13. Chapter 13 #3
Sandra glanced up at him then, her sharp eyes assessing. “You’re not wrong.”
Heath leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Zaire let her take lead on part of the repair. That normal?”
Sandra shrugged. “If she wasn’t good, he wouldn’t have let her touch it.”
“She was more than good.”
Sandra didn’t answer that. Just gave him a smirk. Which meant she agreed. And that told Heath a hell of a lot more than he was asking.
He filed it away, straightening. “Appreciate the intel, Doc.”
Sandra raised a brow. “That what this was? Intel gathering?”
Heath smirked. “You tell me.”
Sandra let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she pushed off the wall. “Once Rawlings is out and stable, you’ll go see him?
Heath gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I will.”
“Alright. See you around.” She gave him another nod and disappeared down the hall.
Then, without hesitation, he turned toward the recovery ward—because he had two missions now.
One was Rawlings.
And the other?
Dr. Madeline McAuley.
Because what he had seen in that OR? That didn’t match the woman falling apart in his arms.
And Heath Carrington didn’t like questions he couldn’t answer.
* * * * *
Nearly 22:00hrs, the surgical debrief was held in a private conference room off the ICU, a space designed for high-level case reviews and military-civilian coordination.
The walls were lined with monitors displaying Rawlings’ post-op scans, his vitals feeding live from the recovery unit.
A long polished table dominated the center, surrounded by Balboa’s top surgical staff and SEAL Team 7’s leadership.
Heath stood near the far end of the room, next to Lieutenant Commander Greg Dawson and Commander Ryan Ellis, both of whom represented Team 7’s operational leadership. Neither of them were the type for unnecessary meetings, but this wasn’t just any patient—Rawlings was one of theirs.
Dr. Amani Zaire sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding, fingers steepled in front of him as he skimmed over a chart. Across from him, Dr. Catherine Hankins and Dr. Sandra Jin were seated, reviewing the case details.
And Maddie—Dr. McAuley—was seated beside Jin, her posture stiff, her hands folded neatly over a closed notepad.
She hadn’t looked at Heath once.
He didn’t take it personally. This was the job.
The air in the room was calm but charged, everyone focused as they waited for the meeting to begin. The post-op review was standard protocol, but the presence of SEAL Team 7’s senior leadership meant extra scrutiny.
The door opened again.
A man walked in like he owned the place.
Average height. Average build. Not military, not a surgeon in scrubs—just a man in a well-tailored suit with a chip on his shoulder.
Heath knew the type.
The kind of guy who liked to have power without ever having to bleed for it.
“Dr. David Walsh,” the man said, introducing himself as he pulled out a chair near Zaire. “Senior Director of Surgical Administration.”
A hospital suit.
That explained the energy. Bureaucrats always thought they were the most important people in the room.
Heath barely blinked, but beside him, Commander Ellis shifted just slightly, exhaling through his nose—the kind of quiet reaction that meant the guy was already irritating him.
Heath let his attention drift back to Maddie.
She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t reacted.
But her shoulders were tight, and there was something strained in her expression.
So this was him.
Her ex-husband.
He filed that away, but kept his face unreadable.
Dr. Zaire cleared his throat, commanding attention. “Let’s begin.”
The formal debrief ran smoothly at first.
Dr. Zaire led, detailing the surgical approach taken and how the team successfully removed the remaining shrapnel fragments. He acknowledged the intraoperative challenges, particularly the proximity of metal debris near the hepatic vein.
Dr. Hankins reviewed Rawlings’ current condition, explaining that while he was still in critical but stable condition, the next 72 hours were vital for monitoring infection risk and organ function.
Commander Ellis, arms crossed over his chest, nodded once. “Appreciate the urgency, Doctor. What’s his projected recovery timeline?”
Dr. Jin leaned forward. “Given the extent of abdominal trauma, we’re looking at an extended recovery. Full rehab before operational clearance could be anywhere from six to twelve months, minimum.”
There was a small shift among the SEAL officers. Twelve months was unacceptable.
Dawson spoke next, his voice measured. “What does a best-case scenario look like?”
Dr. Hankins exhaled. “If he responds well to physical therapy and there are no post-op complications, we could potentially shorten that timeline. But it won’t be rushed.”
Heath stayed quiet, watching the conversation unfold.
His job here wasn’t to argue recovery timelines—not yet. That would come later. Right now, this was about assessing how well the hospital was handling their guy.
But then David Walsh spoke.
And Heath immediately didn’t like the way he did it.
“While I understand the team is satisfied with the surgical outcome, I do have concerns about the approach taken tonight.”
A weighted silence filled the room.
Zaire lifted a brow. “Go on.”
David sat forward, folding his hands over the table. “I’d like to formally address that Dr. McAuley was allowed to perform critical portions of this surgery despite being a junior attending.”
Maddie stiffened.
Heath’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t move.
Dr. Zaire was unfazed. “Dr. McAuley is a fully credentialed trauma surgeon, and her role in the procedure was both appropriate and necessary.”
David didn’t back down. “Necessary, or a risk? This was a high-profile surgery with military oversight. If this hospital is to remain a leading facility for cases like these, we cannot afford to allow inexperienced surgeons to take lead in critical moments.”
The fucking audacity.
Heath flicked his gaze toward Maddie, reading every unspoken emotion on her face.
She wasn’t shocked.
She wasn’t even defending herself.
Like she had heard this before.
Heath clenched his teeth, keeping his expression unreadable.
David continued, as if he hadn’t just humiliated his ex-wife in front of her peers and commanding officers.
“Moving forward, I’d like to set clear policy that only senior-level attendings take lead in high-risk surgeries. I trust that won’t be an issue.”
Heath let out a slow breath through his nose, steadying himself.
Because if he spoke now, he wouldn’t be able to keep the bite out of his tone.
Dr. Zaire, to his credit, didn’t immediately agree.
Instead, he sat back, studying David with the kind of quiet authority that reminded everyone who actually ran this department.
“Duly noted, Dr. Walsh,” Zaire said. But his tone was flat. Noncommittal.
David looked satisfied, like he had won something.
Maddie said nothing.
Just sat there, shoulders squared, staring straight ahead.
Dr. Hankins cleared her throat, effectively shifting the room back to professionalism. “If there’s nothing further, we’ll move forward with the recovery plan. Next check-in at 0800.”
Commander Ellis nodded. “Understood. We appreciate the team’s work tonight.”
The meeting officially concluded, and the doctors began shuffling their notes, rising from their seats.
Maddie was the first out.
She didn’t linger, didn’t even look up.
Just stood, collected her things, and walked out the door.
Heath tracked every step she took.
David didn’t.
Because David had already dismissed her.
And that pissed Heath off more than anything else.