Page 132 of The Love Operation

It’s like I’ve reverted to a medical student. I can’t ask Dahlia. Not with Dr. Wal standing there. That’ll go straight in the write-up. Doesn’t even know what equipment she needs for the operation.

My heart races. My skin goes clammy under the gown. Panic nips at the edges of my calm.

Then a thought hits—I can pull a memory. The last time I repaired a dural tear.

I hold pressure, close my eyes.

Instantly, I’m back in the revision case we did three weeks ago. I hear myself asking for the dural repair kit. I feel the thin suture, watch myself cut the patch to size, then tie it down. Confidence floods my system.

I blink back into the present, but something’s wrong.

People are moving too fast. Voices overlap. Someone’s tugging at my gown.

Dr. Wal is getting gowned and gloved. He wasn’t supposed to be scrubbed in. He was supposed to be observing.

“Get your hands off me,” I say to whoever is trying to pull me from the table. My table. My patient.

“Dr. Wren, you stopped responding,” this person—I can’t seem to focus on their face—says. “Dr. Wal had to scrub in.”

“I paused to think,” I snap. I fucking closed my eyes! “That’s not a medical emergency.”

But no one moves. They’ve already made their decision, and in their eyes, I’ve confirmed it.

“It was several minutes,” Dahlia says softly. “I’m sorry, Cord. We weren’t sure you were okay.”

The OR is abuzz, everyone chiming in. “Thank God you were here, Dr. Wal” and other nonsense like that.

“Quiet in my OR.” I raise my voice, and the room quiets.

Dr. Wal is standing opposite me, now fully scrubbed, ready to step in.

“Dr. Wal, you can step back now,” I say, tight and controlled.

He puts his hands up. “I’m just here to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I say through gritted teeth, but I know there’s nothing I can do. This is what I’d do in his position if our situations were reversed. I messed up. So I don’t say anything else. I try to focus on the positives. At least it wasn’t one of my competitors for chief.

I finish the repair and complete the operation with Dr. Wal babysitting me. It’s one of the most humiliating experiences of my entire career, but I don’t let it show. I focus on the patient.

When it’s over, I peel off my gloves and gown. My skin is damp. My stomach is hollow.

The nurse doesn’t pretend to be casual. “Dr. Wren, the chief wants to see you. Now.”

No apology. No discussion. Just a summons.

My stomach drops through the floor, because I did this to myself. One lapse in judgment will likely haunt me forever. And for the first time in my career, I have no idea how I’m going to talk my way out of it.

Chapter 33

If You Repeat This, I’ll Deny It

I walk into Dr. Russell Vaughn’s office, determined to own the space before he does.

I know hospital policy. I know what I’m walking into. But if I seem unrattled, there’s a chance the rest of the hospital will follow suit. This isn’t a problem—it’s an opportunity to show how capable I am.

Who am I kidding? This is a disaster, but I will turn it around.

“Hello, Dr. Vaughn,” I say, like he’s summoned me here to review supply inventory over tea and croissants.