17. Sam
SEVENTEEN
Sam
I hack into the mango like it personally offended me. Three quick slices, and juice splatters across the counter of the staff kitchenette at the hospital during my break.
"Whoa there, Dexter." Kip slides in next to me, reaching for a leftover watermelon cube.
"Is that fruit a stand-in for someone's head?"
"I'm fine." The knife comes down hard on the cutting board again. Not fine. So very not fine.
The memory of Cole's arms wrapped around me last night surges back, how perfectly I fit against him, how natural it felt to fall asleep with his heartbeat against my back.
"Yeah, I can see that.” Kip leans against the counter, snagging another piece of fruit.
My knife pauses mid-slice. "I just need sleep."
"Not sex?" His eyebrows shoot up.
"Not everything is about sex, Neuhaus," I mutter, dumping the fruit chunks into the blender with enough force to make the whole contraption wobble .
He laughs, that annoying chuckle that says he sees right through me. "Who said they're mutually exclusive?"
Heat crawls up my neck. Last night barrels through my mental barricades, and suddenly, I can feel Cole’s fingers on my skin, his mouth at my ear as he whispered, 'Stay tonight.'
“Oh my god,” Kip says, eyes widening with glee. “You’re suffering from too-much-sex sleep deprivation.”
“Seriously, what is wrong with you? I’m still a resident. Poor eating habits and chronic exhaustion are just my baseline.” I grab a napkin and toss it at him.
"It's the hot board guy, isn't it?"
"Don't you have to kiss up to Grimaldi or something?" I slam the blender lid down harder than necessary.
"Not until nine." He leans closer, lowering his voice.
"Bummer."
"So was it good? On a scale from 'mediocre appendectomy' to 'flawless valve replacement'—"
"I'm not discussing this with you." I hit the blend button, drowning him out with mechanical whirring.
But the truth pulses beneath my skin. It wasn't just good, it was terrifying. Because somewhere between the scorching sex and falling asleep in his arms, something shifted. We weren't just two people hooking up for a short time.
Well, maybe we are. But the connection that is growing between us is so much more intense than that. And when it's time for him to leave, it won't be as easy as I keep telling myself it will be.
My phone moves on the counter as a message comes in. The blender stops, and Kip plucks it up before I can grab it.
"Ooh, is it him? Did he?— "
I snatch my phone back. "Boundaries, Kip. We've talked about this."
But it's not Cole. It's a text from my father.
Board vote confirmed for Friday.
My stomach drops. Five words that pull me back to reality.
"Bad news?" Kip asks, suddenly serious.
"The hospital board is officially voting Friday." I stare at the screen, the warmth from last night evaporating in an instant.
I suck in a breath, but it doesn’t feel like enough. My chest tightens as it hits me. Cole certainly knew this last night. We talked about the board, about the vote, and he didn’t say a word.
Three hours later, I’m back at my desk finishing charts. My smoothie sits half-empty beside me, condensation bleeding into a stack of forms. I stare at the blank wall, my father’s text still echoing louder than the sterile silence.
Friday.
Three days. Seventy-two hours before a room full of suits decides the fate of my mother’s legacy. The Taylor Wing isn’t just a building. It’s the last living piece of her. The last place that still feels like her.
His voice had softened, his usual precision sanded down to something quieter, more vulnerable. He’d asked me to sit with him on the patio before I left, like he didn’t want the moment to end.
But he didn’t tell me about this. Not when he knew how much I wanted to understand.
What else isn’t he telling me?
My phone is heavy in my hand as I pull up the hospital’ s number. No more overthinking. I need facts, not feelings.
"Good Samaritan, how may I direct your call?"
"This is Dr. Taylor. I’m confirming the time for Friday’s board meeting regarding the Taylor Wing."
Paper shuffles on the other end. "That would be 2 PM in the main conference room, Dr. Taylor. Would you like me to note your attendance?"
My throat tightens. "Yes. Please do."
I hang up and stare at my phone screen. I should text Cole. Ask him directly why he didn’t mention the vote. But the thought of what he will tell me, and what he won't, makes my stomach twist.
