Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Quinton
He walked directly toward me, his footsteps deliberate and measured on the worn linoleum floor, weaving past the reception desk and the sad plastic plant that had been there longer than any of us.
He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell his coffee breath, and held out the files without saying a word.
I stared at them, my brain struggling to process what was happening.
Then I looked at him, searching his face for some clue, some hint of what he expected me to do.
When I didn’t find the answer in his expression, I glanced back at the files, which seemed to grow heavier just hanging there in the air between us.
“Quinton,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Take these.”
I took them. The stack was heavy. Heavier than it had any right to be.
The files seemed to multiply in my hands as I adjusted my grip, the weight of them straining my wrists.
I could feel the sharp corners of manila folders digging into my forearms. How many patients does this clinic even have?
The question echoed in my mind as I stared down at what had to be at least fifty files, maybe more.
“You’re covering the clinic starting today,” Julien said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he were telling me the weather forecast. “I’m leaving in ten minutes.”
“Today?” I repeated, my voice rising slightly in disbelief. I looked up from the towering stack of files to meet his eyes. “You said next week. You specifically said next week when we talked, not even five minutes ago.”
“I changed my mind.” He shrugged, already turning away from me.
“You can’t just—” I started, but the words caught in my throat as he shot me a look that made it clear this conversation was over.
“Don’t burn down the clinic,” Julien continued, completely ignoring me. “Don’t kill anyone. Don’t let Fitz perform any unnecessary procedures. Don’t let Nathan diagnose anyone with a rare tropical disease. Don’t let Hayden retire out of spite.”
“Julien—”
“And don’t call me,” he added, his voice taking on an edge of desperation that I’d never heard before.
“For anything. I don’t care if the building is on fire.
I don’t care if there’s a plague sweeping through the waiting room.
I don’t care if the President of the United States walks in with a hangnail, or if a celebrity needs stitches, or if someone’s appendix bursts in the hallway. Do. Not. Call. Me.”
He paused, seemingly for breath, then continued with renewed intensity, “I mean it. Not a single phone call, text message, email, or carrier pigeon. I’m turning my phone off. I’m deleting your number. I’m going off the grid entirely.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Closed it when I saw the look in his eyes. Then opened it again, trying to formulate some kind of reasonable response. “Are you serious? You’re leaving me in charge of this entire circus for a whole week and I can’t even call you in an emergency?”
“Exactly.”
“But—”
“You’ll be fine,” Julien said, flashing a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Winnie has the complete schedule for the week, so check in with her first thing each morning. She’ll keep you on track and let you know about any last-minute changes or additions.
The files are all organized by urgency. I’ve got a color-coded system that makes everything pretty straightforward.
Red tabs are critical items that need immediate attention, like today or tomorrow at the latest. Yellow tabs are follow-ups for ongoing matters that require your response within the next few days.
Green tabs are routine stuff—things that can wait until the end of the week if you need to prioritize.
Everything’s labeled clearly, so you shouldn’t have any trouble figuring out what needs to be handled first. Any questions before I head out? ”
“Yes. Several. Starting with—”
“Good luck,” Julien said, and he turned and walked toward the exit. Just like that. No hesitation. No second thoughts. No goodbye as the door swung shut behind him with a decisive click.
I stood there, holding the files, staring at the closed door like it might suddenly reopen and Julien would reappear and say, Just kidding! I’m not actually abandoning you with zero notice!
He didn’t. I was alone. Well—not alone. I turned slowly to face my so-called best friends.
Fitz, Gabriel, Nathan, and Hayden were all standing there, staring at me with varying expressions of amusement, sympathy, and poorly concealed panic.
Vivian was biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “So,” I drawled. “What do I do now?”
The question hung in the air for exactly two seconds.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Fitz said, checking his watch with exaggerated concern. His eyes widened as if he had just remembered something catastrophic. “I just remembered. I have to pick up my daughter.”
“You don’t have a daughter,” I said flatly, not even bothering to look up from the patient files.
“I’m getting one. Adoption paperwork. Very time-sensitive.
” He was already sliding toward the door, his movements suspiciously smooth for someone who had just had a sudden revelation.
“The agency called this morning. Said if I don’t sign the forms by noon, they’re giving her to another family in Zimbabwe. Tragic, really.”
