Chapter 36
Brant
I’ve settled into my role as chief surprisingly well. The title carries meaning, yeah, but the work itself hasn’t changed all that much. Same hospital. Same patients. Same long hours.
But the autonomy? That’s new.
Now, when I see a gap in care or a process that’s slowing us down, I don’t have to pitch it up the chain and wait weeks for approval.
I can just fix it. Implement changes that actually make a difference.
Advocate for my department without having to compromise or water things down to appease someone above me who’s never worked in pediatrics.
It’s the kind of power I wanted.
And the kids, that’s what makes it worth it.
As Chief of Pediatrics, I’m not just treating individual patients anymore.
I’m shaping the entire department. Building protocols that protect them more fully.
Hiring staff who actually get what it means to work with children, people who understand that a scared five-year-old needs a different approach than a teenager trying to act tough.
Creating an environment where kids don’t just get better, they feel safe while they do.
That’s the part that lights me up.
Every policy I write, every hire I make, every system I improve, it ripples out to hundreds of kids who’ll walk through these doors. Kids who deserve the best care we can give them.
So yeah, I probably push myself harder than I need to. I stay back later, pick up the slack, onboard new staff personally instead of delegating it to someone else. But if I want to set the right tone as chief, and build something that actually lasts, I have to give it everything.
That’s just how I’m wired.
Besides, where else would I go?
There’s no one waiting at home.
I’m at the nurses’ station reviewing a chart when one of the new nurses approaches, tablet in hand. “Dr. Harrison? I wanted to run something by you about the Eden case—”
“Yeah, come here.” I wave him over, and he leans in while I walk him through it. He’s a good nurse, smart, and asks lots of questions.
When he leaves, I feel the satisfaction of the job I’ve always loved. Being the one people come to.
But the moment he’s gone, the silence rushes in.
I glance down the hall toward the break room. Jade and Mira are laughing about something. For a second, I expect to hear Regan’s laugh with theirs.
But she’s not there.
She hasn’t been for weeks.
I turn back to my charts and try to refocus.
“You know, for someone who just made chief, you look like shit.”
I look up, and Dr. Gould is standing beside me, arms crossed, studying me.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
“I’m serious.” He leans against the counter now. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. I’m fine.”
His eyebrow lifts, and I know he doesn’t buy it, but I don’t want to admit what I’ve been trying not to think about.
I should be thrilled. This is the job I wanted. The job I fought for.
But ever since she left, it’s like some part of it feels off. She helped me cross the line and get the job because she was with me and made me better at it. And now she’s gone.
I try to shake it by throwing myself into work, because that’s the only thing that makes sense right now. Rounds, admin, policy reviews, mentorships. It fills the hours.
But home is harder.
The silence hits differently when you know what it used to sound like when I had her over. Her scent on my pillow. Her clothes across my floor. Her curled up beside me in bed. The creamer reminds me of the time she kept stealing when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I’ve thought about texting her plenty of times.
Even drafted messages just to delete them.
How’s it going?
Hope New York’s everything you wanted.
Miss you.
But what’s the point?
She hasn’t reached out either. And maybe that’s my answer right there. Her silence means she’s already moved on. Found what she was looking for in New York. And if she has... I won’t stop her.
I couldn’t.
She deserves this. That dream job. The life she planned long before I ever stepped into it.
I wouldn’t take that from her. Not even if it means I’m left behind.
It’s just… hard. I got everything I wanted, and it feels hollow without her.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way about anyone. Not just attraction; it’s deeper than that. A kind of connection that creeps in slowly, until it’s under your skin and you can’t remember when it started. And now it’s just… gone.
I finish my notes after talking to Dr. Pierce about a patient, which means I’ve finished work for the night. Maybe a drink will help, anything to shake the heaviness. I need to get out of here, but not go home, where I’ll be alone with my thoughts. I want people, noise, anything.
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I text Nate.
Me: Pulse Point Tavern? I need a drink.
Nate: Fuck yeah. Be there in 30.
By the time I arrive, the bar’s packed. A game blares on the big screen, and the crowd roars every time the ball moves; it’s the perfect distraction.
I slide onto the stool next to him. He orders a beer, and I follow suit.
“How was your week?” His eyes flick between me and the screen.
“Same old. Meetings, deadlines. You?”
He grins. “Survived. Got some interesting news, though.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“The actress Hannah Morgan’s in town.”
My eyes widen. “What for?”
“Filming a TV series. And fuck, she’s beautiful.”
I roll my eyes and take a big pull of my drink. Because the mention of a beautiful woman has Regan’s face flashing behind my eyes, and that’s exactly why I’m here. So I redirect him.
“Look at the scores!” I say.
Nate’s gaze follows, squinting at the numbers. “Holy shit. The Dragons are smashing them.” He leans back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief.
I take another sip, watching the replay. “I heard Teddy is trying out for them.”
“No way.” Nate sets his beer down. “It would be nice to see a good kid from here make it big.”
“Shit turned around for them when Coach Jaxton took over.” I drag a hand through my hair, gaze back on the screen.
“True. That man’s a miracle worker.”
I check my watch. It’s been thirty minutes, and I’m still sitting here, pretending I’m fine.
The next morning, I don’t have a shift. But I can’t sit around doing nothing, so I head in anyway. Paperwork never ends, and it gives me something to focus on.
A couple of the nurses chuckle when they see me. God knows why. Probably because I’m here on my day off again.
I’m in the break room and start making a coffee.
But as I open the fridge and see the creamer, it dawns on me that I haven’t even had to buy a new one in a week.
No one else drinks it. And sometimes, I catch myself picking one up at the store anyway.
Just out of habit. Or maybe stupid hope that she’ll come back and need it.
