Chapter 27 - Nicole
Nicole
I was adjusting the flow rate on Mrs. Alvarez’s IV when Rosemary said my name the way she did when she needed to pretend she was fine.
The pump beeped once, the warning light flicking from yellow to green, and I tucked the tubing back against the pole before glancing over.
Rosemary stood at the foot of the bed with the chart open on the computer-on-wheels, shoulders squared, mouth set in a line that passed for neutral if you did not know her well enough to hear the strain riding underneath it.
“They posted the rotation list for surgical,” she said.
Mrs. Alvarez watched us both with mild interest, her oxygen cannula in place, hands folded over the blanket.
I offered her a smile, the polite kind, the one that meant we were talking shop and nothing worth worrying about.
Then I nudged the bed rail back into position and stepped closer to Rosemary.
“And?” I asked, already bracing.
Rosemary swallowed. She tapped the screen with the back of her knuckle instead of her finger, a habit she picked up during her first year on nights. “I didn’t get it.”
The words themselves were small. The way she said them was not.
I glanced at the screen, even though I already knew what I would see. Names stacked in clean rows. The surgical rotation highlighted in blue. And there it was, bolded at the top, the name everyone on the floor had been whispering about for weeks.
James’s new girlfriend.
A nurse who transferred in from Chicago. Shiny resume, safe hands, and a smile that made certain people forget to ask hard questions.
Mrs. Alvarez shifted, clearing her throat. “Everything okay, nurses?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rosemary said at the same time I did, our voices overlapping just enough to make her nod and settle back again.
I waited until we were in the hallway before I spoke. There was enough activity to afford us some privacy—transport pushing a gurney past us, a respiratory therapist jogging toward the ICU with a tank rolling behind him.
“Did Parker give you a reason?” I asked.
Rosemary shook her head. “She said it was competitive this cycle. Said I should be proud I was even considered.”
She tried for a shrug, but it came out stiff. Then she closed the tablet and started walking toward the next room, her steps measured, her badge swinging against her scrub top.
I followed, my jaw locked so tight it made my temples ache.
Competitive. That was the word they used when they wanted to sound fair. That was the word James liked best.
We stopped outside Room 412, and Rosemary scanned her badge before pushing the door open. Mr. Keene was sitting up in bed, breakfast tray untouched, remote clenched in his fist.
“Morning, Mr. Keene,” Rosemary said, professional, steady. She crossed to the bedside and started checking his vitals, fingers moving with practiced ease. “How’s the pain today?”
“Same,” he grumbled. “And this thing still won’t get ESPN.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, already reaching for the cuff.
I pulled on gloves and began checking his IV site, my hands moving on autopilot while my thoughts ran hot and circular.
This was Rosemary. She stayed late without being asked.
She volunteered for the cases no one else wanted.
She knew every attending’s preferences and never once complained when they changed their minds mid-procedure.
She wanted that rotation because it would open doors she had been knocking on for years.
And James had worked the system so it went to someone he was sleeping with. Typical.
Rosemary finished documenting and moved to adjust the head of the bed. “We’ll have Physical Therapy by later this morning,” she told Mr. Keene. “Try to eat a little, okay?”
He waved her off, already pressing buttons on the remote again.
We stepped back into the hallway. Rosemary exhaled through her nose, then reached up to retie her ponytail, fingers precise.
“It’s fine,” she said, before I could speak. “I’ll get the next one.”
I stopped walking.
Rosemary took two more steps before she realized I was not beside her anymore. She turned, eyebrows lifting in question.
“It’s not fine,” I said. My voice stayed even, but there was no mistaking the edge under it. “And you don’t have to pretend it is.”
She glanced down the hall, checking who might be within earshot. “Nicole.”
“He didn’t even try to hide it,” I continued. “Everyone knows they’re together.”
Her mouth tightened. “This is how it works sometimes.”
“No,” I said. “This is how it works when no one calls it out.”
She studied my face for a beat, then gave a short shake of her head. “Don’t do this.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You deserved that rotation.”
She looked away, eyes catching on a stain in the tile that had probably been there longer than both of us. “I’m not burning bridges.”
The word bridges hit somewhere tender. I thought of Landon, of all the times he had told me to let it go, that it was not worth the fight. Of the nights I sat in the third row at center ice, watching him track the game with a focus that had nowhere to go now but inward.
