16. Seamus
sixteen
Seamus
Three Weeks Later
Three weeks since dinner.
Three weeks replaying every word we said. Every word we didn’t.
I dumped more honesty than I’ve ever let anyone know.
She offered truths buried deep enough to permanently scar—and eviscerated me in the process.
We haven’t spoken since.
Aside from a handful of emails about the case, of course. Certainly not about our confessions. Or what it all means.
Which is a problem. A huge, gut-twisting, life-altering problem.
Whatever’s brewing between us—it’s not small. It’s not casual. It’s a goddamn tectonic shift. I’m not going to let it pass me by.
I’m also not ready for it.
Clearly, given the lawsuit, the timing couldn’t be worse. Plus, my most brutal years of residency are ahead of me and once I’m through school, I’ll be building my practice from the ground up. If I work my ass off, maybe I’ll be half as successful as Marcella by the time I’m pushing forty.
For now, I’ve been arriving in the lab before dawn and I’m the last to leave at night.
Making up for the weeks lost to the lawsuit.
I’m grateful for the distraction—the routine.
The past seven months have been a whirlwind.
Finding out my mentor was a snake. Signing the settlement.
Wondering if my career will suffer. Marcella —there’s too much noise in my head.
I’m trying to quiet it by keeping busy.
It’s the only thing I know how to do. Throw myself into work like my life depends on it.
In some ways, it does.
Until this nightmare is over with Caldwell, my entire life is in limbo. The last I heard, his lawyer was making scheduling impossible. I could ask Marcella for an update. I want to. I’m trying to respect the boundaries I set the night we had dinner.
For now, the less I know the better. If the case goes to trial, I’ll likely be the star witness.
Grabbing my coat from the closet, I flex my shoulders and decide I need caffeine if I’m going to make it through the afternoon.
Lab-coffee sludge won’t do, I need the good stuff.
There’s a cafe across the street from the hospital with the strongest espresso I’ve ever had.
I plan to inject it straight into my bloodstream and take some with me for later.
On my way back, with both coffees in hand, I nod to a few colleagues, trying to force my mind to focus. Hoping for an update from Marcella, I decide to swing by the lounge to check my emails before I head to the lab.
Then, I see him.
Caldwell .
Coming straight for me.
I barely register what’s happening before he’s storming across the corridor, face flushed red with anger. Murderous. Livid, beyond anything I’ve ever seen.
“ McGloughlin ,” he thunders. “My office. Now .”
A few staff glance our way. Sensing a scene in the making, I nod once and follow him down the hallway.
Pressure builds though I keep my stride steady.
I knew this was coming. I didn’t know when. Or how.
Here we fucking go.
Caldwell shoves the office door open so hard it bangs against the wall. He doesn’t bother closing it behind us—he wants people to hear this.
Wants them to know I’m being dragged in like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the fucking cookie jar.
I hold my ground as he rounds the desk, fists clenched at his sides.
“You ungrateful little asshole,” he spits. “After everything I’ve done for you.”
I don’t say a word. Cross my arms and wait.
“I was in mediation all day yesterday.” He narrows his eyes. “Do you know what I learned?”
Yes. Yes, I do.
My lips stay sealed.
“You’re working with her .” He sneers the word like it’s poison in his mouth. “The fat, desperate ambulance chaser?”
Something inside me snaps at the crass way he speaks of Marcella. I try like hell not to let it show.
Caldwell keeps going, pacing behind his desk. “ You —of all people—siding with her. Letting her spin her bullshit case while I’m fighting for my reputation. For the program. For this hospital .” His eyes flash with something cold. “You’ve sold your fucking soul.”
“No, I signed a settlement and release to avoid culpability. I’m out of the case.” I lean against the wall by the door.
Caldwell’s laugh is jagged, feral. “You arrogant little fuck . That fat bitch has been sharpening her knives for months and you’ve dropped your pants and let her castrate us both. You pissed on your own future for a woman who’d slit your throat in a heartbeat.”
“I’m doing what’s best for Miranda.” I calmly look at my phone. “Are we done? I need to get back to the lab.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Why bother. You still think you’ll be a neurosurgeon? Have a future in this field? You may have avoided a lawsuit where insurance would have saved us both. Instead, you fucked yourself out of a career, McGloughlin.”
A wave of nausea flickers in my gut—he’s confirmed my biggest fear. I know how the system works. I know how whispers can ruin careers before they even begin.
I also know the truth.
I saw it with my own eyes.
“Do you know what’s funny?” I manage to stay calm. “I thought you had my back and would have had yours until the end. I trusted you implicitly and thought you gave a damn about not only my career, but me as a person.”
“I did— do ,” Caldwell snarls.
“No.” I tilt my head. “You only care about yourself. About saving face. About throwing people under the bus when it suits you.” I step forward, close enough he has to tilt his chin to meet my gaze.
“You disappoint me on such a deep level it’s astounding.
Miranda Black’s life is over because you didn’t listen to me and then you tried to throw me under the bus leaving me no choice but to try and save myself.