“Fitz—”
“I really should go too,” Gabriel said quickly, jumping onto the escape train before it left the station. “Cate’s making dinner. I promised I would be home early. You know how she gets when I’m late.”
“It’s not even 8 AM.”
“She’s making breakfast for dinner. Very important. Can’t miss it.” Gabriel was nodding earnestly now, like this was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. Megan requested them specifically. If I’m not there, she’ll be devastated. Absolutely devastated.”
“Gabriel—”
“I have an appointment,” Nathan blurted out, his voice slightly higher than normal.
I stared at him. Nathan, who never interrupted anyone. Nathan, who planned everything weeks in advance. Nathan, who was currently sweating.
“An appointment,” I repeated, my voice dripping with skepticism.
“Yes. A very important appointment. With a... specialist.” He was fidgeting with his phone now, refusing to make eye contact.
“What kind of specialist?”
“A reptile specialist. For Ester. She’s been looking... scaly.”
“She’s an iguana.”
“Exactly. Very concerning. Could be a skin condition. Or molting issues. The vet said it could be serious if left untreated.” Nathan was really committing to this now, nodding along with his own lies.
“Nathan—”
“I’m not feeling well,” Hayden announced suddenly, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like a Victorian lady about to faint.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“You’re not feeling well,” I said slowly, crossing my arms.
“No. I think I’m coming down with something.
Probably the flu. Or pneumonia. Maybe both.
Definitely contagious. You probably shouldn’t stand too close.
” He took a theatrical step backward, as if to protect me from his imaginary germs. “I should go home and rest. Doctor’s orders.
My doctor. Who I’m also going to see. Right now. ”
“You were fine thirty seconds ago.”
“It came on very suddenly. That’s how these things work, Quinton. One minute you’re fine; the next, you’re practically at death’s door.” He coughed weakly for effect. It was possibly the least convincing cough I’d ever heard.
“Hayden—”
“Right then,” Fitz said, already backing toward the door with the grace of a man who had been planning his exit strategy since the moment he walked in. “Best of luck, Quinton. You’ll do brilliantly. Probably. Well, maybe. We’ll see.”
“Fitz—”
“We believe in you,” Gabriel added, also edging toward the exit while avoiding eye contact. His jacket was already half on. “You’re incredibly capable. Competent. You’ve got all the skills necessary for this. Most of them, anyway.”
“Gabriel—”
“You’ve got this,” Nathan said, his hand already on the doorknob. There was genuine panic in his eyes now, like a trapped animal who’d just spotted an opening.
“Nathan—”
“Don’t die,” Hayden said helpfully, giving me a cheerful thumbs up.
And then they bolted. All four of them. At the exact same time.
Like they’d rehearsed it. Like they had planned this whole charade during some secret meeting I hadn’t been invited to.
The door swung open, then shut, then open again as they practically trampled each other trying to escape, a tangle of limbs and muttered apologies, and someone—I think it was Fitz—actually yelped.
And then they were gone. The door clicked shut. Silence.
I stood there, holding the patient files that suddenly felt much heavier, staring at the closed door. The door that had just swallowed my so-called support system.
They left me. They actually left me. My best friends—the people I trusted most in the world, the people who’d swore just last night that we were in this together—just abandoned me. Thrown me to the wolves. Fed me to the lions. Left me to face this nightmare alone.
And the worst part? I would have done exactly the same thing if I had thought of it first.
I turned slowly to look at Vivian, who was covering her mouth with one hand, her shoulders shaking. “Are you laughing?” I asked.
“No,” she said, her voice muffled.
“You’re absolutely laughing.”
“I’m not.” She broke off, dissolving into giggles. “Okay, I’m laughing. I’m sorry. It’s just. The look on your face.”
“I’ve been abandoned.”
“You have.”
“By everyone.”
“Yep.”
“I’m going to die here.”
“Probably.”
I looked down at the files in my hands. Red tabs. Yellow tabs. Green tabs. Critical. Follow-ups. Routine. I didn’t even know where to start. “This is fine,” I said.
“It’s not fine.”
“Everything is fine.”
“Quinton—”
“I’m a doctor. I can handle this. I’ve handled worse. I’ve handled—” The door burst open. I looked up, hope surging. They came back! They realized they were being terrible friends, and they came back.