Chapter 3
Brant
My alarm blares at four a.m. sharp. I sit up, already awake, and move through the dark, slipping into my walk-in closet and reaching for my running gear—compression tights, lightweight shirt, and my favorite shoes. Everything’s already laid out. Routine keeps me sane.
I slip in my earbuds and hit play on a new pediatric neurology podcast just as the front door clicks shut behind me. The cool stillness of early spring wraps around me as I head out into the quiet morning. Ten miles before sunrise, that’s the goal.
As I run, I mentally scroll through today’s checklist. I need to finalize a few patient summaries, prep the teaching materials, and touch base with Dr. Mason Gould before handoff. The new resident is starting today, which means I’ll need to slow things down, explain more. Set the tone.
I make it back just as the horizon starts to glow. After a quick shower, I eat standing up—eggs, coffee, Greek yogurt, and berries between skimming my morning medical journal.
I pull on my navy-blue suit and knot my tie with practiced ease. Black briefcase in hand, I head out, parking in the staff lot.
Inside the hospital, the hallway is dimly lit with overhead fluorescents softened to a low glow. The walls feel sleepy, as if the building itself hasn’t fully woken up yet.
“You’re in early, Dr. Harrison,” Dr. Hayes says as we pass each other on my way to the pediatric wing.
“Yeah,” I reply, adjusting the briefcase in my hand. “New resident starts today. Figured I’d get a head start.”
“Any idea who it is?”
I shake my head. “No clue. I’m sure they picked someone perfect.” I keep my tone even, but there’s a flicker of skepticism. With the pediatric wing set to expand, and funding coming from a prominent local family, the Kings, everything's under scrutiny… including me.
In the break room, I stash my lunch and pop my creamer into the fridge, the container clearly labeled with HARRISON in thick marker. Small territory claims matter in places like the staff fridge.
After that, I head to the ward. That’s when I see Mason walking toward me, scrubs wrinkled, eyes tired. Night shift.
“I hear you’re taking on the resident,” he says, leaning casually against the edge of the nurses’ station, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
There’s something etched in his smirk that bothers me. We’ve known each other since med school, which means I can read him just as well as he can read me. And right now, he’s enjoying himself way too much.
I pause beside the counter, arching my eyebrow right back. “Is that so?”
He grins, pushing off the desk and stepping closer, the hum of monitors and distant beeps filling the hallway behind us. “Come on. We both know they’re trying to butter you up. Get you in line for chief.”
“I don’t think babysitting a resident is going to win me that title,” I reply evenly, crossing my arms across my chest. “I’d hope my record and dedication would speak for themselves.”
Mason crosses his arms to mirror me. “Well, I’m putting my name in too. I’m going to take on a few extra responsibilities; make sure they know I’m serious.”
I’m not surprised. Mason’s good, and we both know it. If he’s serious about this, then the promotion just became a lot less certain. I meet his stare without flinching. “Then I guess… may the best man win.”
He winks, and the corner of his mouth tilts smugly.
Irritation flares in my chest. This was supposed to be mine.
I’ve been working toward this for months, putting in the hours, building my reputation.
Now I have to fight for it? Against Mason?
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and turn back toward my chart.
“Any updates I should know about?” I ask, steering us back to what matters.
He nods. “Room six. Come with me.”
I follow, my shoulders tensing at the tone of his voice.
As we walk, he fills me in. Eight-year-old girl.
Sudden-onset absence seizures. No history, warning, or genetic history.
They’ve tried a couple of meds, but nothing’s helping.
My mind immediately starts flipping through all the possibilities.
Absence seizures with no response to standard treatment?
That’s not typical. We’re missing something.
When we reach the room, I go inside to meet the patient myself, to gather my own information on the situation before Mason clocks out.
Mason leaves, and I spend the next fifteen minutes at the girl’s bedside, then at the nurses’ station, reading through her files, searching for anything we may have overlooked.
Time slips by. It’s only when I hear my name echo through the hallway that I realize someone’s calling for me.
“Dr. Harrison?” It’s Dr. Thomas, the hospital director, his voice calm but clipped. He stands outside his office with one hand resting lightly on the doorframe, the other tucked into the pocket of his white coat. “Can you join me for a moment?”
“Of course,” I say, closing the file and slipping it away before heading down the hall.
As soon as I step inside his office, I freeze.
Dark hair. Blue eyes. A face I instantly recognize… The creamer girl.
My jaw tightens instinctively as I stop just inside the door. She’s leaning against the side of Dr. Thomas’s desk like she belongs there, one ankle crossed over the other, calm as anything.