You’re the one who’s going to tank your legacy if you don’t pull your head out of your sanctimonious, egotistical ass. ”
Caldwell stares at me confounded, his hands clenching at his sides. For a second, I think he’s going to hit me. Instead, he turns on his heel and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Only then am I able to let out a breath I’ve been holding.
Holy shit. Threats aside, it’s almost over.
Once Marcella settles and Miranda’s parents are compensated, this nightmare will be behind me.
My heart’s pounding. Shockingly, I don’t feel rattled—I feel fucking alive. Furious, but clear. Like something’s snapped into place.
Caldwell showed me exactly who he is.
There’s no more doubt now. No more misplaced loyalty. The man I once admired and helped shape me into the surgeon I’m becoming—he’s gone. Or maybe he was never real. I likely saw what I wanted to see.
On my way back to the lab, I walk with purpose, ducking my head as I pass a group of interns huddled around the nurses’ station.
My body is running hot, buzzing with adrenaline and residual anger.
My mind’s already shifting. I’ve got a full protocol to run tonight and I’d rather be elbows-deep in analytics than replaying Caldwell’s bullshit on loop in my head.
I’m halfway there when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I almost ignore it until I glance down and see the name.
Marcella .
My pulse jumps for a completely different reason.
I swipe to answer. “Hey.”
“I hope this isn’t a bad time.” Her throaty voice feels like a warm blanket.
Never .
Ducking into one of the unoccupied procedure rooms—dim, quiet, sterile, I lean against the counter and take a deep breath. “It’s a perfect time. I wrapped up a hellish confrontation with Caldwell. What’s going on?”
She’s silent for a moment. Then, carefully, “Did he threaten your residency?”
“Yeah. I got the message loud and clear.” I pick at a piece of tape stuck to the counter. I’m not going to ever tell her what he said about her. I feel guilty for not coming to her defense.
“I’m sorry.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “It’s fine. I figured some sort of confrontation was coming.”
Another pause. This one is heavier. Tighter.
She clears her throat, shifting gears. “Well…the reason I’m calling is Caldwell’s attorney wants me to jump through a few more hoops.”
“Yeah?” I freeze, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She continues, “He wants to depose you, Kendrick Lyon, and the two nurses on duty before making any final decisions on the settlement.”
I fist my hand in my pocket. “Why?”
“You were in the room,” she explains. “The only people who can speak to what actually happened in the OR, moment by moment.”
I pinch my nose. “So this is their way of figuring out if we’re a threat.”
“Exactly. They’re gauging risk,” she confirms. “Trying to decide if you’re credible, whether you could hurt them if we go to trial.
If you’re too much of a liability—if you back up what we’ve already gathered—then they’ll have no choice but to settle big.
If you come across unsure, or leave any room for doubt, they’ll seize on it. ”
“Shit. They’ll lowball the Blacks. Or drag them through court.” I shake my head at the audacity.
Marcella sounds tired. “Yes. It could mean years of litigation, expert witnesses, more trauma, and less payout at the end. Not what we want. Not what they deserve.”
The silence—dense, suffocating, loaded—between us is full of implications neither of us wants to say out loud. I shift my weight and glance out the window without really looking.
“What do you need me to do?” I’ll do anything to spare the Blacks from facing Caldwell.
“Be yourself,” she says, almost too quickly. “I need you to be as clear and factual as you were with me a few weeks ago. You don’t need to dramatize anything. You need to be honest. Direct.”
“Okay.” I don’t hesitate.
She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice softens. “Thank you, Seamus. I’m fighting so hard to keep you out of the crosshairs. This is still high-stakes. I need you to be ready.”
“I am. I want this over. Tell me when you need me.” I nod, even though she can’t see me.
“It’ll probably be within the next few days.”
“The sooner the better.” I practically beg. I want this over.
A beat of hesitation. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve been carrying this around long enough.” I slap the counter. “Let’s finish it.”
“Okay. I’ll text you some options as soon as I know them.” There’s another pause.
She’s ready to hang up, I can feel it. Back to business. Keeping things on script.
Hell, I’m not done. I can’t resist.
“ Marcella .”
A beat. “Yes?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I admit.
Silence.
I lean against the counter, my pulse kicking up. “I know I’m not supposed to say this to you. I know we’re supposed to keep this professional. The thing is, I haven’t been able to stop—imagining.”
“Seamus…don’t.” She sighs softly—frustrated, conflicted.
“You don’t feel it?”
“Not the point.” She’s firmer now. “This case is important. You’re a witness.”
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “Right.”
“I need to get back to work.” She dismisses me. “I’ll follow up when I have a date from opposing counsel.”
She’s about to end the call.
“ Wait .”
Another beat.
I let the words come out before I can talk myself out of it. “Do you think about me?”
The silence on the line expands, taut.
Then, barely audible—
“ Yes .”
One word slices through me.
“ Marcella …”
The line dies in my ear.
I stay there, phone to my chest, breath stuck somewhere between wanting and regret.
This is what it feels like to almost have a chance…
And lose it.