31. Marcella
thirty-one
Marcella
Two Weeks Later
The ping hits my phone midafternoon.
Carlos finally has something.
I should feel relief.
All I feel is dread.
I’m at my desk, with a half-drained coffee and three legal pads fanned out with notes from a deposition prep I’m supposed to be working on for a different case. I haven’t touched them.
My inbox is a dumpster fire. My phone’s at nine percent. My shoulders ache from being hunched over for hours.
None of this matters if Carlos has something useful. Carlos Soladat: Got something. You’re not gonna like it.
I click the attachment without hesitation. It’s a brief report, maybe two pages. Nothing formal, the type of summary we usually trade back and forth when a case is too hot for paper trails.
Except this isn’t a case. Not officially.
There are five names. All women who work or worked at the hospital. All with a brief note next to them:
Willing to provide testimony
Coerced to the stairwell
Willing to provide testimony
Used her and threw her in the trash
Says it was consensual, uncomfortable to work with him
I recoil for a beat, instinctively queasy at how it reads. The woman in me—who’s lived in his arms and seen his heart up close—knows better. Seamus isn’t a predator. He’s a man who never learned the power he had until it was too late.
Does it matter to me though? I love this man.
It does, goddammit.
Even though he’s asked me if it bothered me before and I honestly assured him it didn’t, I finally comprehend, suddenly and stupidly, there are more of these women than I can probably count.
I hate realizing how many actually came before me. How many came because of him—from the same capable hands, the same talented mouth, the same practiced skill he uses to make me unravel.
I stare at the screen for a full minute, willing the words to change. They don’t. So I proceed to the next step. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for the phone and call my colleague, Lucy Dresden.
“Yes?” she answers, clipped and breezy like always.
I suck in a breath. “Hey. It’s Marcella. You got ten? I need your brain.”
“For you? Always. Shoot.” Lucy is always willing to help. It’s one of the things I love about her.
“Hypothetically,” I say, even though we both know it’s not.
“Say a surgical resident had consensual sexual encounters with multiple staff members during his early years in the program. Nothing violent. No coercion. Initiated by the women because he got himself a reputation for, um…his technique. Last year, he provided testimony against his mentor, the head of his program. In retaliation, the man is gathering statements from some of these women, likely with the intent to file harassment claims and tank the guy’s career. ”
Silence.
Then a low exhale. “Jesus.”
“I need to know how screwed he is.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Badly.” Lucy whistles through her teeth.
“Even if he’s innocent, the optics are abysmal.
Resident status alone skews the power dynamic.
You’re talking about someone in a position of medical authority over nurses or techs he’s hooking up with.
Even if they initiated, it can be reframed. It will be.”
“So, what? They paint him as a predator?” This is my worst fear come true.
“Well…not necessarily. They won’t have to.
All it takes is one TikTok. One complaint to HR.
One whisper campaign,” she advises. “The big problem is the institution. A hospital’s at risk for allowing this behavior.
To keep their insurance and good standing, they’ll pull him from the program so fast his badge will still be swinging on the lanyard. ”
Pressure coils in my chest. “Even if it was all consensual?”
“Consent isn’t a shield in this context.
It helps. It probably doesn’t eliminate institutional liability.
The hospital won’t care whether he meant harm.
They care whether they can be sued for fostering a hostile work environment.
” Lucy takes a second before continuing.
“If his mentor is trying to retaliate, or get rid of him, this could be his pretext. It won’t fall on him if he destroys one of his student’s careers. ”
I pace the office. “What if we can prove it was initiated by the women? Some of the women had partners at the time and still came on to him.”
“Won’t matter. They’ll spin it as emotional manipulation.” Lucy’s in full lawyer mode now, laying out everything I need to hear. “The moment someone says they felt uncomfortable or pressured, even retroactively, the narrative shifts. Your guy? He’ll look like a liability, not a rising star.”
I lean against the edge of my desk. “So what’s the play?”
“He needs to settle it. Quietly. Directly. With Caldwell.” She stops for a second, then adds, “Hire crisis PR to sort out what to do with these women. He may need to preemptively settle with them too.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Ugh. I was afraid this was the direction.”
“Damage control now, or reputation annihilation later. For what it’s worth?
Even if he survives this, if he doesn’t get ahead of it now, it could follow him into private practice.
One patient Googles his name and sees something, even half-baked?
It’ll be game over.” She confirms everything I dreaded.
We hang up and my whole body feels ice cold. This is isn’t about saving his residency anymore. This is about his future as a man. His entire damn life.
Our life, if we survive. Once he knows the gravity of what he’s facing, I wouldn’t blame him if he broke things off.
I’m the one who put him here.
I sit for a long time, staring at nothing.
How do I tell him?
Dr. Madison loved his proposal. He has a lifeline because she was impressed and excited to participate. On the other hand, she made it clear—if he wants to pursue this focus on the neuroscience of female sexual response, he needs a clean slate. A solid platform to stand on.
He doesn’t have one right now. Not even close.
