Chapter 27 - Nicole #2
She tipped her chin up.
The mezzanine level overlooked the main floor, glass railing catching the overhead lights. Admin offices lined the back wall up there, all frosted panels and muted colors meant to suggest calm authority. The HR door stood open.
James stepped out first.
Even from below, his agitation read clearly. His hands were moving too much, palms slicing the air as his mouth worked around words we could not hear. Parker followed, posture upright, expression unreadable. An HR rep trailed behind them, arms crossed, stance neutral.
James shook his head, emphatic, one foot planted hard as if that might anchor him. Parker said something brief. Whatever it was, it did not land. He responded again, sharper gestures now, shoulders tight, jaw working.
Rosemary’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag.
We stood there, the current of foot traffic bending around us, neither of us pretending not to stare.
“That looks bad,” I said under my breath.
Rosemary did not answer right away. Her gaze stayed fixed on the scene above us. “It looks… unfinished.”
James ran a hand through his hair and turned away from Parker, pacing a short line before pivoting back. The HR rep did not move. Parker did not shift. Whatever he was arguing, it was not changing the ground under his feet.
“I think it worked,” I said quietly. The words slipped out before I could weigh them. “I think they pulled her from the rotation.”
Rosemary glanced at me then, caution written into the lines around her eyes. “I’m not assuming anything until Parker tells me herself.”
Fair. Sensible. Very Rosemary.
Up on the mezzanine, Parker turned.
Her gaze swept the atrium and landed on us with unerring precision. She raised her hand, palm out, a clear signal to hold where we were.
Rosemary inhaled and let it out through her nose.
James followed Parker’s line of sight. His eyes found us, and the look he sent down was unfiltered and unmistakable. Whatever leverage he thought he had was gone, and he knew exactly who had tipped the balance.
He did not wait for Parker. He spun on his heel and took the stairs two at a time, descending with clipped speed, body tight with restrained fury.
When he reached the main floor, he cut straight toward us.
The glare he gave me was meant to scorch. I met it without flinching. He did not slow. He did not speak. He passed so close I caught the tension rolling off him, then disappeared down the corridor that led deeper into the hospital.
Rosemary’s shoulders sagged a fraction once he was gone.
Parker descended more deliberately, one hand resting on the rail as she came down the stairs. She stopped in front of us, her expression finally softening when she looked at Rosemary.
“Rosemary,” she said.
“Yes?” Rosemary’s voice held steady, though her hands betrayed her, fingers worrying the edge of her bag.
“There will be a formal hearing,” Parker said. “That process takes time.”
Rosemary nodded once.
“In the meantime,” Parker continued, “we have James’s admission that he failed to declare a personal relationship with Nurse Green.”
My pulse kicked.
Parker kept her focus on Rosemary. “That information would have been considered during the review of applications for the surgical rotation. Withholding it is a serious breach. The hospital takes procedure seriously.”
Rosemary’s breath caught, just barely.
“As a result,” Parker said, “Nurse Green’s offer will be rescinded. The department will revisit the applicant pool.”
I could feel questions lining up behind my teeth, pressure building fast. “So—” I started, then stopped myself, biting down hard enough to hurt.
Rosemary asked instead, measured even now. “Do you know when they’ll announce the decision?”
Parker smiled then, a small thing, but genuine. “There was only one other application.”
Rosemary stared at her.
“So the rotation will go to that nurse,” Parker finished.
The sound that came out of me was undignified and unstoppable. A sharp burst of joy that echoed off the atrium walls before I could clamp it down. I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around Rosemary, bag and all.
She laughed and cried at the same time, hands gripping my back, her composure finally cracking. “Thank you,” she said, voice thick, over and over, until it blurred into a single breathless word.
Parker waited, indulgent, then said, “You can thank your friend.”
Rosemary pulled back, eyes shining, and looked at me.
“She brought the misconduct to our attention,” Parker added. “That matters.”
I squeezed Rosemary again, careful not to knock us both off balance, my chest buzzing with relief and vindication and something like triumph.
*
I reached my floor, still buzzing from the adrenaline that refused to drain after today’s win at work.
Each step toward my apartment rattled through me with a strange mix of triumph and lingering frustration.
If only I’d learned sooner how to stand up for myself, I thought, maybe I could’ve avoided the mess with James and Landon.
Maybe things would’ve turned out differently, all of it less complicated.
I stopped short when I reached my front door.
On the welcome mat was a package I didn’t remember ordering. A box that looked as though it had been placed there deliberately. My pulse jumped.
Too curious to wait, I crouched and worked the tape free with the edge of my key, careful not to tear anything inside. The flaps lifted, and my hands flew over my mouth, muffling the strangled sound that choked out of me.
A goalie helmet. White shell, classic cage, the old Surge crest scuffed from countless games. A signature arched across the crown in bold black ink: Alex Granger.
My hands trembled as I lifted it, feeling the weight of history and memory in my palms. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. My holy grail.
There was no note, but I knew only one person who could’ve been responsible for this.