Chapter 8 – QUINN
QUINN
Two weeks later
“Hey, Yang, Dr. Reyes’s assistant asked me to have you come upstairs when you’re done with your surgery.”
I lift my head from the basin where I’m scrubbing out to take in the intern of my colleague. “You know people don’t call me that to my face. Only behind my back.”
He blanches. “I heard people say… that is, I thought—”
“You’ve been a doctor for all of ten minutes. You’re not supposed to think yet. You’re supposed to do as you're told and not kill people with misplaced arrogance. Tell my mother I’ll be right up.”
His ears turn red, but he smartly goes off to text her, which is really a fool’s errand since my mother already texted me, and I’m planning to head up after I’m finished scrubbing out and put in my post-op notes.
“You’re brutal,” Sarah Jane, my scrub nurse, says as she comes in beside me.
“Not my fault that he’s not smart enough to know that you should never call a superior by a nickname that’s meant to be an insult.”
“Fair. Do you want the usual for orders? I can put them in for you if you need to get upstairs.”
“Thanks. If you don’t mind, that would be great. Evidently, I’ve been summoned.”
“Oh yes. It’s draft day for you.”
Draft day is what we playfully call the day when we’re given a sports team to work with for the year. I’ve had baseball, soccer, and basketball. I’m praying for hockey, but as I get upstairs, I can tell by my mother’s expression this isn’t going to be what I want to hear.
“Oh, come on, Mom. Don’t do it.”
“Football.”
I almost cry. “You know I don’t want football. You’ve been hinting at it for months, and I always pushed back.”
My mother sits on the edge of her desk and fiddles with a pen in her hand. “Quinn, this doesn’t come from me. It comes directly from Limpdick.”
“You really need to stop calling Dr. Limbick that. I almost said it in the middle of surgery the other day.”
“I know. Bad habits and all that. I’ve been calling him Limpdick behind his back since I started here, but in fairness to me, I didn’t make it up, and I wasn’t the first. Regardless, it’s not my call.
I know you prefer hockey and basketball to football, but it’s part of your residency in this program. ”
“He’s retiring. Why does he care? And if you’re the new chief, then you can make the executive call.”
“That’s not how it works. When you signed your contract with us, you knew this was going to be part of it. Everyone gets something they don’t want at some point. I’m doing you a favor with this.”
I’m wholly unimpressed. “Explain that.”
“You’re a fourth year, and next year is your last in this program before you do a fellowship. If you want hockey, then you should do that as your fifth-year sports rotation.”
Ugh. I hate it when she makes sense.
“Besides, I like you working with your brothers and father.”
“I don’t. It’s unethical.”
She sets the pen down and shifts on her desk. “You’re not treating them unless one of them gets hurt, and then you can pass off any surgery to a colleague. I worked with the team for years, and no one ever said boo about it.”
I huff, not even caring if I sound like a petulant teenager. She’s my mother. It’s not the first time she’s heard this tone from me. “I don’t want football.”
“One season. It’s only one season, and I’ll put you on hockey next year.”
I glare at her as I point a stern finger. “One season. That’s it. I’m not doing others. I mean it. I know how you and Dad work.”
“Yay.” She claps her hands. “Your dad will be so happy. Training camp starts in like two hours, so you’ll need to head to the field.”
“You waited till the last possible second to throw this on me, didn’t you?”
She beams. “Yep. Draft day is so fun. And because I know you as well as I do since I birthed you, you’re the last to get your assignment. And it’s only for games and like two to three practices a week. Other than that, you’re here in the clinic and in the OR.”
“Better be,” I grumble. “Do I have to travel with the team?” Some of the teams required it.
“Technically, no, but some people do. Maybe you’ll learn to like football.”
“When it becomes hockey or basketball, maybe.” I wink and push out of the chair to leave her office so I can go to the stadium.
It will be nice to regularly see my older brother and my father. I already see Crew all the time, but he’ll love this even if he hates it when I’m around his teammates because they hit on me. The unmarried ones hit on everyone, but they especially do it with me to get a rise out of him.
I pull up my group chat with my friends and Crew.
Me: The pick is in, and I’ve officially been drafted as the Rebels’ new orthopedic surgeon.
Braelyn: I’m positive you’re excited about this. I can practically hear your joy from downstairs in the ER.
I snicker as I climb on the elevator to head to the garage.
