Empty.
Crap.
He’s already started.Which means, he’s going to be even more irritated.I wince.I could page him, but it would be quicker to find him.I head to the ward instead.
There he is, in a dark gray suit, tall, broad, and immaculately put together, leaning over the nurses’ station like he owns the place.Which, technically, in Pediatrics, he does.
The ward's jungle theme reminds me of the banana incident in his office.I almost smile.Almost, but tonight isn’t funny.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I blurt out, chest heaving as I stop beside him.“My car wouldn’t start.I’ve been running since—”
He looks at me.Then at his watch.Then back at me.His jaw flexes, lips thinning into a line.
“Your top’s inside out,” he says, flatly.
I look down.And yep, the tag’s sticking out, seams out in the open.Heat blasts through my face.
“Oh, God.”I want the floor to swallow me whole, right now, please.
“Go fix it,” he says before I can even begin to apologize.“I’ll meet you back here.I’m not walking around with you looking like that.”
I nod, mortified, and make a beeline for the bathroom again.This time, I face the mirror.I fix my top, smooth down my hair, and take one last steadying breath.
Okay, time to reset.
When I return to the ward, Brant’s back at the desk, flipping through a chart like nothing happened.
I clear my throat.“It was my car.It wouldn’t start.I had to call a rideshare, and they took forever.”
He nods once.“Don’t let it happen again.”His tone is firm, but there’s no edge to it.
I nod, too, but inside my chest still burns not just with embarrassment, but something else.Something I can’t quite name when he looks at me like that.
Fine.I’ll prove him wrong.
“Where’s the car right now?”
“Back at home.”I shift my weight from foot to foot.“I’ll have to organize something on my break.Do you know a good mechanic around here?Someone trustworthy who works fast?Because I’m not on the same shifts as my dad, so it’s not like he can run me in and out every day.”
He looks up, but I can’t get a read on his expression.
“It’s fine,” he says quietly.“I’ll drop you off at home tomorrow morning.”
“Oh… no, that’s okay.”I wave it off instinctively, already shaking my head.Because the thought of being alone in a car with him after everything that’s happened between us, it feels too risky.I’ll either sit in excruciating silence or finally say all the things I’ve been holding back, and I’m not sure which one scares me more.“I’ll ask my dad to pick me up.It’s fine.”
He holds my gaze.“I said I’ll drop you.”
My stomach does a weird little flutter at the way he says it, like it’s not even a question.I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
“Well.”He flips the chart shut with a soft snap.“Now that’s out of the way, let’s concentrate on getting started.”
I nod quickly, eager to move on, but I swear his lips twitch.Almost like he’s trying not to smile.I think, maybe he’s not as pissed as he could’ve been.Maybe my being late isn’t that bad after all.
We move through the ward, side by side at first, then splitting off in opposite directions.But even as I walk away, I’m hyperaware of him, like the sound of his footsteps, the tap on the tablet as he reads each file, and the occasional heat on my face that, when I glance over, I catch him staring before he looks away.With some cases, I walk over to discuss the chart with him.Like this last one.
“I’d recommend adjusting her insulin dosage,” I say, pointing to a glucose chart.“Her levels have been spiking post-lunch, even with regular boluses.”
“And why do you think that is?”he asks.
