Chapter 10
Regan
The next day, I tuck my hands into the pockets of my scrubs, pulse picking up, not from nerves, but from anticipation.
The hallway a few steps away brings the best kind of surprise.
Scarlet.
She stands just outside the pediatric wing, chatting quietly with one of the nurses. Her hair’s tied back today, sleek and neat, and she’s wearing a green cardigan over a white blouse. Dusty’s at her side, holding on to her leg like a shy shadow.
The moment she spots me, her face lights up.
“There you are,” she says. “I’m so happy to see you.”
My smile stretches wider. “You too. And I get to see you both during the checkup. Double win.”
She chuckles, shifting her purse from one arm to the other so she can hold Dusty’s hand. “You’ll get to see my professional side. Try not to be too impressed.”
“Impossible,” I murmur.
She ignores that, mostly. “How’s it going anyway?”
“I’m enjoying myself,” I say, adjusting my ID badge as I fall into step beside her. “There’ve been a few typical cases, some that make your heart hurt more than you’d like, but I love this. Always have. And I can see the difference we’re making.”
I hesitate for a beat before adding, “I understand if you don’t want me in for Dusty’s case. If it’s a conflict of interest or makes you feel uncomfortable, just say the word.”
Scarlet stops walking and grabs my arm gently, her expression serious. “No. Please. I want you in there. You’re my best friend, and I honestly feel lucky to have you here in real life as a support instead of our usual on the phone chats. Dusty too, right?”
Dusty peeks out from behind her leg, eyes wide, and gives a shy shake of his head, confirming he doesn’t mind.
I offer him a wink. “Alright then. Just wanted to make sure.”
Scarlet smiles, lowering her hand from Dusty’s back. “I’ll let you know how I go during the checkup. But having you here? It feels like extra support while Greer is working.”
We fall back into step, making our way through the winding hallway toward Dr. Harrison’s office. I haven’t seen him yet today, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dreading it a little.
Yesterday was rough. I left that conversation with a bitter taste in my mouth, and my dad blaming me for something I didn’t even do only added salt to the wound.
It hurt like hell. But I bit my tongue, cooled down, and told myself: eleven more months and a few weeks, and I’ll be out of here.
I can endure it. I haven’t spoken to Dad because I’m avoiding him.
I don’t want another heated conversation.
“Okay,” I say, halting just before the door. “Wait here for a sec. I’ll go in first.”
Scarlet and Dusty nod, heading toward the waiting room chairs. Taking a deep breath, I straighten my posture and knock before pushing open the door to his office.
My skin prickles beneath my scrubs. “Morning,” I say.
Dr. Harrison is sitting at his desk, wearing a dark gray suit, with a pale gray and pink tie against a white shirt. He looks impeccable, like he always does, but there’s a weariness around his eyes that wasn’t there yesterday.
“Good morning.”
“Try to keep your shirt clean today,” I say before I can stop myself.
He glances down at himself, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. Because his words don’t match his expression. “Was that a compliment or a warning?”
“Bit of both.”
He rubs a hand down his chest like he’s trying to hide something. I pretend I don’t notice.
“I’ve got Scarlet and Dusty out there. Do you want me to bring them in? Or should we go over the case first?”
He tilts his head thoughtfully, then gestures toward the chair in front of his desk. “Let’s go over it first. I’d like you to be familiar before they come in. That okay?”
“Of course.”
Like he’s surprised I didn’t argue, he watches me for a moment. Then he passes me the patient file. “Take a minute to read through this. While you do, start jotting down any questions that come up.”
He holds out the file, and I grab it from him, brushing his fingers with mine, he quickly pulls away, like I hurt him. But I ignore it, my eyes scan the notes and charts.
“How long have you known Scarlet and Dusty?” he asks, shifting in his chair.
“Scarlet’s been my friend since school. We’ve kept in touch ever since.”
“So this is personal,” he says as he leans back slightly. “It’s good you’re here, but I want you to stay professional. That’s key.”
I glance up, knowing I can do that proudly. “Of course.”
He nods. “Since being on this case, I’ve grown close with the family. They’ve done a lot for the hospital. But when they’re in here, I remind myself they’re patients first. I need you to do the same.”
“Understood.”
He points to the seat beside his. “When we bring them in, sit here. You can take notes and ask questions, but wait until I’m finished, alright? I like to get through my part first, keep things efficient. There’ll be time for yours.”
Resisting the urge to smirk, I nod again. The other version of him might’ve snapped at me by now, but today? He’s calm, professional, and almost… friendly.
“You’ll be following all in office cases.” He continues, “I’ve just held off emergencies for now so you can find your footing. We’ll build up to those.”
This doesn’t feel like a lecture. It feels like he’s letting me in… just a little. Maybe my anger yesterday knocked something loose in him. Maybe this won’t last. But for now? It feels good to be seen as something other than a burden.
I settle deeper into my chair, pen in hand, and begin reading.
Across the desk, I catch him glancing over, not at the file, but at me. Checking to see if I’m actually doing the work. I smile to myself.
“All right, I’m done.” I close the file and slide it across the desk toward Dr. Harrison.
He nods, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Okay, good.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten like this isn't just about checking off tasks. Like maybe he’s starting to see me as more than a resident with training wheels. My heart flutters in an annoying, inconvenient way I don’t have time for. I ignore it and push to my feet.
