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“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
He went into his office and shut the door. I walked away, staring down at the floor, trying to digest that conversation. It was hard to believe that things could be so simple: all I had to do was bring in rich people, and the hospital would be happy, but maybe it was too late even for that. I could bring in a thousand little old ladies with big checkbooks and bad knees, but that wouldn’t save me, and it wouldn’t save Lori.
I headed back toward my office and found her already there, waiting for me with a coffee. She smiled as I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. “Where were you?” she asked.
“Stopped by and talked to Dr. Baker.”
I took the coffee from her and sipped it as she leaned against the filing cabinet. “And what did he say?”
“He said I’m screwed.”
“That’s not great.”
“No, it’s really not.” I sat down in front of the computer and stretched my legs out, leaning my head back. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to imagine how I could turn this around— and seeing nothing. “He thinks I need to bring in more rich patients.”
“To replace the one that died?”
“More or less.”
“That doesn’t seem very ethical.”
“Not so much about ethics, and more about economics.”
She scowled at me. “You know, when I was a little girl, I though doctors were free. It sort of freaked me out when I realized people had to pay for it.”
“Seems immoral, right?”
“Economics,” she said, shaking her head. “So all we need to do is find some rich old people that need help.”
“It’s not going to happen. Even if I had a list of sick elderly folks that could use a quick heart transplant, that doesn’t mean I can just bring them on as patients. It’s not that simple.”
“We’ll figure something out. There has to be a way.” She shook her head, looking about as annoyed as I felt.
“I’ll keep playing the game and hopefully that’ll be enough.” I stood and went to her, and she tilted her chin up toward me as I put my hands on her hips and pinned her closer against the filing cabinet. She felt warm, and soft, and firm, and right. I kissed her gently, tentative, probing, making sure it was okay—and she returned that kiss with a clever eagerness.
“I’ll help however I can,” she said, voice soft.
“I bet you will.” I kissed her again, deeper this time, but she broke it off.
“Don’t we have to be in the OR in twenty minutes?”
“That’s plenty of time.”
She sighed. “You’re so romantic.” She pushed me off with a smile and went to the door. “Get your mind right, Dr. Hood. You have a fight ahead of you.”
“I’ve had a fight this whole time,” I said, slumping back into my chair. “You only just showed up now.”
She gave me a look then disappeared back out into the hall.
Damn girl, she was a distraction. A good distraction, the kind I desperately needed, but a distraction.
It was a heady, rushing thing, whatever was happening between us. I felt like I’d been hit by a wave, and I was tumbling underwater, flipping around and around, trying to gasp for breath—but loving it regardless.
Sooner or later though, I was going to have to let go of her.
Not because I wanted to, but because I was toxic. I couldn’t let my stench waft onto her, and potentially mess up her career.
I’d have to walk away if she was going to become the surgeon I knew she could.
For now, I’d do what I could, but that future wasn’t too far away.
21
Lori
The OR lights were bright, almost blinding, as a bead of sweat rolled down my forehead.
The patient was a seventy-year-old man in relatively good shape, thin white hair, hooked nose. I couldn’t remember his name, and that was probably for the best—lots of doctors felt like a little distance between them and the people they operated on was for the best. I happened to fall into that camp, because if I spent too much time thinking of him as a person, worrying about his grandchildren, about his friends, about all those that would miss him if I screwed up and he died—then I’d be paralyzed with fear and unable to do my job.
So, he was a seventy-year-old white guy, and that was all I needed.
The room was dead silent. I’d been standing over him for the last hour, going through a relatively simple procedure, one I’d done with Piers over and over again, drilling it into my head. We’d practiced in his office, in the cafeteria, and done a few live sessions where I swapped in during a few of the steps to get a feel for the real thing.
But this was the first time I took over, start to finish.
