I wonder again why it’s so secretive.My mind drifts.
“Maybe it’s someone famous?”Rocco interjects.
I snort under my breath.“Doubt it.Don’t think anyone famous would end up at Pulse Point for their residency.”
“Maybe if you’re famous, you don’t want that lifestyle anymore,” Bridget throws in, grinning.
“Maybe.”I shrug again, popping a piece of chicken into my mouth.“Guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
Sitting here, surrounded by my family with the fairy lights glowing overhead, the smell of grilled meat and garlic in the air, there’s a small ache deep down.
It would’ve been nice to share this with someone, too.Sometimes, I feel like the fifth wheel.
But honestly?I wouldn’t trade it.I love Pulse Point.I love my family.I love my job.And right now, nothing’s getting in the way of that… or my goals.
Chapter 3
Brant
Myalarmblaresatfour a.m.sharp.I sit up, already awake, and move through the dark, slipping into my walk-in closet and reaching for my running gear—compression tights, lightweight shirt, and my favorite shoes.Everything’s already laid out.Routine keeps me sane.
I slip in my earbuds and hit play on a new pediatric neurology podcast just as the front door clicks shut behind me.The cool stillness of early spring wraps around me as I head out into the quiet morning.Ten miles before sunrise, that’s the goal.
As I run, I mentally scroll through today’s checklist.I need to finalize a few patient summaries, prep the teaching materials, and touch base with Dr.MasonGouldbefore handoff.The new resident is starting today, which means I’ll need to slow things down, explain more.Set the tone.
I make it back just as the horizon starts to glow.After a quick shower, I eat standing up—eggs, coffee, Greek yogurt, and berries between skimming my morning medical journal.
I pull on my navy-blue suit and knot my tie with practiced ease.Black briefcase in hand, I head out, parking in the staff lot.
Inside the hospital, the hallway is dimly lit with overhead fluorescents softened to a low glow.The walls feel sleepy, as if the building itself hasn’t fully woken up yet.
“You’re in early, Dr.Harrison,” Dr.Hayes says as we pass each other on my way to the pediatric wing.
“Yeah,” I reply, adjusting the briefcase in my hand.“New resident starts today.Figured I’d get a head start.”
“Any idea who it is?”
I shake my head.“No clue.I’m sure they picked someone perfect.”I keep my tone even, but there’s a flicker of skepticism.With the pediatric wing set to expand, and funding coming from a prominent local family, the Kings, everything's under scrutiny… including me.
In the break room, I stash my lunch and pop my creamer into the fridge, the container clearly labeled with HARRISON in thick marker.Small territory claims matter in places like the staff fridge.
After that, I head to the ward.That’s when I see Mason walking toward me, scrubs wrinkled, eyes tired.Night shift.
“I hear you’re taking on the resident,” he says, leaning casually against the edge of the nurses’ station, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
There’s something etched in his smirk that bothers me.We’ve known each other since med school, which means I can read him just as well as he can read me.And right now, he’s enjoying himself way too much.
I pause beside the counter, arching my eyebrow right back.“Is that so?”
He grins, pushing off the desk and stepping closer, the hum of monitors and distant beeps filling the hallway behind us.“Come on.We both know they’re trying to butter you up.Get you in line for chief.”
“I don’t think babysitting a resident is going to win me that title,” I reply evenly, crossing my arms across my chest.“I’d hope my record and dedication would speak for themselves.”
Mason crosses his arms to mirror me.“Well, I’m putting my name in too.I’m going to take on a few extra responsibilities; make sure they know I’m serious.”
I’m not surprised.Mason’s good, and we both know it.If he’s serious about this, then the promotion just became a lot less certain.I meet his stare without flinching.“Then I guess… may the best man win.”
He winks, and the corner of his mouth tilts smugly.Irritation flares in my chest.This was supposed to be mine.I’ve been working toward this for months, putting in the hours, building my reputation.Now I have to fight for it?Against Mason?I resist the urge to roll my eyes and turn back toward my chart.
