Chapter 26
Regan
Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong .
What the hell?
I blink the sleep from my eyes, swipe my hand through my hair, and shuffle to the door, half-expecting a delivery guy or maybe a neighbor with a complaint about my car blocking the sidewalk.
But when I pull open the door, the last thing I expect is a man in a Mercedes-branded jacket, holding out a set of keys. “Miss Thomas?”
I stare at him, still waking up. “Yeah?”
“I have something for you,” he says with a polite nod.
“For me?” I ask. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was told to deliver this.” He lifts the keys slightly, jingling them like proof. I take them as he gestures to the curb.
As I lean past him to get a better look, my jaw literally drops.
Parked beside a tow truck is a gleaming new Mercedes, compact and expensive looking, the silver body reflecting the morning light like it belongs in a commercial. Tinted windows, shiny black trim, and wheels that probably cost more than my monthly grocery bill.
“Wait. That’s mine?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was also told to take your old car off your hands if you want me to. Entirely up to you.”
I squint at him. “Okay, hold on. Who exactly told you to do all this?”
“Oh… sorry, should’ve mentioned it. Brant Harrison.”
I close my eyes and exhale through my nose. You’ve got to be kidding me. I knew he had money; his designer suits and car gave me an indication, but this? It’s not normal. Who just buys someone a car they just agreed to have a casual fling with?
And I’m a little frustrated he didn’t consult me. He just decided. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. My car was going to cost more to fix than buy a new one, so I probably would’ve said yes if he’d asked, but the point is, he didn’t.
I know that between his office, the car, and the things we said, we got swept up in the moment, and I now have to lie to everyone, including my dad, about us and a car. But what choice do I have? My dad will lose his mind.
Still standing barefoot in the doorway in my oversized hoodie, I cross my arms, trying to piece this all together.
The guy shifts a little at my silence. “I’m just the delivery guy. Want me to show you the features?”
I glance back at the car, then down at my blue pajama pants that have hearts all over them.
My first thought is to say no and call Harrison and tell him this is too much and complicates things.
But then I think about relying on rideshares and my dad to get to the hospital.
I think about the fact I need a car. So I can’t turn it down, not when it’s already here. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
We walk over to the Mercedes, and I try not to let him see me react to how beautiful it is and how I immediately love it because that would feel like admitting that I’m in deeper than I planned.
When I slide into the driver's seat, the leather is soft and has that new-car smell.
The wheel fits in my hands like it was made for me.
He goes over everything—the start button, the reverse camera, the stupidly excessive sound system, even the heated seats. All the bells and whistles. By the time he’s done, I’m sitting there, stunned, my brain spinning with disbelief and a thousand questions.
He taps lightly on the doorframe. “Would you like me to take the old car now?”
“Sure,” I say, stepping out and heading inside to grab my keys.
He hands me an envelope of cash and says it’s for the junk value, and before I can form a single coherent protest, he’s walking away and hoisting my old car onto the truck like this is just another day.
I stand on the curb, squinting into the daylight, still clutching the new key in one hand and the envelope in the other.
What just happened?
No, seriously. What the hell just happened?
I head back inside, shutting the door behind me, and head straight for the coffee machine. I need caffeine immediately.
As I wait for it to brew, my thoughts spin as I consider calling Brant, but I can’t. I don’t even have his number.
That part actually makes me laugh.
We’ve exchanged kisses—almost way more than that—and somehow, we’ve never swapped numbers.
I’m going to have to explain this to Dad, eventually. Not today, though. Thank God, I’m on nights, so I’ll miss his early evening routine and dodge the twenty-questions... but still.
Do I lie? Say I bought it myself? That’ll invite a whole other line of interrogation I’m not ready for. Say Brant bought it? That’s even worse. Dad would probably stage an intervention.
Maybe I can say I’m leasing it? That’s realistic and doesn’t involve admitting a man who’s mentoring me and who I’ve kissed just gifted me a car.
With my coffee in hand, I finally feel like I can breathe. I make some eggs and toast, pull out my gym bag, and try to talk myself down from whatever emotional cliff I’ve climbed onto. What other ways could I reach Brant?
Scarlet? But then she would ask questions, so I throw that out of the window, and with no other ideas, I decide to talk to him tonight. For now, I’ll go for a walk, meal prep, and maybe even call Mom before heading in for tonight’s shift.
