Chapter 8
POV: Marina
The rounds hit like a blur, this hospital is different and felt different from the last one, but no matter how hard I tried, Jonathan felt like a ghost everywhere.
The first patient is an eighty-six-year-old woman with congestive heart failure and early dementia. She’s tiny, her hands trembling as she grips the blankets.
Most residents approach patients like problems to solve.
Brennan approaches her like a person.
He kneels beside her bed, bringing himself to her level. His voice softens—not patronizing, not pitying.
“Good morning, Mrs. Langley. I’m Dr. Stokes. How are you feeling today?”
Her eyes brighten. “You’re tall.”
He smiles. “My mom says that too.”
I pretend I don’t notice how my chest tightens.
He listens to her stories. He doesn’t interrupt when she forgets words. He repeats questions gently. He explains the medication changes in simple language without making her feel small.
He’s brilliant with the data. Faster than anyone else. Sharp. Precise.
But it’s the kindness that hits harder.
When we leave the room, Sarah whispers, “He’s good.”
I nod once, pretending neutrality.
But inside, something shifts.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted.
They are good. All of them. But Brennan is… exceptional.
Annoyingly exceptional.
They gather in the resident lounge, chatter filling the space as adrenaline finally drops.
“First day survived,” the glasses guy—Ethan—says, clapping his hands once. “Drinks on me tonight. We should celebrate.”
Sarah lights up immediately. “Yes! We should. Come on, it’s tradition.”
She looks directly at Brennan.
He’s flipping through a journal article, already half-removed from the conversation.
“I’ll pass,” he says easily. “I want to review Dr. Meyer’s protocols. I heard she doesn’t go easy.”
The room laughs.
I freeze.
Then I notice his eyes flick toward me—brief, deliberate.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Sarah frowns, clearly disappointed. “You can study later. Come on, it’s just one drink.”
He smiles at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Another time.”
Her disappointment is obvious.
I file it away.
When the day finally ends, I sit in my office for a moment, staring at the city through the window.
Brennan Stokes is brilliant.
Empathetic.
Disciplined.
And apparently uninterested in his eager, beautiful co-resident.
This should make things easier.
It doesn’t.
***
I dream of his mouth.
Not the polite, restrained version of Brennan Stokes that walks the hospital corridors in scrubs and discipline.
I dream of the man who pressed me into his apartment door, hands firm on my waist, breath warm against my skin.
His fingers tracing my neck.
His voice, low and sure, telling me he wouldn’t be able to stop.
In the dream, he doesn’t.
He kisses me again, deeper, harder, his hands everywhere—guiding, claiming, knowing exactly how to make my body arch toward him. I feel his presence like gravity, like heat, like something I was never meant to survive untouched.
“Marina,” he murmurs in the dark, like saying my name is a promise.
I wake up gasping.
My sheets are twisted around my legs. My body is tight, restless, painfully aware of itself. My pulse is fast, my skin too warm.
I stare at the ceiling, embarrassed and furious at myself.
Get it together.
I assign rotations without hesitation.
“Stokes, ER,” I say without looking at him. “Ethan and Melissa, you’re with me on rounds.”
Brennan’s gaze burns into me, but I keep my tone neutral.
“Yes, Dr. Meyer.”
But I hear the amusement in it.
He knows exactly what I’m doing.
Rounds end. I head toward my office, exhausted and determined not to think about him.
The elevator doors are almost closed when a hand slides between them.
My heart stops.
Brennan steps in.
Great.
Of course.
The doors shut with a quiet chime.
The space is too small. The air too thin.
I take a step back automatically.
He watches me, one brow lifting. “I don’t bite. You don’t need to take two steps back from me.”
I lean my head against the cold metal wall, exhaling slowly. “This is not appropriate conversation.”
He smirks. “You scratched me. Pretty sure that makes you the dangerous one.”
I choke on a laugh before I can stop myself.
He notices.
He always notices.
The elevator hums downward.
He steps closer—not touching, but close enough that I feel him. His warmth. His presence. That quiet, commanding gravity.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says lightly.
I close my eyes for half a second. “Do you?”
“You put me in the ER so you wouldn’t have to look at me all day.”
I open my eyes. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“Am I?”
He tilts his head, studying me like a patient on an exam table.
“You dream about me?” he asks casually.
My breath stutters.
He laughs softly. “Your face answers that.”
“Stokes—”
The elevator shudders.
Once.
Twice.
The lights flicker.
Then the world drops into darkness.
The elevator jerks violently, metal screeching. My stomach lurches, fear spiking—
And suddenly Brennan is in front of me.
He moves without thinking, stepping into my space, one arm around my waist, the other braced against the wall as the car jolts. His body shields mine instinctively, solid and unyielding.
I feel his heart racing under my palm.
The elevator slams to a halt.
Silence.
Blackness.
My breath comes out shaky.
His arm is still around me.
Neither of us moves.