She turns slowly, eyes locking onto mine with laser precision, and I swear there’s the slightest smirk on her lips. Like she’s already one step ahead of me.
“I’d like you to meet my daughter,” Dr. Thomas says, beaming as he walks to his desk. “Regan Thomas. Our new resident.”
No. No. No.
My stomach drops as the pieces lock together.
This is who I’m mentoring?
She doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze, arms loosely crossed like she knows exactly how much this is going to mess with my head.
I narrow my eyes. Game on.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice into something resembling polite. “Nice to meet you,” I say, though it comes out a little too flat. “Again.”
Dr. Thomas remains oblivious to the tension crackling between us. “I trust you two will work well together. Regan’s top of her class. Stubborn as hell, but bright. Reminds me of someone else.” His eyes flick to me with that all-too-knowing twinkle, and I grit my teeth behind a practiced smile.
Wonderful. Now I’m being compared to his daughter.
“I’ve assigned her to you for the next twelve months,” he continues, gesturing between us. “You’ll handle her rotations, give her teaching cases, and include her in all procedural briefings.”
“Twelve months,” I echo, the words sticking to the roof of my mouth.
“Twelve very educational months,” Regan adds, straightening. Her tone is almost innocent, but her expression says otherwise. “I’m sure I’ll learn so much from you.”
I don’t rise to the bait. Not yet.
“I run a tight schedule,” I tell her coolly. “You’ll need to be on time, know your charts, and above all else… listen.”
She nods. “Got it.”
Dr. Thomas beams. “Excellent. I’ll leave you two to get started. Regan, go ahead and get your badge and locker assignment. Harrison, I’ll catch you after your tour.”
Regan nods at her father before turning back to me with infuriating ease. “Lead the way, mentor.”
I exhale slowly through my nose, then turn and push open the office door. Her footsteps trail just behind mine as we step into the hallway. She walks beside me like she’s done it before… casual, confident, too comfortable.
“So, Dr. Harrison,” she says brightly, clearly enjoying herself. “Is this the part where you pretend not to hate me, or do we skip the formalities?”
I stop walking and turn to face her fully, the corridor loud with voices and the faint squeak of a gurney.
“You took my creamer, and now I have to train you for the next twelve months.”
She lifts her chin slightly, unfazed. “Right. But in my defense, I needed it.”
I stare at her.
She stares right back.
I inhale through clenched teeth and point down the hallway. “Lockers in the resident’s wing. Break rooms around the corner. Be on the ward in thirty.”
She gives me a smile, like this is all some kind of game.
And maybe it is.
But if she thinks she’s going to win… I’ve got news for her.
I head into the men’s locker room, needing a second to compose myself.
Mason saunters in like it’s his space, waving his phone in the air.
“Hot off the press,” he announces with a smug grin. “Looks like your protégé made headlines, Harrison.”
I frown. “Let me guess. Another conspiracy about budget cuts?”
“Oh no,” Mason says, opening his phone. “Much better. Listen to this…” He clears his throat dramatically.
Doctor’s Orders: A Thomas Family Affair?
Our new resident, Regan Thomas, is causing quite a stir, and not just with her clinical skills.
Is it just a coincidence that the daughter of Fraser Thomas landed here? Or did someone pull strings?
Some say she’s undercover for the hospital board. Others swear she’s secretly married to a senior staff member.
The most delicious theory? She’s got a handler. And not just any handler…
Dr. Brant Harrison himself.
Dr. Whisperer.
Mason finishes the article with a chuckle, shaking his head as he pockets his phone. “So, how long have you two been secretly married?”
I shoot him a look, already tired of this. “You’re kidding me.”
“You’ve gotta admit, it’s got a certain ring to it. Paging Dr. Daddy.” He grins.
I cross my arms and send him a glare. “You spend more time reading fake gossip than doing your rounds.”
“Hey, the people want answers.” Mason shrugs, totally unbothered. “And if I were the board, I’d definitely keep an eye on you two.”
I glance toward the hallway. “This place is insane.”
Mason leans in like he’s about to share a secret. “Just promise you’ll invite me to the wedding.”
“Sure,” Ethan, another doctor, says flatly, not even looking up from the chart in his hands. “You can be in charge of valet.”
I know Ethan’s just playing along with Mason’s joke, but it annoys me. This is exactly what I hate. Gossip, assumptions, everyone watching me.
Mason’s grin tightens, a little wounded. “See you, Doctor Daddy.” He spins on his heel and strolls off down the corridor to the exit, whistling a smug tune.
I exhale through my nose and murmur, “Think he knows who’s writing these?”
Ethan sighs, flipping the chart closed. “Not a chance.”