head when he tells me what to do in that deeply calm and certain voice, like there’s nothing else in the world he needs from me except to let go.
But I do want it. All of it. So much. And the worst part is, I think he knows.
I don’t text again, and neither does he. But the space between messages feels charged now, stretched thin and humming, waiting for something to snap.
By the time I shut down my computer and gather my things, it’s a beautifully crisp early evening. The sky outside the clinic windows has dipped into that hazy blue-gray that always makes the day feel longer than it was. A soft rainbow smudges the horizon.
I step outside, my bag slung over one shoulder, exhaustion settling heavy in my limbs as I prepare to order a cab. My head is still full of patients, charts, and the stupid text thread I keep replaying even though I told myself I wouldn’t.
I’m halfway across the parking lot when I see his truck, and my heart kicks hard enough that I nearly stop walking.
He’s leaning against the driver’s door like he’s got all the time in the world, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, posture loose.
Like this isn’t a big deal, and he just happened to be here. Like he didn’t leave a burger on my desk after what was probably his final clearance appointment with Heidi—because he knew I was in the OR and probably hadn’t eaten for hours.
Reid straightens when he sees me, mouth tipping into something that isn’t quite a smile.
“Hey,” he says, acting normal. As though I’m not suddenly upside down.
I stop a few feet away, folding my arms more out of instinct than defensiveness.
“This a goalie thing? Loitering in clinic parking lots?”
His eyes flick over me quickly, then snap back to my face.
“You look like hell.”
I snort. “Thanks.”
“I meant in a tired way,” he explains. “Beautiful, but with a side of sleep deprivation.”
“Charming.”
He nods toward the truck. “Get in. You’re off tomorrow, so there’s no excuse not to let someone feed you something that isn’t pre-packaged or from a deep fryer.”
I blink at him, hesitating. I know exactly where this is heading, and I’ve been carefully not looking it in the eye.
He circles to the passenger’s side and opens the door without a word. Stands there with one hand on the frame, waiting and giving me an out. His eyes meet mine and wait. My call.
I should say no and remind him of our deal. Of the lines we drew. Of how carefully I’ve built my life around control, and how I don’t do this.
But I’m so damn tired of being in charge of everything. So damn tired of thinking. So I move. One step, then another until I’m climbing in without another word.
When he turns the engine over, the heater kicks in with a low hum. The cab smells like coffee and something pepperminty—maybe the gum he always chews—and it’s warmer than I expected.
He glances over as we pull out of the lot. “Need more food?”
I shake my head, but don’t look at him. “You didn’t reply.”
“Figured showing up said it better.”
It does. And for the first time all day, my brain goes quiet.