Of course, the tension at work with Dad is still lingering in my mind. That hasn’t gone away, but I’m not gonna lie, being around Brant makes being home more tolerable.
When I get to work later that night, I spot Brant's car already parked, gleaming under the lot lights. I pull in next to him, turn off the engine, and sit for a minute to gather my thoughts.
What’s going to happen now?
We said we’re just a secret fling, but we’ve kissed twice.
Is that part of the rules now?
Inside, the hospital phones ring, nurses chat, wheels squeaking on polished floors. I’m early, so I make my way through the corridors, visiting the little boy who’s recovering well, and when I reach Brant’s office, my stomach flips.
I don’t knock. I step in, push the door closed behind me, and cross the room without hesitation. My gaze finds his, and that smirk, the one that undid me last time, flickers at the corner of his mouth.
I know this is stupid. We agreed to keep things separate. But the second I saw him standing there, all I could think about was last night. The way his hands felt on my skin. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
And suddenly, the risk doesn’t feel so big. Just one kiss, a quick one, before the shift starts, and we have to pretend there’s nothing between us.
I lean in, ready to kiss him, because screw it, I want to.
But just as my hand brushes the edge of his desk—
A knock rattles the door behind me.
My stomach drops. Shit, shit, shit.
His expression hardens in an instant, like stone cracking under pressure. My heart sinks, and I take a step back.
“Regan.”
I turn. My dad stands in the doorway, briefcase in hand, speaking in that hospital director tone.
“I was hoping to catch you before I left.” He steps inside. “With us on different shifts, I haven’t had the chance to follow up.”
I nod, trying to act casual, even though my skin is still prickling from nearly kissing Brant. I don’t dare look at him. I bet his face is a blank mask right now. “Yeah. Just started my shift.”
My hands move faster than they need to as I fumble through my bag, pretending to be busy. Anything not to meet my father’s eyes, or worse, Brant’s now cold ones.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay after the emergency last night,” Dad asks.
I force a smile. “All good. I visited him before I started.”
But the truth is, I’m not irritated that my dad walked in.
I’m wondering how I’ll survive the next twelve hours, pretending I’m not dying to do it again.
I’ve had flings before, all forgettable ones, but this isn’t that. This has electricity.
The thrill of knowing I’ve knocked a control freak like Brant so off balance that he came in his pants like some awkward teenager. It’s honestly kind of sweet.
The thrill of knowing that a resident he barely tolerated a few weeks ago can make a controlled and composed Brant Harrison completely lose himself.
It means something. That’s what makes it different. He feels something too.
The best part? I’m not alone in this.
“Dr. Thomas,” Brant says suddenly, his tone sharp and professional. “Could you do a full round for me?”
I snap to attention, standing a little straighter. I was planning to do the rounds anyway, but catching the look of trust in his eyes isn’t him reprimanding me; it’s him giving me responsibility without supervision. “Of course.”
Dad gives me a pleased nod, completely oblivious to the fact that the man giving me orders has no control when it comes to me. If only he knew.
I grab my pen, stethoscope, and then I head out with a barely contained grin. My pulse is still racing with the secret we’re both keeping.
As I walk away, I glance back over my shoulder.
Brant’s in a sharp navy suit today, tailored to perfection.
I make a mental note to destroy that one next.
My round goes smoothly. I pop in and out of rooms, chatting with kids, asking about what they’re watching, what they’ve made out of paper and stickers, what level they’re on in Minecraft.
I listen to parents, take notes, offer updates to moms, reassure a nervous aunt and uncle here, an exhausted dad there.
I think about the job waiting for me back home, the one I said yes to before arriving to Pulse Point. Will it be like this? Will I get to spend time with patients, or will I just be run off my feet, moving through cases as fast as I can?
As I step out into the corridor, that’s when Brant finds me.
“Hey,” he says softly.
I turn as something warm flickers between us.
“Hi,” I whisper back and tilt my head toward the direction of his office. “Everything okay with my dad?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Just his usual check-in. Wanted updates. Also, the new wing’s opening is set for Friday.”
“Really? That’s amazing.”
His face shifts briefly with pride, or is it excitement? It’s so subtle, but it’s there.
“They’re organizing a party for the opening day.”