Page 116 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

But that’s exactly the reaction he’s counting on.

“Let’s do it your way,” I say.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” I mean it. Not because I’ve stopped being angry. But because I’ve finally figured out that being right and being reckless aren’t the same strategy, and only one of them actually gets my life back.

The board reinstates me three days later. Full clearance; the complaint dismissed as fraudulent, with Peltz issued a formal warning for failing to follow proper investigatory procedure. It’s not nothing, but it wasn’t enough in my eyes. Sharice tells me there’s already talk among the senior staff that Peltz’s judgment on this was questionable at best, and that’s a different kind of consequence than the one I imagined.

I don’t gloat and look to rub it in his face. Fuck knows I want to, but going back to work will do that enough.

I call my dad with the question on my mind that’s been bothering me for weeks.

“Congratulations. Your attorney did well,” he says when he answers.

“Yeah. Sharice was good.” I stare at the laptop screen, phone to my ear. “Dad, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. What is it?”

I take off my glasses and put them down. “Did you ever tell Peltz I was too arrogant for my own good?”

“He told you that?”

“He used it during the suspension. Said it came directly from you.”

My dad exhales loudly. “I said something like that once. Years ago, at a conference, when you first started at Pulse Point. Peltz asked how you were settling in, and I told him you’d always had a stubborn streak, and that you didn’t take direction well when you thought you were right. It wasn’t meant as a condemnation. It was meant with pride, in a backwards way. You’ve never needed anyone’s permission to believe in yourself. I used to find that frustrating. But now I find it admirable.”

I close my eyes, letting that truth settle. Tightness coils in my chest as I realize one offhand comment at a conference became the ammunition Peltz used to manage me for years. “He made it sound like you thought I was a problem he had to manage.”

“Zachary,” he says softly down the line. “I’m sorry I ever said that in a way that could be used like that. I never thought he’d twist my words or their meaning.”

I don’t say anything as I think about all the years of comparison, trying to outrun his name, assuming every word from him was scorekeeping.

“I think I spent my whole career trying to prove I wasn’t just your son,” I admit. “That I could do this without you. And I think somewhere along the way, I forgot to ask whether that was actually what you wanted from me, or just what I assumed you wanted.”

“I never wanted you to outrun me.” His voice catches slightly, which I’ve never heard before. “I wanted you to be good at this because you loved it. And you are. I should’ve said that more clearly, a very long time ago.”

The honesty of it hits like a physical blow through the speaker. I lower the phone an inch, staring at the blank screen, the silence stretching across the line. I don’t have a quick response, and for once, I don’t go looking for one.

“Yeah,” I finally say, clearing my throat. Taking the chance to be honest myself. “I need to tell you something about the suspension. About why the photo existed in the first place.”

“Okay.”

“The photo was my patient, Hannah Morgan. It’s not what Peltz made it look like. But it’s also not nothing.” I exhale. “I have real feelings for her. And I know how that sounds, given everything.”

My dad is silent, so I expect a lecture about professional ethics, liability, and a reminder of how much harder I’ve made things for myself.

“Is she good to you?” he asks instead.

The question catches me by surprise. “Yeah. She is.”

“Then I think that matters more than how it looks. Just handle it right when the time comes. Which I suspect you already know.”

“I will.”

“I’m not going to pretend I understand it. But I know you. You don’t do things carelessly. You never have. That stubborn streak I mentioned? It cuts both ways.”

A knot in my gut uncoils at his words.