Chapter 32
Zac
It’s been half an hour since I left her place, and I’ve been tossing and turning in bed. I kick the sheet off, then pull it back up, then kick it off again.
I’ve been managing this since the night at my place. Keeping a professional distance, staying useful, not letting anything else happen. And for the most part it’s worked. We’ve settled into a routine that looked normal from the outside.
Tonight broke that.
I don’t know exactly when it shifted. Could’ve been when she said I trust you about the PT referral, like it was the simplest thing in the world—three words that hit me straight in the chest. I can’t remember the last time someone trusted me just as a person, not as a surgeon or a Sterling.
Maybe it was when she laughed at that stupid crime show.
I wasn’t watching the show at all. I was watching her.
I can’t remember the last time I watched something just because I wanted to.
Not a surgical technique video, or a medical documentary I could justify as professional development.
Just a show, on a sofa, because the person beside me wanted company and I didn’t want to leave.
Or maybe the way her eyes lit up when I brought her the tea.
The nights before this one, I’ve come home unsettled but functional.
She opened up in a way she hasn’t before. Taking in the things I said without brushing them off. Nobody does that with me. People either push for more or change the subject—she just listened. And her doing that hit differently than I was prepared for.
She thinks I’ve been taking care of her. She has no idea it’s been the other way around too.
I’m sweating, my body temperature spiking despite the cool air in my bedroom. I’m hard and frustrated and completely unable to talk myself down the way I used to be able to. It’s been worse since the night at my place; the line I told myself is still there even though I know exactly where it went.
I get up and walk to the bathroom, flick on the light, strip off my boxers and step into the shower. I make the water cool, almost cold, hoping it’ll shock some sense back into me. The spray hits my overheated skin, and I hiss, pressing my palms against the tile.
It doesn’t help. If anything, the sensation makes it worse and makes me more aware of every nerve ending.
This time, I don’t fight it. The first time, there was guilt and shame when I finished.
Now I’m just standing here, hand already moving, and the guilt is still there, but it’s further back than it used to be.
That’s the thing about doing this more than once.
The guilt doesn’t disappear. It just gets quieter each time, which is its own warning sign I keep choosing to ignore.
Hannah, on the sofa touching herself. Hannah, next to me on the sofa, watching TV. Hannah saying, “I trust you,” like she had no idea those three words would wreck me.
I brace my forearm against the tile and stop pretending I’m going to stop.
My breathing goes ragged, echoing off the walls.
I think about what it would feel like to close the distance I’ve been so carefully maintaining.
To touch her. To have the feel of her hands on my skin.
Fuck, I’d do anything to feel them. To taste her the way I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks now.
“Hannah,” I grunt, hips jerking forward as I come hard.
For a few seconds, everything goes blissfully blank, just pure physical sensation washing through me. Then it’s gone.
I stand under the cool water and wait for the shame. It arrives, but it’s less intense this time, which might be the most concerning part of all of this. Grabbing the soap, I go through the motions, telling myself…
Get it together.
Focus on the job.
I’ve said it all before. I believed it more then.
I turn off the water.
She goes back to LA soon and I go back to the OR. Nothing about that has changed.
What I told her tonight was true, though.
About feeling like my whole identity isn’t chained to the hospital anymore, that I don’t owe Mr. Peltz or the orthopedic department my entire existence.
That realization has been refreshing, liberating even.
I’ve always thought that hospital was the only place I could ever work, that leaving would somehow mean I was failing.
But being with Hannah, taking this time away from my normal schedule, it’s shown me there are possibilities. I could be more than just the surgeon who does twenty-four joint replacements a month and never takes a vacation. I’ve been pursuing medicine to avoid everything else.
I climb out of the shower and dry off roughly, pulling on clean boxer briefs and a fresh t-shirt.
As I slide back into bed, sheets cool now, body finally relaxed, my mind drifts to geography. Where would I go if I did restructure things? What would that even look like?
Definitely not Hope Town. Going back means becoming Dwight Sterling’s son again before I’ve even unpacked. Everyone would have something to say about it. Expectations, comparisons, and opinions. I’ve worked too hard building myself.
For now, I’m going to finish this assignment with Hannah. Make sure her recovery is on track, get her set up with proper follow-up care in LA, and then I’ll head back to the hospital and figure out my next move.
Because hanging out with Hannah, watching her host a TV show with such natural charisma, seeing how she connects with the crew, witnessing her dedication even while recovering from surgery, it’s really helped me see opportunities for growth.
For finding myself outside the rigid structure I’ve built my life around.
Yes, I enjoyed working and growing at the hospital. But I hadn’t realized how much more there could be—to my career, to my life in general. And that part excites me, even if there’s uncertainty in it. Even if it goes against my usual need for strict schedules and detailed plans.
If I said any of this out loud to my colleagues, they’d think I’d lost my mind.
But being a little bit free, letting go of some of that rigidity, it’s something I hadn’t realized I needed.
And that’s all thanks to her.
I fall asleep easier after that; my mind finally at ease. Tomorrow, I’ll be professional again. And I’ll go back to being just her doctor, nothing more.
But tonight, in the dark privacy of my own room, I can admit the truth to myself. I’ve fallen for her, and I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do about it.