Chapter 15
KATE
Istared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. I’d actually taken time with my appearance today—taming my wild
auburn hair into something resembling professional, wearing the one wrinkle-free blouse I owned, and even applying mascara without poking myself in the eye. A minor miracle.
“You’ve got this,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the sink. “Just explain how your bacterial enzyme innovations could literally save millions of lives in a way that doesn’t make you sound like a nervous chipmunk on caffeine.”
My phone buzzed on the counter with a text.
Austin
Knock ‘em dead, Dr. Ellis. Those faculty members won’t know what hit them.
A smile spread across my face as I typed back.
Either my research will blow their minds or I’ll accidentally knock over the projector. Either way, something explosive is happening today.
Austin
My money’s on the first option. Call me after?
Will do. Thanks for believing in me.
I tucked my phone away, warmth blooming in my chest. Even with trade rumors hanging over our heads, Austin had been my rock the past week, listening to me practice my presentation multiple times despite understanding maybe ten percent of the scientific terminology.
When I arrived at the lecture hall, my stomach lurched at the sight of the assembled faculty—twelve pairs of critical eyes ready to dissect my research. Dr. Barnes nodded curtly from the front row, her expression giving nothing away.
“Dr. Ellis,” she said, gesturing to the podium. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I took a deep breath, connected my laptop, and launched into my presentation on novel approaches to combating antibiotic-resistant bacteria.
The first minute was shaky, my voice betraying my nerves, but then something clicked.
The same passion that drove me to spend countless hours in the lab took over, and suddenly I wasn’t nervous anymore—I was excited to share what I’d discovered.
“The key innovation in our approach,” I explained, advancing to my favorite slide showing the molecular structure of my enzyme complex, “is the specificity of the ZR-47 compound. Unlike conventional antibiotics, it doesn’t create selective pressure for resistance.
Instead, it prevents the bacteria from sharing their resistance genes in the first place. ”
Dr. Chen raised his hand. “What about toxicity concerns? Previous attempts at disrupting bacterial conjugation have shown problematic side effects.”
I smiled, grateful he’d asked exactly what I’d prepared for. “Excellent question. Our compound shows remarkable selectivity. In vitro testing with human cell lines shows minimal cytotoxicity even at concentrations five times the therapeutic threshold.”
The questions kept coming, each one more challenging than the last, but I was ready. For every concern, I had data. For every skeptical eyebrow, I had evidence. By the time I reached my conclusion, I felt more alive than I had in months.
“In summary,” I said, displaying my final slide, “this approach offers a fundamentally new direction in addressing the antibiotic resistance crisis—not by developing stronger antibiotics, but by preventing bacteria from becoming resistant in the first place. Thank you for your attention.”
A moment of silence followed, then something I never expected—applause. Actual, enthusiastic applause from some of the most critical minds in microbiology.
Dr. Barnes stood, adjusting her glasses. “Dr. Ellis, your work represents a significant step forward in our department’s research portfolio. We’ll need to discuss accelerating the timeline for publication.”
My heart soared. Coming from Dr. Barnes, this was the equivalent of throwing confetti and popping champagne.
“I’d be happy to draft a manuscript immediately,” I replied, trying to keep my voice professionally measured despite wanting to jump up and down like a child.
“See that you do.” She nodded. “This work deserves prominence in a top-tier journal. We should aim for New England Journal of Medicine or Nature.”
The rest of the session passed in a blur. Colleagues congratulated me, offered collaborations, asked in-depth questions that showed they took my research seriously. By the time I left the building, I felt like I was floating.
I practically skipped back to the apartment, too excited to wait for a rideshare. The crisp Minneapolis air couldn’t cool my flushed cheeks or dampen my excitement. I needed to tell Austin everything, to see his face when I told him about Dr. Barnes suggesting Nature.
When I burst through the door, I was hit with the scent of something delicious. The lights were dimmed, and soft music played in the background. Austin appeared from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over his shoulder and a smile that made my heart flip.
“How’d it go, superstar?” he asked, pulling me into a hug.
I melted against his chest. “They loved it. Like, actually loved it. Dr. Barnes wants me to publish in Nature.”
Austin pulled back, his blue eyes bright with pride. “I knew you’d nail it.” He gestured toward the dining area, where he’d set the table with actual cloth napkins. “I figured you deserved a celebration.”
My jaw dropped at the sight. A bottle of non-alcoholic champagne sat in an ice bucket. Beside it, containers of takeout from my favorite Thai place were artfully arranged on real plates, not the paper ones we usually used.
“You did all this for me?” I asked, my voice catching.
“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Your work matters. That makes it worth celebrating.”
I threw my arms around his neck, overwhelmed by this unexpected gesture. “Thank you. This is perfect.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Tell me everything.”
We settled at the table, and I launched into a play-by-play of the presentation, including Dr. Chen’s questions and the moment when Dr. Barnes had actually smiled—a rarer sight than a solar eclipse.
Austin popped the non-alcoholic champagne and poured us each a glass. “To Dr. Kate Ellis,” he said, raising his flute. “Future savior of humanity from superbugs.”
I laughed, clinking my glass against his. “That’s a bit dramatic, but I’ll take it.”
Just as we were about to sip, my phone chimed with an email notification. I glanced at it reflexively, then froze.
“Kate? What’s wrong?” Austin asked, noticing my sudden tension.
“It’s a publication alert,” I whispered, setting down my untouched glass. “Liu’s lab at Johns Hopkins just published in Cell on—” I swallowed hard, scanning the abstract with growing horror. “On bacterial conjugation inhibitors. They’ve been working on the same thing I have.”
