Chapter 5
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My father and I walked through his neighborhood just outside the city.
Staten Island was quiet in that early-morning way that made me remember New York could actually shut up.
The trees were doing that polite rustling thing with birds chirping from the branches, and my dad was power-walking like a man on a mission.
After the heart attack, he’d started taking his health very seriously. He was in gray sweats and a faded navy T-shirt that said, I’m Not Old I’m Vintage. A black headband held back the thinning hair he refused to admit was rapidly becoming less.
Something about walking beside your dad while he lectured squirrels about personal responsibility had a calming effect on me. This morning, however, calm was not in my wheelhouse.
“So, how was your first official week at work?” he asked, swinging his arms beside himself as we walked.
I snorted. “Fantastic. I love it. I’m living the dream. Oh, and I threw a cannoli at my boss.”
He stopped walking and slowly turned his head to gawk at me. “You did what?”
“I threw a cannoli at him,” I repeated. “It was a direct hit. You would’ve been proud of my aim. There was pastry cream everything.”
He stared at me for another beat, then nodded. “Okay. Walk me through that. What the heck happened, Bree? Since when do you go around flinging dessert at people?”
“I don’t, but he…” I exhaled and launched into story I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or embarrassed of.
“I was so excited to sign the contract, Daddy. It was literally my dream come true, but my new boss is implementing all these changes, and clearly, he’s never worked in an actual medical setting.
He thinks hospitals run on spreadsheets instead of people and he’s so damn smug about it that I couldn’t help myself. ”
My father hummed sympathetically, nodding like this was all tracking, so I went on.
“This week, he replaced the patient gowns with paper ones. Paper. For patients. Obviously, I couldn’t just let that stand, so I went to talk to him like an adult.
I even tried to be nice, which is why I took the cannoli in the first place, but then he said some things, and then I ended up throwing it at him. ”
“Was it a good cannoli?” my dad asked.
I groaned. “Yes. It was a proper one. Expensive too, which makes it so much worse.”
He sighed. “That does complicate things.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to keep working there,” I said, kicking a pebble off the sidewalk when we started walking again. “Even if he doesn’t fire me, this is only the first of the changes. If this is what week one looks like, what happens when he really gets going?”
My father slowed his pace, matching it to mine. “Hey, you’re strong, kiddo. You’re smart too and you’re good at what you do. Whatever happens, you’ll get through this.”
I swallowed past the bitter disappointment rising from within. “I just wanted it to be good, you know? I wanted it to be home, but it’s never going to be. Not like this.”
He reached over and gently squeezed my shoulder. “I know, but no matter what, I’ll always love you. Even if you become known on the Manhattan hospital scene as the woman who weaponized Italian pastry.”
I laughed. “That’s not the legacy I was going for.”
We walked in comfortable silence for a moment. Then he looked over at me again. “If it’s really as bad as all that, you could always quit.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“If you can’t stand it there,” he said calmly. “Just quit. Life is too short to be miserable. You’ve worked so hard to get this far and you’ll land on your feet, even if you do it at another hospital.”
I stared at him. “I can’t just quit my dream job because my boss is a dictator with a fetish for cost-cutting.”
“You can if it’s ruining your peace,” he said simply. “I support you. No matter what.”
I sighed. “Thanks, but I can’t quit. I signed a contract.”
He frowned. “So?”
“So if I quit, there’s a penalty.”
He slowed to a stop again, turning to face me fully. Sweat dotted his forehead, but despite his ridiculous post-cardio-rehab pace, he wasn’t even flushed yet. “What kind of penalty, Bree?”
I blew out a breath, shifting my weight and searching for a way out but not finding one. “The financial kind. Let’s just say that I can’t afford to incur it.”
He studied my face the way he always did when he was deciding whether to go into Dad Lecture Mode or Full Protective Father Mode. Finally, he put his hands on his hips and nodded. “The scholarship for the fellowship. The hospital contributed to the program you completed.”
I nodded, my chest suddenly feeling tight. “It didn’t come cheap.”
“What if you get fired?” he asked. “Is there still a penalty?”
I shook my head. “If my understanding is correct, there’s no problem if I get fired.”
He raised an eyebrow at me and started walking again. “Well, then. That sounds like a solution, doesn’t it?”
“No. No, it’s definitely not,” I said as soon as I’d processed what he was really suggesting. “I can’t get fired on purpose. I would never jeopardize a patient’s care trying to get out of my contract, and that’s what it would take to get myself fired.”
He nodded, accepting my protest without argument, which was very on brand for him. My dad trusted my judgment, especially when it came to medicine. “Of course you would never jeopardize a patient’s care. That’s not what I meant at all. You have, however, thrown a cannoli at your boss.”
