21. Sam
TWENTY-ONE
Sam
I pour a glass of wine to carry next door and grab my phone off the counter, sticking it in my back pocket as I head toward the door. This will be a quick visit, five minutes, tops. Say what I came to say, leave with some version of peace.
I’m not sure I even believe that.
My hand’s on the doorknob, but I pull it off when my phone beeps in my pocket.
I sigh, put down my wine, and pull it out. It's Arden. Of course.
I almost don’t answer. I promised I’d call her after the meeting, but I didn’t have it in me. Not then, and I really don't still.
But I owe her. And I know she’s been trying to get me.
I swipe to answer. “Hey.”
“Thank God. I've been sitting on my hands so I wouldn't call you, but I finally couldn't stand it anymore. Are you okay?”
I close the door and lean against it. “Define okay.”
“That bad? ”
I press a thumb to the space between my eyebrows. “It was rough.”
“Give me the short version. Based on your tone, I'm guessing the concierge vote won?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Like, anything redeeming?”
“In a surprise, last-minute twist, Cole brought up the Evelyn Taylor Wing and asked the board to think about what losing it would mean for the community.”
Arden exhales. “Wait, he defended the wing?”
“Sort of. He brought up the underinsured patients and the outreach stuff and reminded everyone that no one else in the area takes them. I don't understand all of it, but I think he proposed a last-minute change and no one got behind him.”
“Did he have a plan, or was it just lip service?”
“He pitched a hybrid model. Concierge for those who can afford it, keep the wing for everyone else.”
Arden’s quiet for a second. “And?”
“And, they voted for full restructuring.”
She lets out a soft curse. “Majority?”
“Yeah.”
She hesitates. “Did he?—?”
I cut her off. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
There's no need to tell her he voted for the restructure anyway. His hands were tied, and it was a foregone conclusion. As much as I hate the outcome, I don't blame him. I want to, because I want a face to hate, but this isn't on him.
She’s quiet on the other end. Then, she gently probes. “So, does that mean he’s heading back to New York?”
“Yes. He’s supposed to leave Saturday. Maybe sooner now that the vote is over. I haven’t asked.”
“Are you okay with everything? ”
“I’m not okay with any of it, but I will be. Right now, everything is raw.”
A pause. “Where are you now?”
“About to walk over there.”
“You’re what?”
I huff out a breath. “To talk. To thank him for trying. I don’t know. It’s stupid. But I stormed out of the meeting after the vote, and he tried to stop me. I essentially told him to fuck off. I want to make nice before he leaves.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Maybe not. But it's all so stupidly complicated.”
“What does it mean for the hospital?”
“I don’t know,” I say again, and this time it’s the truth in every direction.
"Can you be a resident at a concierge hospital? I don't even really know what that means."
“Even though I knew this was a possibility, I haven’t let myself think about what it means for my residency, or anything, really. To answer your question, I honestly don't know. I guess I have three months to figure that out.”
My phone vibrates in my ear.
I pull the phone down to see it's my dad calling in on the other line.
“Shit. My dad’s calling in. I need to grab it.”
“Call me after you talk to Cole. Promise.”
“Promise.”
I click to end the call and answer.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Sammy. I’m glad you answered.”
His voice is calm, but I know him well enough to know that this isn't a social call.
I push off the door, start pacing. “Everything okay?”
“I wanted to talk to you before I left town.”
“Okay… ”
A pause.
“I know you’ve been seeing Cole Houston.”
I stop mid-step. “Excuse me?”
“Sam, I'm not trying to get into your personal business. But when it crosses into my sphere and threatens to hurt you, I feel like it's my place to warn you.”
I blink. “You want to maybe explain what the hell you mean by seeing?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m saying whatever's going on could reflect poorly on you and him. It’s not a good look, Sam. Not to mention, it could jeopardize your future as a surgeon.”
I shake my head. “Dad, I've got it handled. I know you care deeply about how things look. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“I’ve always cared about you, not how things look. You’re a resident at a hospital where he’s a board member. That’s not a casual line to cross.”
"Well, good news. Good Samaritan is no more, so no more conflict."
"Sam, please trust me. He isn't a good idea."
I cross my arms, pulse thudding. “Where’d you hear this, Dad?”
Another pause.
“From him.”
My chest goes tight.
“Cole told you?”
“Yes.”
I laugh, but nothing about this is funny. “That’s rich. He tanked the vote and decided to take me down with him on the way out?”
“Sam—”
“No. He should have been discreet. There's no reason... Nevermind. I got the message, thanks. Anything else? Because I have to go.”
"Sam, you're overreacting."
My voice is rising, and I don’t care. I walk back to the counter and grip the edge, and my knuckles go white.
“I’m not asking for your blessing, Dad. But if this ruins me, then it's on me.”
His tone shifts. “I’m not trying to shame you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“You’re too late.”
I hang up.
