Chapter 1
KENDALL: PRESENT DAY
My laugh rings out in the treatment room, so loud I almost startle myself. “You should put that on a T-shirt,” I tell Mrs. Lykins, my current patient. “‘Too young for sensible shoes’ is a slogan I can get behind.”
Mrs. Lykins grins back at me. “I’m so glad I’m doing this.” She relaxes in her chair. “I’ve been having pain for years now.” She gestures to her knee.
“I think you’ll be really happy with the results,” I say. “You’ll be back to wearing dancing shoes in no time.”
I review the rest of the joint replacement information packet with her. It’s a large part of my nursing job at the orthopedics clinic of Wellington Hospital in Louisville.
I’ve got a sweet setup, too. Dr. Planck moved hospitals a few months ago, and he helped get a specific job created for me here, one that includes time in the OR as well as clinic days. I’ve worked my ass off, so it’s nice to be recognized like this, to be given such an opportunity.
Mrs. Lykins thanks me, and we move out into the hallway. I walk along the gleaming floors to the clinician offices, hoping to have a quick snack. This morning’s coffee, my best tool for outwitting my lousy thyroid, isn’t really sticking.
Dr. Fields, one of our other surgeons, stops me in the hallway. His beige shirt matches his pale skin today. “Have you heard anything yet?”
This has been our song and dance all week. He asks me if I’ve heard anything, and I tell him no, that it will probably be a couple weeks. The “it” in question being a med school interview. I’ve applied to one in Louisville, where I’m hoping to stay.
“Still nothing.” I shrug.
He bounces on his toes like an excited toddler. “It’s going to be soon. I can feel it.”
“Did you consult your star chart?”
He waves that off. “No woo type of stuff. Just faith in you.”
My face heats. I’m awful at receiving praise. You wouldn’t think so, given my general affinity for attention, but I draw the line at people complimenting me. “Thanks,” I say as I duck my head.
I scarf some almonds in the break room. My mind drifts to the rest of my day: taking vitals, fielding patient phone calls, assisting with injections for joint pain. Clinic days provide a slower pace than the OR, and I like the variety.
I’m back in the hall when Dr. Fields’s voice drifts from his office, where he’s speaking to someone in an animated tone. The newest ortho bro, I bet. It’s late July, and therefore time for a batch of residents to start their new rotations at the hospital’s clinics and inpatient centers.
The sound of a low chuckle reaches me, followed by a muttered exchange about a current case. I pause by the door, straining to hear without rounding the doorway. There’s something about that voice . . .
The laugh rings out again, and then the owner’s voice rumbles with another observation. The blood drains from my face. The air grows heavy, and I’m reminded of something I studied in physics about time dilation, like I’m in a gravity well while the seconds crawl by outside my little sphere.
There’s no way. It cannot be him. I refuse to entertain the thought.
I know that laugh, though, that speech pattern, that deep timbre with the barest hint of Eastern Kentucky twang, though it’s faded just like mine has, maybe even with intentional effort.
It belongs to someone I never want to see again.
I heard his laughter throughout high school, usually directed at me in the cruelest manner possible.
Maybe I’m hearing things. Besides, how could that man be a doctor now?
How could that snake have dedicated his life to helping others?
If he is here, he must be one of those suit types selling orthopedic implants. Or more likely, he’s some finance guy the hospital hired to try and cut costs by compromising patient care. That sounds more like him.
I round the corner. Oh, God. It is him. He wears a white coat, an x-ray clutched in his hand like he might actually know how to read them.
Grant Wyndham.
One of my worst high school tormentors, in the flesh. He’s changed a little, of course. His defined muscles bulge under his scrub top, and the planes of his face stand out a little more sharply. He’s brushing his stupid blond hair away from his forehead and flashing his stupid straight teeth.
Well, I have straight teeth now, too, so fuck him.
I march over to Dr. Fields, refusing to be cowed. Let him meet me now, to see how well I function despite his previous efforts. I put on my best dazzling smile.
“Ah, Kendall. We’ve got a live one here. A third year.” Dr. Fields gestures to Grant. Or Dr. Wyndham now, I suppose. “Dr. Wyndham, this is Kendall Hodges. She’s one of the best nurses I’ve ever worked with.”
I falter a bit, then stick out my hand. Grant’s eyes flick over me, lightning fast, so brief I almost don’t catch it. His lips part, and his eyes widen a little. He seems gobsmacked. Ha! Let him stew in his regret.
“Nice to meet you.” He clasps my hand with his warm, dry palm. “I look forward to working with you over the next few months.”
I stare at him so long his brow starts to furrow. No hint of recognition sparks in his eyes. He doesn’t flinch.
I’ve pictured this moment, of course. In my fervent imaginings, I’m wearing my best figure-hugging dress and a pair of four-inch heels so I’m a bit taller than him.
I have on expensive jewelry and an air of high-powered importance.
He cowers under the force of my greatness.
I hardly look at him as I step over his prone form writhing and sobbing on the floor.
That fantasy slides down the drain.
The son of a bitch doesn’t know who I am.
To be fair, I’ve lost a lot of weight since high school, albeit unintentionally—turns out addressing food insecurity and an untreated medical condition had that side effect for me, though I’ve still got some curves.
I wear my contacts a lot. I get my hair professionally done and I’ve had my teeth fixed, plus I know how to apply makeup now without comic book levels of contour.
I have a different last name after dropping my dad’s, and I go by Kendall instead of Kenzie.
Fine. I’ve changed a lot. Still, I can’t believe he doesn’t know me. I’ve hated him for years, and he doesn’t even have the decency to recognize me.
He’s looking at me, his gaze a bit intense.
“Same to you.” I nod at him, making a quick decision.
I bite my lip to keep from saying more. He doesn’t deserve my energy.
I’ll get through the next three months with as little interaction as possible, then we’ll part ways.
I try to inject some friendliness into my voice.
“Dr. Fields and Dr. Planck are the best in the business.”
I step back toward the office door. My body lurches, and I can’t seem to relax my shoulders. Dr. Fields speaks up.
“Kendall, you’re from Eastern Kentucky too, right?” His voice thunders in the quiet office.
My shoulders inch further toward my ears.
“Oh yeah? Whereabouts?” Grant sounds like he’s actually trying to be polite, covering for the evil ogre I know him to be.
My stomach dips. Hell no. I’m not doing this with him.
“Nowhere you would have heard of, I bet.” I spin around without saying anything further. I would rather look like a weirdo than have this conversation.
I glance back at Dr. Fields, who eyes me with some concern. I scurry out into the hallway, one word playing on repeat in my head.
Fuck.