I make it halfway across the hospital, walking so fast my lab coat flaps behind me like some medical superhero cape, without a single pause. I'm careful not to give a single indication that might betray how completely I'm unraveling inside.
"Dr. Taylor?"
I nearly collide with Nurse Martinez, who steps back quickly, clipboard pressed to her chest.
"Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going," I mumble, straightening my coat.
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Everything okay, Dr. Taylor?"
"Oh, you know. I'm homicidal, sleep-deprived, and emotionally compromised. Just another day in paradise," I flash what I hope passes for a convincing smile.
She looks a little taken aback, but nods anyway. It's the unspoken courtesy of hospital protocol. We all pretend we're fine, even when we're obviously not.
"Well, drink a coffee and sneak in a meditation. The combo always does it for me. "
I smile at her and keep on my way. I wish it were that simple.
I round the corner toward the administrative wing, mind racing through survival strategies for Friday's meeting. I'll need statistics, patient outcomes, and financial projections?—
"Samantha."
My father stands outside the CFO's office, manila folder tucked under one arm. His face betrays nothing, as always. He wears the perfect surgeon's mask of calm competence.
"Dad." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "I was just?—"
"You got my message about Friday?”
I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I got your text. Thanks for the heads up."
His eyes, the exact hazel shade as mine, soften slightly. "I thought you'd want to know."
"Curious, when was the vote date set?"
A pair of administrators pass by, and my father gently takes my elbow, steering me toward an empty consultation room. The click of the door behind us feels like a thunderclap.
"It's been the proposed date for over a week. Yesterday morning, it went from proposed to set. Why?"
He fucking knew this whole time we've been doing whatever this shit is. Fucking, I guess. And he knew it was set last night and didn't say a goddamned word to me. I'm pissed.
His voice carries that gentle weight he reserves for delivering difficult news. "This vote was inevitable, Sam. If we want the hospital to survive, something has to give."
"So, everything comes down to profit margins now? I guess you'll vote for the reorganization, too. You want this to be some rich man's concierge hospital, closed to anyone who can't afford to pay for healthcare?"
The pressure in my chest expands.
"You know money isn't what I care about."
"Sounds like it."
"Profit margins are a stark reality, Sam." Dad runs his hand over his tie, a nervous habit he's had my whole life.
"From where I stand, it looks like we're abandoning everything Mom worked for. Why be on the board if you're going to vote with everyone else? Who is standing up for what you and Mom said is important? You're just another suit."
The fluorescent light catches the silver in his hair. When did that happen? When did my father start looking old?
His eyes meet mine, steady and clear. "I don't know how I'm going to vote, yet."
"I trust by now there is some extensive chart showing your choices. It should be a no-brainer. Mom's vision, or some exclusive club. They couldn't be more different."
"No one gets healthcare if the hospital closes." His tone softens around the edges.
"I'd rather it close than turn it into whatever the greedy bastards want."
"Sometimes, compromise is necessary for survival."
The word "compromise" sits bitter on my tongue. Mom never compromised on patient care. Not once.
Dad straightens, squeezing my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Sam. For fighting, for caring this much." His eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Sure."
I'm not normally disrespectful to my father, but I can't believe what is coming out of his mouth. I'm so upset right now, I could breathe fire, but I'm giving him as much restraint as I can muster.
"No matter what happens Friday, I want you to know I'm proud of you."
It should feel like a warm blanket, his approval. It should wrap around my heart and calm the storm brewing there. Garnering his explicit approval has never been a given.
"Thanks, Dad." I force my lips into what I hope resembles a smile.
He pulls me into an awkward hug. The familiar scent of his aftershave, the same brand for twenty years, fills my nose. For a heartbeat, I'm ten again, believing my father can fix anything.
"Your mother would be proud too," he murmurs against my hair.
The lump in my throat grows three sizes. I can't speak, so I just nod against his shoulder.
He releases me with a gentle pat on my back, straightens his blazer, and walks away down the hallway. I watch him go, his shoulders square, his stride purposeful. The perfect image of professional composure.
I pull into Arden’s driveway just after sunset, headlights sweeping across her front porch. Her kitchen window glows like a welcome sign, and I exhale for the first time all day.