“Is that...bad?” Austin asked cautiously.
I grabbed my laptop from my bag, hands shaking as I pulled up the full article. “It could be very bad. If they’ve used the same approach, my research loses its novelty factor. In science, being first is everything.”
My mood crashed as I skimmed through their methods and results, my earlier elation evaporating like alcohol on a hot plate. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered. “This can’t be happening.”
“Let me see,” Austin said, moving his chair beside mine.
I angled the screen so he could look at it too, though I knew the technical jargon would be meaningless to him. My hands trembled slightly as I scrolled through the paper, searching desperately for differences between their approach and mine.
“They’ve used a completely different molecular scaffold,” I muttered, more to myself than to Austin. “But the mechanism is functionally similar. Shit.”
Austin’s warm hand settled on my lower back. “Take a breath, Kate. Let’s figure this out.”
His calm steadied me momentarily. “It’s bad. They’re targeting the same pathway. Dr. Barnes was excited about my work because it was novel. Now it’s just...confirmatory.” The last word tasted bitter on my tongue.
“Okay,” Austin said, his voice deliberately measured. “But is their approach exactly the same as yours?”
“No,” I admitted, scanning through their results section again. “They’re using a small-molecule inhibitor approach. Mine uses enzymatic degradation of the conjugation pilus.”
I realized he probably had no idea what I’d just said, but Austin nodded thoughtfully anyway.
“So different methods to achieve similar goals?” he asked.
“Yes, but—”
“Doesn’t that actually strengthen your findings?” He pointed at a graph on my screen. “If two independent labs reached similar conclusions using different methods, doesn’t that validate the concept?”
I blinked at him, then back at the screen. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest.
“That’s...actually a good point,” I admitted. “Replication is valuable in science. But it doesn’t change the fact that they published first.”
“What about effectiveness?” Austin asked, surprising me again. “Does their method work better than yours?”
I scrolled quickly to their results section, eyes darting across the data tables. “Their inhibition rate peaks at 78% in vitro...Mine reached 97%.” My voice grew stronger with each word. “And they haven’t tested against as many resistant strains as I have.”
I clicked through to their supplementary data, a plan forming in my mind. “And they haven’t addressed toxicity concerns nearly as thoroughly. Their compound shows significant off-target effects at higher concentrations.”
Austin squeezed my shoulder gently. “See? Your research might be more significant than theirs.”
“I need to email Dr. Barnes immediately,” I said, already opening a new message. “We need to revise our publication strategy.”
As I furiously typed out my analysis of Liu’s paper and how my approach differed, I vaguely noticed Austin setting aside his own phone after glancing at it. Something in his expression caught my attention.
“Was that important?” I asked, nodding toward his phone.
He shrugged. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
I finished my email and hit send before turning to him fully. “Austin, what was that notification?”
He hesitated, then said, “Just the team doctor. I’ve been officially cleared to play.”
“What?” I slapped the laptop closed. “That’s huge news! Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you were dealing with this,” he said simply. “My thing could wait.”
Something melted inside me. In my previous relationships, my career had always been treated as secondary, an inconvenience to work around. Yet here was Austin, putting aside his own monumental news to help me through my crisis.
“We should be celebrating you,” I insisted, reaching for his hand.
“We can celebrate both,” he replied, lacing his fingers through mine. “But let’s fix your publication strategy first. What’s the next step?”
I leaned back in my chair, studying him. “You really want to help me with scientific publication strategy? On the day you got cleared to return to professional hockey?”
“I want to help you with whatever matters to you,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And this matters.”
That’s when it hit me – how seamlessly he’d integrated himself into my world, despite knowing almost nothing about microbiology. He’d asked exactly the right questions to help me regain perspective, not because he understood the science, but because he understood me.
"Your phone's ringing," Austin called from the kitchen. "Someone named 'Mom Callahan'?"
I rushed over, reaching for my phone with a guilty expression. "Oh! That's your mom."
Austin's eyebrows shot up. "My mom is calling you? How does she even have your number?"
"She may have asked for it last week when she called you and I answered while you were in the shower," I admitted, accepting the call. "Hi, Mrs. Callahan!"
Austin watched, bemused, as I chatted animatedly with his mother for several minutes, discussing everything from my research to Austin's recovery progress.
"Yes, he's being very diligent with his exercises," I said, winking at Austin. "Though sometimes I have to remind him about icing afterward."
When I finally hung up, Austin was staring at me.
"You and my mother are friends now?"
I shrugged. "She's nice! And really interested in microbiology, surprisingly. We've been texting about bacterial resistance in hospital settings." I paused, noticing his expression. "Is that weird?"
"Not weird," he said slowly. "Just unexpected. My parents' marriage has been... complicated since I was a teenager. They live separate lives now, though they never officially divorced."
"She mentioned they have different approaches to your career," I said carefully.
Austin's mouth quirked. "That's one way to put it. Dad sees me as an extension of his hockey dreams. Mom just wants me to be happy."
"Well, that explains why she was so interested in hearing if you were happy with me around," I said, patting his arm. "Don't worry, I gave you a glowing review."
"Glad to know I'm being discussed," he muttered, but he was smiling.
“Okay,” I said, reopening my laptop. “I need to reposition my manuscript to emphasize the aspects where my approach excels over Liu’s.”
We spent the next two hours at the table, our Thai food forgotten and the champagne warming in its bucket. Austin asked questions that forced me to articulate my advantages clearly, and though he couldn’t contribute to the technical aspects, his strategic thinking proved surprisingly valuable.