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The look of hurt and anger she gave me was even worse than the conversation with Robert. She pulled away, walked a few feet further down the path, then turned.
“It’s not all about you,” she said. “You’re not the only person that suffers. You’re not the only one that gets to make decisions.”
“I know that. But you don’t have to be a part of this anymore. I’ve taught you a lot, you can—”
“Piers,” she said, voice heavy with anger. “Suck it up.”
I took a step back. “What?”
“Suck it up,” she said. “You can still fight this. I know what you just heard was awful, and I’m sure you’re pissed off, but you can fight this. You don’t have to let him roll over you.”
“I’m not,” I said, blinking at her, feeling my own anger rise in kind. I didn’t know what she thought she was doing, but it wouldn’t work. “I’m not going to go down without a fight.”
“Then stop trying to push me away. I’m not going to take the bait. We have a deal, and I’m going to make good on it.”
I took a couple breaths, watching her. Lori was an extraordinary woman, I knew it the second I first met her, but this was more than I could have ever dreamed of.
“Any rational person would go running and screaming.”
“I guess I’m not rational then.”
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I don’t care. I’m sick of being told what to do.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going back inside. We have a procedure to prep for.”
She walked past me, her shoulder scraping against mine. I watched her head down the path then into the building, but didn’t move.
If she were smart, she’d take her cousin up on his offer.
But the fact that she hadn’t yet gave me hope.
If she could see that I wasn’t some bastard, piece of shit egomaniac, then maybe I wasn’t going to get dragged down into the mud. Maybe I could beat this—somehow, I might get lucky.
If she stuck around to see this through, then damn it, I would too.
I followed her back inside and forced myself to go through the motions, even if all I wanted to do was flip a table and burn down the world.
I was a doctor, damn it. I had lives to save.
17
Lori
I kept thinking about the look on his face back in that small alley, after speaking with Robert on the phone: it was agony, pure and simple. He realized then, right in that moment, that it didn’t matter what he did or said, didn’t matter how good he was—he couldn’t fix this with surgical skill alone.
He’d need something else. He’d need my help.
And I was angry enough to give it to him.
Maybe the kiss helped convince me. His lips against mine, his arms around my body, maybe that pushed me over the edge a little bit. Maybe I was tumbling, head over heels, into the abyss.
I liked the way it felt to fall.
They didn’t call it sitting in love. They didn’t call it walking in love.
It was a wild, reckless, crazy thing.
For so long I’d done what was right: gone to the right schools, studied the right way, dated the right boys. I didn’t drink too much, I didn’t stay out too late. I was a good girl.
I wanted to be a doctor, and I thought I had to give up certain things.
I gave up myself, and replaced it with hard work.
Now, I wanted that self back. One way was to have what I wanted, and to help the person that deserved it, even if that meant it might hurt my career in the end.
I wanted Piers. And he deserved my help.
I sat in the courtyard next to the cafeteria stabbing a wilted salad with a plastic fork, listening to a small group of nurses laughing with each other, and staring at the patterns of light and shadow through the single small shade tree planted near a group of benches. It smelled like pollen and syrup, probably from a sticky patch of spilled soda on the ground next to my feet. The nearby door pushed open, and I watched Milo step out, hands shoved in his pockets, looking around before spotting at me. He nodded and hurried over.
“I was looking for you,” he said without greeting.
I smiled a little and waved my fork in the air. “You found me.”
He seemed nervous, jittery almost, and looked over at the group of nurses like they were conspiring against him. He seemed to pull himself together before flinging himself down onto the bench next to me.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, staring at his shoes, a comfortable pair of black sneakers.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Are you all right?”
He ground his teeth and stomped his foot twice on the pavement. “I’m fine,” he said. “But you’re not.”