I could’ve gone home and curled up in my bed and pretended I wasn’t waiting to see his porch light flick on.
He texted around five. Said he made dinner. He framed it as no pressure, just an invite.
I didn’t answer .
Because I can’t trust myself around him, not when one crooked smile, one familiar hand on my back, makes me forget how much I can't trust him. Even if this is a limited-time affair, I need to be able to have basic trust.
Arden opens the door before I even knock, holding up a brown paper bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
“Emergency carbs and estrogen,” she announces.
I follow her inside, the familiar scent of her lilac candles wrapping around me. Her house is safe and neutral. And more importantly, it's Cole-free.
She unloads two giant cartons of General Tso’s, crab rangoons, egg rolls, and a whole pint of fried rice like we’re about to host a small banquet. “We’re either going to find a solution or salt it into oblivion.”
“I vote oblivion.”
“Love it. On brand. Now, pick your fighter. Barbie or John Wick 4 ?” She points the remote at the TV and flops onto the couch. “
“Barbie. I’ve had enough violence for one week.”
We curl up under a throw blanket, chopsticks in hand, Margot Robbie’s perfect smile flashing across the screen. But we don’t make it ten minutes before Arden hits pause and turns toward me.
“Wait, I know we just want to not think about any of this, but I need to know where things are. Can we talk for a minute before numbing our minds?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I pop a piece of broccoli in my mouth and chew aggressively.
“You're eating vegetables voluntarily. That’s a red flag.”
I sigh. “He didn’t tell me the board vote is Friday. Not when we were literally talking about the vote last night. Not before or after he had me wrapped around him like a fucking human pretzel. ”
Arden winces, like she felt that one in her soul. “Oof. That’s, yeah.”
“It’s not just that he left it out. It’s that I've been opening up about this, trying to engage him, asking him for help on how to navigate this.
I've given him real pieces of me. Hell, I even gave him the tour of the Taylor Wing that he asked for. And he gave me nothing back, except half-smiles and vague reassurances.”
I set my carton down, appetite gone.
“You think he’s hiding something.”
“In my gut, I know he is. If he were just another board member going through the motions, why would he dodge around it? Why not be straight with me? My father has been, and even he seems like he's drinking the Kool-Aid. Unless…” I trail off, pulse kicking up.
Arden finishes the thought for me. “Unless there’s more to it.”
I nod slowly, chest tight. “He’s been feeding me breadcrumbs. Just enough to keep me from asking bigger questions.”
“You think he’s stringing you along?”
“I think he wants to keep things easy. And I think if I knew whatever it is he doesn't want me to know, his pussy-train would leave the station.”
She turns to face me. “That was supposed to be the deal, though, right? Just sex?”
My throat tightens. “Yeah, if we are both being straight with each other. That's what I'm saying. I don't think he is.”
“I hear you, but I guess I'm trying to understand what you want from him, Sam. He never promised you he'd be your ally on the board.”
“He’s supposed to leave Saturday. He planned to leave, then, from the start. And now that I know the vote is Friday, it’s obvious he always knew. All of it was already scheduled. Don't you think he at least owed it to me to be honest when I asked direct questions?”
We sit there for a moment, the opening scene of Barbie frozen on screen. Greta Gerwig’s pink-soaked world waits patiently in the background.
“Want my opinion? You’re not this upset because he hasn't been completely forthcoming. You’re upset because he is the symbol of why things are changing at the hospital, and you don't want that.”
I blink hard. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe. But life isn't fair.”
I stare at the wine bottle between us. “I just thought—God, I don’t know what I thought. That if there was one person on the board who got it, who got me , that we could turn this around. I don't think he cares. And that hurts.”
Admitting that out loud is like a stab to my heart. I wanted him to care like I care. And he doesn't.
Arden doesn’t say anything and nudges her knee against mine.
My phone buzzes on the cushion between us. I don’t have to look to know who it is. But I do anyway.
Can I see you tonight?
I swallow hard and flip the phone over.
“It's Cole. I’m not answering that.”
Arden presses play.
“Good.”
And Barbie dances across the screen like everything isn’t quietly falling apart.