Me: You know me so well.
Crew: Aw, come on. Aren’t you looking forward to all our quality family bonding?
Me: Because I don’t see you enough already? We shared a womb and share a friend group.
Crew: Be honest.
Me: Fine. Yes. I’m happy to see you and Mason play and hang out with Dad. The rest… meh.
Crew: It’ll be great. Mason will be excited. But stay the fuck away from my teammates.
I roll my eyes before I put my sunglasses over them to shield them from the relentless summer sun.
Me: But your teammates are so hot.
Crew: Careful, sis.
Skylar: I’m off tomorrow and can come and join you at training camp. I’ll bring snacks since my pregnant ass doesn’t know how to stop eating. It’ll be fun. Anything to get away from the hospital and the new interns, who I constantly have to stop from trying to kill my patients. *Shudders with fear*
Braelyn: You’re telling me. The ER is like a war zone with them. They don’t pay nurses enough for this.
Skylar: Truth!
Braelyn: Micha legit had to pull one into an empty room to yell at them because they ordered morphine for a patient with a morphine allergy.
Skylar: Yikes. That’s scary.
Me: I agree with all of that. I’m officially a fourth-year resident, and the new interns and medical students terrify me. Was I that green a doctor when I started?
Forest: Yet another reason why I avoid hospitals. But I’ll come tomorrow to training camp too.
Hayes: I’m in. I have a fashion week meeting in the morning, but I’ll come after that.
Roman: I’m not since I’m in Germany, missing my wife, but I’m back this weekend, so we’ll celebrate your new role with the team.
Braelyn: I miss you too, Chef. We can have everyone over and make pizza or something. Well, Roman will make pizza, and I’ll open wine since we each have our strengths in this marriage.
Me: Sounds like a plan.
The drive isn’t long, and I know it by heart, having done it more times than I can count.
I practically grew up at Rebels Stadium.
Even though football isn’t my passion sport, I still get a thrill whenever I park in the lot and flash my I’m so cool, I have a family pass badge.
This time, I’m flashing my work badge, to which Marcus, the door manager, gives me a look.
“Does this mean you’re with us all season?”
“It does.”
He’s energized. I’m lukewarm at best. “That’s fantastic. You know this is our year.”
I smile. He says that every year, and sometimes he’s been right, while others he hasn’t been.
“I believe you.”
“No, really. Having your dad move to GM and bringing in the new coach is going to shake things up. That last GM was a dud. He should have retired years ago.”
I snicker. “My dad would agree with you.”
He gives me a hug. “Glad to have you here, honey.”
“Good to see you, Marcus. Tell Mary I say hi.”
“Will do.”
I walk through the bowels of the building when my phone rings in my bag. I pull it out, expecting it to be my friends or even my dad, but it’s not.
I practically trip over my own feet as I come to a screeching halt when I see the name on my screen.
Russel.
Blood rushes up my face and through my ears as his name flashes across my screen with his picture right above it. I never removed him from my phone. Honestly, I didn’t think about it. He sent that breakup text, and that was it. I never replied. I never called him. What was there to say?
I wasn’t going to beg him to come back, and I sure as hell was going to ask to go with him.
It was the first and only time I stayed quiet, probably because I was at a literal loss for words.
I knew he’d never call me again, and I didn’t need to delete him to know I wasn’t ever going to reach out.
Not even for a drunk text where I told him that I hoped he shattered his wrist and had a shitty surgeon do the repair that left him with sixty screws and a lifetime of pain and immobility.
Considering he hasn’t called me in four years, it has to be a butt dial.
I don’t pick up. I’m not even tempted to.
In addition to being a royally shitty ex and seriously breaking my heart, his selfishness taught me important lessons like it’s essential to focus on yourself and your goals, but the people in your life who mean something to you are worth prioritizing as well.
He also made me very intentional with the types of men I give my actual time to, not just a random date or night.
Thus far, Rhett’s the first guy I’ve done that with.
Other than when it comes to my family, Russel set me on the path of football disinterest. I don’t want to hear his name. I don’t give a shit about his stats or how he’s doing.
The truth is, at this point, I hardly think about him, and I stopped missing what we had years ago.
I let the call die, assuming that’s it, except it’s not. Right after the call drops, a text comes in.
Russel: Hey. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call back. It’s important. In case you deleted my number, this is Russel.