Page 137 of The Love Operation

My mind flashes to Benedict, and my stomach clenches like it’s doing somersaults in wet cement. I shove the thought away.

“We’ll talk soon” is all I say.

He nods, opens the door, and steps into the hallway—just as Dr. Lambert walks by . . . with Katie. She does a double take. Her eyes flick from Isaac to me, then back again, narrowing slightly as something unreadable settles onto her face.

It all unfolds in slow motion, and I wonder why—of all fucking people—it had to be scandal-thirsty, ogre-adulteress Katie who happened to walk by at that exact moment. Don’t they have hand stuff to do? (Not like that. He’s a hand surgeon!)

Isaac shouldn’t have come here. Hospital execs rarely wander through the physician suite, and it’s even rarer to see one exit a private office. But after today’s incident, maybe it’s not as strange as it would’ve seemed yesterday.

Katie must not have heard yet.

Isaac leaves without another word.

As I make my way past the administrative cubicles toward the clinic rooms, my phone buzzes.

Delenn: Don’t forget to come by when clinic is over.

She’s anxious, and I’m dreading facing her, but I have no choice.

I don’t know exactly what she’s thinking, but Delenn isn’t naive. She knows. Maybe not the full scope, but I’m guessing some part of her is still clinging to the hope that there’s another explanation—something easier, cleaner, less stabby-in-the-backy. Because the truth is so much worse. The truth is . . . she trusted someone with everything—her research, her friendship, her future—and that someone broke that trust. And I hate that the someone is me.

Me: I’ll be there.

But my stomach isn’t just twisted over Delenn. It’s also because of the text I missed.

Benedict: Can we talk? And are you okay?

A scream curls in my throat like a live fish tossed onto a hot grill. Did the news make it all the way to Benedict?

I shove my phone deep into my coat pocket and walk briskly to my waiting patients.

I don’t know what to say to him. I know we need to talk. And normally, I pride myself on handling whatever comes. But this? This feels like too much.

I repeat the mantra I’ve said all day: Sleep—then I can respond. Then I’ll know how to respond.

But as I walk into a patient room, I’m wondering if I’m putting too much on sleep’s shoulders.

Chapter 34

Hold Still, This Might Hurt a Little

I slink into Delenn’s office at the end of the day, barely upright. I have nothing left. No defenses. No filter. I’ll be lucky if I make it home without pulling over to nap on the side of the road.

“I thought you’d never get here,” she says.

She’s standing, arms crossed, vibrating with pent-up energy. Then—surprisingly—she opens her arms.

“You scared me.”

Her anger, I could take. This quiet compassion? I can’t. I pull away, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.

“I’ve had all day to wrap my head around this,” she says, “and I still can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, letting those two words stand. I am sorry. But I also don’t know that I wouldn’t do it again. Not all of it. Not the OR part. But the rest?

“So it’s true?” Her voice is quieter now. “You initiated a memory . . . during surgery?”

“Yes,” I say, without hesitation.