As I step out of the office, I tell myself to focus.
I call out, “Scarlet, Dusty? You’re up.”
They rise from the waiting chairs and head toward me, Dusty’s small hand curled around his mom’s. I turn to follow them into the office, and then I freeze.
Dr. Harrison is kneeling in front of Dusty.
In his pristine, steel-gray suit, polished shoes, and all the usual sharp angles, he’s crouched low, arms open as Dusty wraps tiny arms around his neck.
Scarlet is beside them, a hand on her son’s back, smiling softly.
The whole thing wasn’t something I was expecting.
My breath catches. My brain short-circuits.
That’s not the Dr. Harrison I usually see.
And it shouldn’t be doing whatever it’s doing to me, but it is.
He murmurs something low to Dusty… something gentle, and I watch Brant’s face crack open into a rare, boyish smile. It's the kind of smile that shouldn’t belong to a man like him. It knocks me off balance.
His eyes flick up. Finding mine. And my heart stutters.
“Coming in, Dr. Thomas?” he asks, a little amused.
“Yep.” I snap my jaw shut and force my legs to move forward, but they feel like jelly beneath me.
The way he says Dr. Thomas. God, it’s both soothing and electric. It’s not flirty. Not even close. But it hits like a direct spark. There's something empowering about it. Like I'm not just some resident tagging along. But more like I belong in this room.
I drop into the seat, feeling every heartbeat of my pulse in my ears. Dr. Harrison rises to his full height and rounds the desk to sit, his chair squeaking slightly as he settles in. He’s all business again, but that image of him with Dusty—so kind, genuine, human—lingers in my mind.
He starts going over Dusty’s latest test results, bloodwork, a scan update, something about his heart functioning as normal.
As I’m listening, I’m trying to figure out how someone like him managed to look so at ease on the floor with a kid in his arms.
He finally turns to me and asks, “Do you have any questions?”
I shake my head. “Nope. All good.”
Liar. I haven’t absorbed a thing.
He moves on, walking Scarlet and Dusty through the next steps. I try to get it together, write a few notes, try to focus on the conversation. But the buzzing beneath my skin won’t go away.
As they stand to leave, Dr. Harrison offers Dusty another quick hug. I give Dusty a high-five, which he returns with a shy smile. Scarlet glances at me over her shoulder as they turn toward the door.
Dr. Harrison moves away to log something on his computer, giving me the chance to walk them out. As soon as we’re outside his office, she pauses. “You, okay?” she whispers, her hand brushing my arm.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just taking it all in.”
She narrows her eyes slightly, not buying it. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly. “Seriously. Just a long first week.”
Scarlet lifts an eyebrow but lets it drop. “My mom said to tell you dinner at our place on Saturday. She wants to do a barbecue.”
“That sounds good. Do you want me to bring anything?”
“Just yourself.”
I laugh. “I’ll bring wine.”
“Perfect.” She leans in to hug me. “It was nice seeing you again.”
We pull out of our hug, and they head out. I walk back into the office and sit back in the chair, a little dazed. Dr. Harrison doesn’t look up, but I can tell he knows I wasn’t fully present for any of that.
And honestly, I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he noticed, or the fact that I let something so personal affect my focus. Either way, I need to pull it together.
But that image of him, down on one knee for Dusty, keeps replaying behind my eyes. As well as him giving Dusty his full attention and seeing the trust between them.
And it shouldn’t mean anything.
But it does.
I stand shoulder to shoulder with Harrison, reviewing the MRI from Shaina in Room 12, the one who had another seizure overnight. This one was worse. Twenty seconds of violent, full-body tremors, followed by vomiting and confusion.
“We’ve ruled out infection, tumors, epilepsy markers…” I mutter, more to myself than to Harrison.
Harrison clicks to the next slide, lips pressed thin. “See this?” he asks, tapping the screen. “Enlarged ventricles. Slight, but present.”
I fold my arms, shifting my weight as I study the image. “Or it’s within variation for an eight-year-old. You’re reaching.”
His head snaps toward me. “Excuse me?”
I don’t flinch. “We’ve tested for everything except heavy metals. What if it’s environmental?” I glance at the file on the counter. “The family lives in a converted warehouse. Could be lead. Arsenic. Even old paint. Anything.”
“That’s a stretch,” he says dismissively, brushing it off without any consideration.
“It’s a viable option,” I push back. “And that's worth something if we’re running out of answers.”
He leans in slightly. “Options don’t help a child in crisis. We need facts. Something we can act on.”
I’m betting on his ego getting in the way because we already have tension. Why else would he push back against testing for this? Unless… he doesn’t want to appear wrong.
I meet his gaze, frustration surging now, not just because I’m challenging him, but because I know I’m right to. “Then let’s get them. We do the bloodwork. Rule it out. If I’m wrong, fine. But if I’m right…”
The silence stretches. His eyes search mine like he’s seeing me differently. Not just a resident with theories but someone he might have to take seriously.
Finally, he exhales and reaches for the chart. “I’ll authorize the panel,” he mutters, scrawling his name on the order slip.
My heart races as relief sparks in my chest. I force my face to stay calm, focused. I don’t let myself smile.
Not until I turn away.