I don’t care if it’s dramatic.
I grab the glass of wine, down the entire thing in one gulp.
Of all the things Cole could’ve kept to himself, he told my father we were sleeping together. He didn’t protect me. Not with the vote. Not with my father. Not even with a lie.
The knock jolts me out of my embarrassment spiral. Then the door opens slowly.
I exhale and cross to the door, bracing myself.
To my surprise, it’s not Cole.
Kip, in light blue scrubs and sunglasses, pops his head around the slightly open door. When he sees me, he steps inside with two giant iced coffees, one in each hand.
His brows go up. “Hey, you. I brought some coffee.”
I blink and walk toward him, opening the door. “I thought your shift didn't end until seven?”
“I'm on break for an hour, and I wanted to check on you.”
I stare at him for a second too long, then step back to invite him into the kitchen.
“Grimaldi said she sent you home,” he says as he walks past me, peeling off his sunglasses and throwing them on the counter .
"Yeah, I think she was worried I might lose my shit on a patient, or something. Even though she voted for the restructuring, she must realize this is less about politics for me. I guess she does have a heart."
“She told me to give you space, but you know I don't follow directions well. I can't stay long, but I knew you could probably use a hug.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he says, walking straight to me and wrapping me in an embrace.
"I promise I'm okay. But thanks for stopping by and checking on me."
He pulls out a stool at the counter and sits. “Coffee or wine?”
"Both. I need to double fist today." He eyes my empty wine glass.
I lean against the island with one hand, bracing myself while I take a giant gulp of the coffee. It's a surprisingly good mix of flavors with the wine still on my tongue.
"Have you recovered at all? You're going to be okay."
I glance at him. “I thought I had, or at least I was getting there. And then my dad called. He knows about Cole and me.”
Kip’s head jerks back. “He knows you and Cole...?”
His brows lift, and he does that slow side-to-side head tilt, first one way, then the other—silent but very much spelling out that kind of “you and Cole.”
“He asked if I was seeing him. I didn’t even have time to deny it before he told me Cole already confirmed it.”
Kip whistles. “Damn. I didn't peg Cole as a kiss-and-tell kind of guy. To your dad, no less.”
“Yeah, I know. So now my dad thinks I'm a slut, banging the board member to sway his vote. That's not an entirely wrong assessment, but still, who wants their father to know who they're fucking, no matter the reason or circumstance? God, I want to die.”
He takes a long sip of his drink. “Speaking of kissing and telling, I ran into Cole on the way out of the boardroom today after you left.”
I’m still. "Did you talk to him?"
“Yeah. We couldn't avoid each other. He was coming back after following you out, and I realized they were about to talk business, so I needed to go. I asked him what his little charade in there was about.”
I don’t say anything at first. I know Kip is trying to be a supportive friend.
“You know it wouldn’t have changed the outcome even if he’d voted no.”
Kip sets his cup down. “Yeah, but doesn’t that make the speech feel a little hollow after he voted to restructure?”
“As much as I hate him right now, I don’t think it was. He told me the other night he didn’t think he could stop it, and how he thought he would vote. But at least he did try.”
Kip raises an eyebrow.
“I think he meant it. About the wing, about trying to find a way to keep it. But once he saw no one was budging, he voted the way he had planned before I got in his ear.”
Kip watches me, thoughtful. “You’re giving him a lot of credit.”
“He doesn’t owe me anything. But I still put a lot of pressure on him to fix it, to make it better. I realize now that wasn’t fair.”
Kip leans back. “You’re more mature than I am.”
“Not really.” I play with the condensation on the cup, drawing lines in the water droplets, watching them disappear.
"This is what I appreciate about you. You're able to see all sides. "
“Not always. I’ve been so focused on the vote itself, I didn’t think about what comes after.”
“You mean what this means for us?”
“Do you know? What happens to our spots?”
Kip hesitates. “My understanding is that the residency program gets cut. We'll have to transfer.”
The air leaves my lungs. “Transfer.”
“Yeah. They’re saying the hospital won’t technically close. But it won’t be what it is now, a traditional hospital.”
The words make my stomach twist. I push back from the counter, needing space. I pace to the window, stare out at nothing.
I always wondered what it'd be like to be at another hospital, who I’d be if I weren’t Samuel and Evelyn Taylor’s daughter. I wondered what it'd feel like if every attending didn’t know my last name.
And now, the one thing I thought might give me room to breathe is sucking all of the oxygen out of my future.
“I thought I wanted that. A chance to start fresh, somewhere I could be my own doctor. Not just the girl who came back home.”
Kip’s quiet.
“But now it’s real. And it’s not what I want. The idea that the memorial for my mom will no longer exist guts me.”
I blink hard, but it’s too late. My eyes burn, and my throat closes up.
Kip crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around me, but doesn’t say a thing. He just holds on.
And I let him.
For a minute, I don’t have to pretend I’m fine.