It’s time to face this head-on. The mental toll this is taking has gone on too long.
For months I’m bearing witness to him barely holding it together. It breaks my heart when he insists everything’s fine and yet he continues to unravel. Always trying to protect me from the fallout while the ground shifts beneath his feet.
I don’t deserve it.
Caldwell’s not ignoring him out of pettiness—he’s expertly playing the long game to get rid of him while Seamus tries to keep hope alive.
My calendar dings.
A canceled deposition clears the rest of my day.
Good.
I’m done sitting on the sidelines. He’s working a split shift today, which means he’s probably napping at home. I’m going to him now. To fight. To fix. To love.
Whatever it takes to get him out of this—I’ll focus all of my legal skills to give him the best chance.
Fifteen minutes later, I step through the door of my condo, I know he’s here. There’s music playing softly, it’s coming from the kitchen. The air smells of something slightly burnt. Probably toast.
I round the corner and there he is, barefoot in his scrub pants, standing at the stove with an empty plate, a book open beside him and a mug of coffee on the counter.
He turns when he hears me. “Hey.”
I cross to him, wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in the crook of his neck.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He stiffens for a half second before melting into my hold. “I didn’t think I’d see you before I went back to the hospital.”
“ Seamus .” I squeeze him as tightly as I can.
We hug for a long beat. His hands stroke over my back, slow and soothing. “Is everything okay?”
“No. We have a problem.” There’s no sugar coating this conversation. I owe him complete honesty.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “What’s going on?”
I hesitate. This is hard. The hardest thing I could ever imagine.
He notices.
“Marcella,” he says quietly. “Tell me.”
So I do.
The report from Carlos. The call with Lucy.
The fact five women have seemingly agreed to speak out against him and even if they initiated, he’s the one with the most to lose.
Caldwell doesn’t need to file charges or start a legal process.
All he needs to do is whisper the right thing to the right people, and the hospital will gut Seamus’s future to avoid liability.
I watch the color drain from his face.
He untangles himself from me and sinks into a chair. “Holy fuck.”
“We can get ahead of this.” I kneel in front of him and take his hands in mine. “You needed to know what’s coming.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “They’ll believe it. Because it looks bad. Because I was stupid. Because I didn’t think about perception. I thought if it was mutual, it couldn’t hurt anyone.”
“You didn’t hurt anyone,” I say fiercely. “You do need to protect yourself. Face Caldwell. Make peace, if you can. Or at least make a move before he strikes.”
His eyes find mine. “Marcella, are you going to leave me over this?”
“No,” I whisper. “Never.”
He tilts his head. “Do you think I brought it on myself?”
I hesitate. Then nod. “With the women? We both know you were na?ve to your power. You may not have asked for it. You also got something out of it so you didn’t stop it right away, either.
You’ll have to own your part in this if you want to be a man who earns his second chance.
You’ll have to be willing to face and fix the damage. ”
He starts to speak but I hold my hand up.
“I want to say one more thing. I don’t think I’ve ever taken full accountability for putting you in this position.
I pushed you into testifying. I made it about the greater good, about justice without stopping to think about what it would cost you personally.
I told myself you were strong enough to handle it, and maybe you are—at the same time, it wasn’t right to force my doggedness on you. ”
His eyes stay locked on mine, searching.
“I’m sorry, Seamus.” I squeeze his hand. “I wish I’d protected you better. Not handed you over to a wolf. I may not have meant to use you—doesn’t mean I didn’t. I hate myself for it. If anyone’s going to leave this relationship, it should be you.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.
Instead, he brings my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist, soft and steady. Like he’s grounding us both.
“No.” The conviction in his voice makes my breath catch. “Marcella. I know who you are. You’re brilliant. Ruthless. Maybe you didn’t stop to think through the fallout. I didn’t either. I said yes to helping. Eyes open.”
Tears prick behind my eyes.
“I know what kind of man I want to be,” he continues. “I want to earn back what’s mine—my career, my integrity—not by pretending I didn’t fuck up. Not by pretending this—us—is some casualty of war.”
I press my lips together, trying to keep from falling apart.
“Our love,” his hand presses over my heart, “is worth every bit of what we’re going through. Even if it’s messy. Even if I have to fight tooth and nail to keep it.”
He exhales, like he’s releasing a truth—or fear—he’s long held.
“Caldwell or not, my past would’ve caught up eventually.
I’m not stupid—I have three rockstar brothers who’ve been caught up in scandals before.
I should’ve known one angry nurse, one rejected orderly—it could’ve all gone sideways.
I was arrogant, not na?ve. I told myself it was harmless; it was always weird. That’s on me.”
“As for going against Caldwell, I’d still do it all again for Miranda.” He cups my cheek and I lean into it instinctively. “It’s time to live clean. Real. I want to fix what I broke. I want to be the man who loves you without hiding.”
I can’t speak. I just nod as tears spill down my cheeks.
I believe him. I love him. I want the same thing.
Odds are not in our favor, though.
I might lose the only man I’ll ever love.