Then, faintly, emergency lights flicker on, bathing the small space in dim red.
We look at each other.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low, serious now.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I think so.”
He doesn’t let go.
We both realize it at the same moment.
The elevator doesn’t move.
A robotic voice crackles through the speaker. “Technical failure. Please remain calm. Assistance is on the way.”
Brennan exhales slowly.
“Looks like we’re trapped, Dr. Meyer.”
And suddenly, the elevator feels very, very small.
Brennan steps back first.
His hand slides from my waist, and the absence of his touch is so sudden my body leans forward before I can stop myself, instinctively searching for his warmth.
I catch myself and press my head against the cold metal wall instead.
“This can’t be happening,” I mutter.
He studies me, then asks quietly, “Are you claustrophobic?”
“No.” I let out a breath that turns into a laugh—too loud, too hysterical.
He blinks. “What?”
“This is just…” I shake my head, laughing again. “This is the most cliché thing in the world. I’m avoiding you, and we end up trapped in an elevator together.”
His lips twitch. “So you really are avoiding me.”
“Shut up.”
He chuckles, the sound low and infuriatingly warm. Then he slides down to sit on the floor, one knee bent, one elbow resting casually on it—like he’s in his living room, not stuck in a stalled elevator with his attending.
“You know this could take an hour, right?” he says lightly. “We should talk so you don’t get bored. Or we can… do other things. If you want.”
I glare at him, but I’m smiling. “Let’s talk.”
He nods like he’s been waiting for permission.
I sit too, crossing my arms over my knees. “Okay. You knew I was your attending. And you still chose to sleep with me. Was this some game for you?”
He looks genuinely confused.
“You never knew?” he asks.
“Knew what?”
He tilts his head, studying me, then exhales like he’s been carrying this for years.
“I’ve always been obsessed with you, Marina. Since forever.”
I stare at him. “You’re kidding.”
He laughs. “I can probably find notebooks at my parents’ house with your name written in hearts. Marina and Brennan. A thousand times. I was… committed.”
I blink. “I thought only girls did that.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “I was really invested in you.”
I laugh, stunned. “You were really into me all this time?”
“I cried when you left for college. I cried when you came back engaged.”
My mouth drops open.
“So,” I say, stunned, “I take tears from you? You’re all commanding and intimidating, and I made you cry?”
He leans closer, eyes bright. “Oh, so you think I’m commanding and intimidating?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, my cheeks burning.
He laughs softly, then lifts a hand. “Okay. My turn. This isn’t an interrogation.”
“Fine,” I say. “Ask.”
He hesitates—just for a beat.
“Why are you still Dr. Meyer?”
The question hits like a punch to the gut.
I turn my face away, staring at the dim red emergency light, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
Silence stretches.
Then he swears under his breath. “I’m sorry. That was— I shouldn’t have asked that.”
I inhale slowly, then exhale.
“It’s okay.”
He watches me carefully.
“I built my life around Jonathan,” I say quietly. “We met in college. He knew he wanted cardiology. He was so certain. And I wanted that certainty so badly. I knew I loved him, so I followed. Same residency. Same specialty. Same future.”
I swallow.
“We married in med school, so I was never Dr. MacArthur. From day one, I was Dr. Meyer. And now…” My voice falters. “If I stop using his name, it feels like I’m killing him again. Like erasing him. I don’t think I can handle that.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
He just listens.
After a moment, he says softly, “You’re tough as hell. You know that, right?”
I laugh weakly. “I don’t feel tough.”
“You are.” His voice is firm, like it’s a fact. “Most people would’ve shattered.”
Silence settles again.
Then I add, quieter, “And cardiology wasn’t even my dream.”
He looks at me, surprised. “It wasn’t?”
“I wanted ortho,” I admit. “Always loved bones, trauma, surgery. Cardio was… safe. For him. For us. For the life we planned.”
He nods slowly, absorbing that.
“Do you regret it?”
“I don’t know.” I stare at my hands. “I loved him. I don’t regret loving him. But I regret not choosing myself.”
He studies me like he’s memorizing this version of me.
“You should choose yourself now,” he says simply.
The elevator hums faintly.
I glance at him. “You’re not very subtle.”
He smiles. “I never was. Especially with you.”
The lights flicker once.
Then the elevator shudders, metal grinding against metal.
“It’s moving,” I whisper.
Brennan stands at the same time I do. The floor jolts, and I stumble forward.
His hands catch me instantly.
My palms land on his chest. His hands grip my arms, steady, protective, too close. My pulse spikes as if my body recognizes him before my mind can intervene.
We’re breathing the same air.
The elevator lurches again, and my body tilts fully into him. His arms tighten around me, solid, warm. My cheek brushes his collarbone. My lips hover so close to his that I feel his breath against them.
He doesn’t kiss me.
He doesn’t move away either.
We hover there—two people suspended between gravity and restraint.
His gaze drops to my mouth.