“And?”
“And all I’m saying is that there are other ways to get fired.
” Dad grinned as we turned the corner back toward the house.
“If the cannoli didn’t get the job done, perhaps it’s time to up your game.
A jelly-filled doughnut might do it. Chocolate cake.
It seems a terrible waste, but at some point, the man is going to get tired of being covered in baked goods and he’ll fire you. ”
I snorted. “Maybe next time I should aim at his face.”
Dad laughed, his shoulders shaking and his headband slipping a little when he tilted his face toward the sky before looking back at me. “You really threw it? Like full arm, pulling back and the whole deal?”
“It was more of a frustrated lob,” I admitted, chuckling, because in retrospect, that was all I could do. I never lost my cool like that, but Sullivan Crowne was every bit the cocky, haughty bully I’d known he would be from the moment I’d first seen his face.
“I didn’t wind up or anything. I’m not a monster, but I did throw it hard enough to splatter on his fancy suit.”
“God, I’m proud of you,” he said, winking when he met my gaze again. “It’s a waste of a good cannoli, but I’m still proud.”
“Thank you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
We walked up the driveway, the familiar creak of the gate sounding like punctuation at the end of our conversation. The house looked exactly the same as it always had, modest, but sturdy, built out of brick and made of memories.
My parents had lived here forever. It was where I’d been raised and survived everything life had thrown at me so far. Coming back always made me feel like I was fourteen again, skipping up the front steps with my backpack bouncing and my homework just begging to get done.
Mom was already waiting when we walked in, like she’d been standing there the whole time we’d been out, just listening for us to get back. Her voice filtered out of the kitchen, as cheerful and warm as always.
“Wash your hands,” she called. “Brunch is ready.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I replied, heading down the hall to the guest bathroom and quickly washing up.
When I made it to the kitchen, she was just sliding the last plate onto the table, egg white omelets with spinach cut neatly in half.
A bowl of fruit, berries, melon, and something green that probably had plenty of antioxidants, sat between all the plates, along with a few slices of whole wheat toast.
“So this is what healthy people eat,” I muttered as I slid into my chair. “It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what’s actually good for me.”
Mom chuckled and kissed my cheek. “If that’s not a sign that you should come over more often, I don’t know what is.”
“I know, I’ve just been—”
“Busy,” she finished for me, smiling as she nodded and went to fuss over my dad when he sat down. “We know, honey. You’ve been working so hard, but it paid off, didn’t it? Look at you now, our very own nurse practitioner.”
“Our very own nurse practitioner who apparently enjoys throwing the occasional cannoli at her boss,” Dad said, grinning when I shot him a look. “What? You were going to tell her anyway. I just beat you to it.”
My mom gasped when she spun to look at me. “Did he deserve it?”
“Yes.”
She thought it over for a beat, then nodded swiftly, as if the decision had been made. “Then I’ll allow it. I see no issue if you can honestly tell me he had it coming.”
We all erupted into laughter, and for a little while, everything felt warm, fuzzy, and safe. Like I was sixteen again and the biggest problem in my life was a bad grade or a boy who hadn’t texted back.
After brunch, I hugged them both, tearing up a bit when my dad put his hands on my shoulders.
“You’ll be okay, sweetheart. Whether you decide to enact our plan or not, you’re brilliant and caring.
You chose this path because you were born to do it.
No matter what happens with this clown, you will come out on top. ”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, hugging him again, but honestly, I wasn’t sure it was true.
All the way back to my own place, all I could think about was Sullivan Crowne and why I’d reacted that way to him.
My parents were awesome, supportive to the extreme, and they trusted me precisely because this hadn’t been like me at all, but the truth was that I shouldn’t have done what I had and I knew it.
Something had just… happened to me in that conference room, my blood heating with uncontrollable rage that had started as a low churn in my stomach and had finally just erupted.
Hours later, as I moved through the familiar motions of getting ready for work tomorrow, I still couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I laid out my scrubs and made sure my badge was clipped on. I set my coffeemaker and slid my travel mug into the correct slot, and through it all, I tried to convince myself that everything would be fine.
Although I was new in this specific role, I’d dealt with all kinds of stuff in my career so far. Trauma. Loss. Grief. Angry patients. Terrified families. Long nights and impossible decisions.
If I could handle all that, I could deal with Sullivan Crowne and his king-sized ego. I had to. Because Saint Raphael’s was my dream and I refused to let that entitled dickhead take it from me, no matter what unfamiliar reactions he elicited from parts of me I hadn’t even known existed.