Five games into the Finals, and he was still in a suit.
“I’ll talk to Parker,” I said.
Rosemary’s head snapped back toward me. “Nicole.”
“I’m not asking for your permission,” I said. “I’m doing it.”
Her shoulders dropped a fraction. “She’s going to ask questions.”
“Good. She should’ve been asking them before all this.”
She hesitated, then nodded once. “We’ve got 414 next.”
We kept moving.
Room 414 needed a dressing change, the incision clean but angry, edges still tender. Rosemary gathered supplies while I explained the process to the patient, keeping my tone calm, my hands steady. The routine anchored me even as my thoughts stayed sharp and fixed.
James had always known how to make things sound reasonable. He talked about merit and timing and opportunity, all while positioning himself exactly where he benefited most. He had done it with me. He had done it to Landon.
I finished securing the new dressing and disposed of the old one, stripping my gloves off as Rosemary typed her notes.
“I’ll meet you at the desk,” she said quietly.
I nodded and headed down the hall toward the nurses’ station, my pulse ticking faster with every step.
Parker was standing near the medication room, reviewing a schedule on her tablet, glasses perched low on her nose. She looked up as I approached.
“Nicole,” she said. “What’s up?”
“I need a minute,” I replied.
She glanced at the clock, then at the hall behind me. “Walk with me.”
We moved toward the supply room, the door swinging shut behind us, muffling the noise of the unit. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with gauze, saline, gloves in every size.
I did not waste time.
“I’m concerned about the surgical rotation assignment,” I said.
Parker’s expression shifted, attentive but guarded. “In what way?”
“It was given to James’s girlfriend,” I said. “Rosemary was passed over without explanation that holds up.”
Parker’s lips pressed together. “The decision was based on qualifications. Also, Doctor Perot hasn’t declared a personal relationship with Miss Green.”
“I’ve worked with Rosemary for two years,” I said. “She has been preparing for this since the day we first walked into Mission Valley. For it to go to a nurse who only just transferred here… The timing raises questions.”
Parker studied me, her gaze steady. “Are you accusing James of favoritism?”
“Yes,” I said.
Silence stretched between us, thick but contained. A cart rattled past outside, wheels squeaking against the floor.
Parker adjusted her glasses. “This is a serious claim.”
“It should be,” I replied.
She nodded once. “I’ll look into it.”
“When?” I asked.
Her brows lifted. “Today. I’ll schedule an urgent meeting with James. HR too.”
I held her gaze. “Thank you.”
“You know this is going to rock several boats. It won’t be easy.”
“I’m not here for easy,” I said.
When I stepped back into the hallway, my hands were shaking just enough that I had to curl them into fists to steady them. But I felt good.
Rosemary was waiting near the desk, pretending to review lab results. She glanced up as I approached.
“It’s done,” I said.
Her eyes widened. “You talked to her.”
“I did.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” I said.
She gave a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”
We went back to work. Med passes. Call lights. A patient who wanted ice chips every ten minutes. A family member with questions that had no clean answers.
Between rooms, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Landon checking in. My heart broke for him. Having to watch the series slip from the bench, from the press box, from anywhere but the ice.
James had done this. Not alone, but deliberately enough.
By the time my shift ended, the sun was slanting through the windows at the end of the hall, casting long bars of light across the floor. Rosemary walked with me toward the lockers, her steps lighter than they had been that morning.
“Whatever happens,” she said, stopping at the door. “I’m glad you said something.”
“So am I,” I replied.
I was done staying quiet. For Rosemary. For Landon. For myself.
James had taken enough.
We changed out of our scrubs in silence, neither of us willing to say anything that might disturb the precarious placement of game pieces set in motion. This was playing out, and all we had to do was minimal damage while we waited for the end result.
The hospital always felt different at shift change.
The floors cleared out in uneven waves, day staff funneling toward the exits while night shift filtered in with travel mugs and set faces.
Rosemary and I moved with the first group, tote bags slung over our shoulders, shoes swapped, hair pulled loose in the way that signaled we were off the clock but not yet free of the day.
We were halfway across the atrium when Rosemary slowed. Not stopped. Just enough that I matched her pace without thinking.