Closing the fridge a little harder than necessary, I take my coffee back to my office, where the silence presses in on me. I pull up charts, review schedules, draft emails, anything to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied.
After an hour, the distraction isn’t working anymore. The office feels empty. And staying here, on my day off, pretending to be productive when I’m really just avoiding going home alone? That’s pathetic.
I grab my keys and head out.
Elvira’s already here, folding my laundry.
She glances up as I come in, gives me a warm smile, then goes back to work. I head into my bedroom to change, and that’s when I notice it.
She’s not curled up in my bed. I quickly dress, ignoring the tightness in my throat, and head back out where Elvira looks up again, like she’s reading the shift in me.
“No girlfriend?” she asks gently.
She’s asked before, but I brushed it off with vague work schedule excuses, but she’s too perceptive for that.
I shake my head. “She left. Went to the city.”
I don’t bother correcting her about the girlfriend title because it’s too hard to explain our situationship.
She nods slowly, folding a pair of socks. “I thought so. House feels different.”
“It is.”
“She was nice,” she adds, not pushing. Just… remembering. “Had a good energy about her.”
“She did.”
There’s a quiet moment between us, nothing but the sound of fabric being folded.
Then she says, “What will be will be. If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back.”
I meet her eyes that are filled with kindness and understanding. And for once, I don’t try to argue or rationalize.
“I know,” I say, and being that she’s been with me for years, I lower my guard and let the words fall from my heart. “I hope so.”
I pull into my parents’ driveway just after six. Turning off the engine, I grab the bottle of wine I picked up and head up the front steps.
The front door’s already open, so I walk in.
“Brant.” Mom’s voice floats down the hall, followed by the unmistakable thud of a saucepan hitting the stove.
Inside, it smells like buttery comfort.
“Hey,” I call as I pass the living room, spotting my dad in his recliner with the news on low.
He gives me a nod. “Evening, Chief.”
I smirk. That nickname has stuck harder than I expected.
In the kitchen, Mom is stirring a pot, her sleeves rolled up, and her apron dusted with flour.
“Wine?” I hold out the bottle.
“Perfect. Your sister’s already here. Out back with Aria.”
I nod and head through the glass doors onto the back patio. Aria spots me first.
“Uncle B,” she shouts, barreling across the deck in pink rain boots three sizes too big for her.
I crouch just in time to catch her, lifting her into a spin. “You’ve gotten bigger.”
“I’m five,” she says proudly, holding up a hand.
“No way. Five? That’s practically an adult.”
She giggles and buries her head in my shoulder.
“Hey, stranger,” my sister, Bridget, says, rising from the outdoor lounge with a glass of wine in her hand. “Thought you’d forgotten about us.”
“Never. Work’s just been—” I shake my head. “Nonstop.”
She nods like she gets it, and we both sit, Aria curling up between us with a coloring book.
We stay there for a while, talking about nothing, coloring, laughing at Aria’s stories about school and the wild things her teacher says.
I picture Regan here. Sitting across from me, charming my mom, making Aria laugh, fitting into my world like she belonged here all along.
When dinner is ready, the dining table is crammed with my favorite mac and cheese casserole, baked vegetables, and a salad.
We eat, talk, laugh, and for the first time in weeks, I almost forget.
Almost.
Later, once Aria’s been bathed, Grandma promises to read her a story before bed. Bridget and I are standing in the kitchen with our wineglasses, leaning against the counter like we used to when we were younger, and sneaking leftover cake.
“So…” she says casually, swirling her glass, “how’s the whole ‘Chief of Ward’ thing treating you?”
I shrug. “It’s good. Big shoes to fill. Lots of pressure. Long hours.”
“But?”
I hesitate, then exhale. “It’s… a lot lonelier than I thought it’d be.”
She tilts her head at me, watching closely. “Lonelier?”
I nod. It’s easier to talk to Bridget than I expected.
She’s not judging, just listening. And that’s what I needed.
“Yeah. I mean, I’m good at the work. That part’s fine.
I like the challenge. But it’s different now.
Before, I had someone to share it all with.
Now, it’s just me in my office with coffee and a lot of paperwork. ”
Her lips press together thoughtfully. “You mean Regan.”
I glance down at my glass. “Yeah.”
“She hasn’t called?”
“Nope.”
“Have you?”
I shake my head.
“Well, there’s your problem.”
I let out a dry laugh. “It’s not that simple, Bridget.”
“It is.” She sets her glass down. “You miss her. You’re miserable without her. So… go get your girl.”
I blink at her, because I have thought of that many times. But every time I pull her contact up on my phone, I freeze. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know you moved your entire life to New York for this dream job, but I’d really like you back in mine?’”
“Yes,” she says flatly. “That’s exactly what you should say.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand more than you think. You’re in love with her. And instead of doing anything about it, you’re sulking and convincing yourself she’s better off without you.”
I open my mouth, then shut it.
She raises an eyebrow. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I can’t. Because she isn’t.
“Look…” she continues, softer now. “If she’s happy in New York, great. But maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s just waiting for a reason to come back. Or maybe she just needs to know someone still cares enough to ask.”
I run a hand down my face. The idea of calling her terrifies me. Not because I don’t know what to say—I do—but because once I say it, there’s no taking it back. “You really think I should call her?”
“I think you should do what you’ll be proud of one year from now. What would you regret more? Reaching out and getting hurt? Or doing nothing and wondering?”
I stare down at the wine in my hand. I’d regret letting her slip away without a fight.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Okay.”
Bridget pats my arm. “There’s the brother I know.”
She heads off to help Mom put Aria to bed, leaving me alone in the kitchen with too many thoughts and not enough courage.
But the tiniest spark’s there now. A reason to hope, and it’s time to stop being the chief who just fixes everyone else’s problems. It’s time to fix my own.