The door shuts behind us.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Are you sure?Sounded like one to me.”I match his pace as we walk to the ward.
“I haven’t even finished.I still have to update you on Room 12.”
“Next time, maybe space out your findings.My day just became significantly busier.”
“I’ll try to be less competent next time.”
We pause at the nurses’ station.“Don’t you dare.Now tell me about Room 12.”He reaches for the next chart, and so do I, our fingers brushing briefly.I don’t let myself react, but the contact sparks something small and stupid in my chest.
“Shaina,” I say, eyes on the file, “had two more seizures overnight.The medication isn’t holding.I recommend we shift to sedative support.”
The temperature in the room drops.
He stiffens beside me.His jaw tics as he flips through the chart again, slower this time.I expect pushback, and I’m prepared to walk him through my reasoning step by step if I have to.“We’ll increase the dose.”
I glance up.“We’ve already doubled it once.”
“Then we monitor,” he says, voice clipped.“No sedation.”
The edge in his tone is new.I can’t shake the feeling that this moment is saying more than either of us is willing to admit.I’ve read a case study about it.And there’s something about the way he’s refusing that doesn’t sit right with me.It’s not medical caution; it’s personal resistance.Whatever his reason, Shaina’s safety can’t be secondary to it.I won’t let it be.
“Are you overriding my recommendation?”I plant my hands on the nurses’ station counter just outside the room, heart pounding from rising adrenaline.
Harrison doesn’t even glance up.Just keeps writing into the chart like he hasn’t thrown away everything I just said in front of three nurses and an intern.“Yes.Because it’s premature.”
“But the longer we wait, the worse the episodes could get,” I argue.
His eyes finally snap to mine, and there's that damn steel in them again, the same stubborn, unwavering force that makes him so good and so impossible.“This isn’t about being right.It’s about being sure.”
“I am sure.”
He exhales through his nose, making his nostrils flare, and pushes away from the counter, lowering the chart with a deliberate thud.“You’re still seeing this like a puzzle to solve.These aren’t academic cases.These are real kids.You don’t just throw solutions at them and hope something sticks.”
I flinch, and he sees it.I hate that he sees it.
His Adam’s apple bobs like he regrets it, but he doesn’t take it back.
He turns and walks off, leaving me boiling in silence.The nurse gives me a wide-eyed look before quietly excusing herself.Smart girl.
Chapter 7
Brant
Istandnearthenurses' station the next day, scrolling my phone between charts, when I see a headline that slaps me across the face.
MYSTERIOUS MENTOR MELTDOWN
My thumb hovers above the screen as I read through the rest.
There’s tension in the pediatric wing, and we’re not just talking about tiny IV needles.
Sources say Dr.Brant Harrison, Pulse Point Medical Center’s brooding pediatric senior doctor, snapped at a new resident in front of staff this week.Witnesses claim the scene was “intense,” “icy,” and “lowkey hot.”
And who was on the receiving end of this oh-so-public professional scolding?
