“I bet it is. Hospital politics always are, especially when you mix in personal feelings.”
“I ain’t said nothin’ about?—”
“Son, I’ve been married to your mother long enough to know. It’s in your voice.” He paused. “You need to be careful. If this goes sideways, she could get caught up.”
“I know. That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Then make sure you both come out of this intact. I’ll have Vincent reach out to you. Prepare for that meeting. And make sure Harper keeps her head up high too. Call me after the meeting Tuesday. I want to hear how it goes. Oh, and son?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“The next family FaceTime session, make sure Harper is around. I’d like to lay my eyes on her. Your mother would sure love to meet the woman who may have tamed her youngest boy.”
I laughed despite everything. “We’re not—it’s not like that.”
“Yet,” Dad said. “Keep me in the loop. On everything.”
“I will, Dad.”
I hung up and sat there for a moment, phone still in my hand. Dad had spent years as a physician, many of those at a major teaching hospital. He’d navigated the same politics, the same bureaucracy, the same careful dance between doing your job and keeping administration happy. If he said I needed an attorney, I needed an attorney.
And if he thought Harper was worth meeting, then what was happening between us was more than just complicated.
My phone buzzed with a text before I could think too hard about that.
Banks:
Hey Vaughn. We missed you last night. Plastics beat our asses. Where’d you get off to?
I stared at the message for a moment, debating how to respond.
Me:
Had something come up.
Banks:
Mmhmm. You playing tonight? We need to reclaim our crown.
Me:
It’s Wednesday, Banks.
Banks:
I know what the hell day it is, man. We play when we play. You in or out?
I needed to burn off the tension from this morning. I needed to stop replaying Webb’s words in my head.
Me:
Gimme thirty minutes.
I changed quickly, trading my button-down and slacks for shorts and a t-shirt that had seen better days. The fabric was worn soft from too many washes, the hospital logo on the front faded to almost nothing.
The gym was more crowded than I expected for a Wednesday evening. Both courts were in use—cardio had claimed one end for a pick-up game of their own, and trauma had the other. I spotted Banks immediately, already warming up with Dr. Kim and a few others I recognized from Tuesday nights.
Banks was five foot nine, built like an athlete, with deep brown skin and a fade that was always crisp. She spent her high school and college years playing competitive sports, from lacrosse to basketball to soccer. Her hands were quick, her court sense was excellent, and she talked more shit during a game than anyone I’d ever met.
