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Ryan scoots away before I can swat him for his comment, so I grab the first thing in my reach—a wimpy kitchen towel—and whip it at him, aiming for his balls but it lands short. He stillmanages to catch it before it hits the ground and tosses it on the island with a wink.
He starts sorting through the papers on my small, two-seater dining table, which has become my bookshelf, homework area, and a catch-all for every school-related item. “What are we studying today?”
“Advanced Health Assessment. It’s the first thirteen chapters, I think. There should be a study guide tucked in the book somewhere.”
“I sure don’t miss all the studying that comes with school.”
“Did it come easy for you? I know med school isn’teasy, but did being interested in medicine make it easier to dedicate yourself to studying? That’s how nursing school was for me. That’s how I’m hoping this program is, too.”
He gathers my book, and notes, and heads to the couch. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He sits, reaching to release the leg rest as he settles in, opening my textbook in his lap. “I hate studying, but I loved being in the cadaver labs. Seeing how the body is put together and how some organ systems change after death or disease is the best way to learn. Better than any textbook picture.”
“Ugh, is it bad if I’m jealous that you got to work on cadavers?” I crack a half dozen eggs in a bowl, opting to add a few more considering Ryan’s size. “Even if I go the NP route, I don’t think that’s part of the program, yet that’s so fascinating to me.”
“Why are we still pretending you aren’t sure about the program?”
“Because I’m not sure.”
“Just do it.” His eyes dart back and forth between mine, seeing the hesitation written all over my face. He sets his coffee cup on the end table, pushes my books off his lap, and stands to stroll into the kitchen.
I watch him saunter around the counter, eyes holding my mind until he pulls me from the stove, my back now against the counter. He cages me in between each arm, leaning down for effect.
“You’re smart, and you love working with people. You’d be great at anything, I’m sure. But I’ve seen you interacting with patients, and I don’t think you’d be happy working in management, sitting in an office all day. Do you want to worry about budgets and staffing?” He shakes his head. “Nah. I think you’d miss bedside care. You’d be outside of your office answering call lights all day to chat with the patients.”
I sigh, eyes falling to his chest, and I reach out to run my hands up his pecs. “Of course, you’re right. But it’s scary sometimes to think about that, to be the one that decides treatment for someone.” The sound of butter sizzling in my frying pan draws my attention, and he releases his hold enough so I can turn back to the stove to adjust the heat. “What if I mess up? What if I order the wrong thing, make the wrong choice, or miss obvious symptoms and hurt someone because of it?” I pause, feeling overwhelmed by the thought of the responsibility. But God, at the same time, I’ve alwayswantedthat level of responsibility. I want to be the one to analyze every lab result, and every test, find out details of every symptom, and figure out what is going on with someone. “What if I accidentallykillsomeone?”
“You might.”
My eyes widen at his response. He says it so mundane, so simply, as if I said something as casual as, “I wonder if the sky is blue.”
“Probably won’tkillsomeone,” he continues, “but make the wrong decision and harm someone, or once you make the right decision it’s too late to help? It’s happened to every practitioner in their time. If they say otherwise, they’re lying, or they’relucky.” He shrugs. “It’s a shitty, shitty part of the job, buteveryonemakes mistakes. You make the best decisions you can at the time with the information you have available. You can consult with specialists, ask every question you can think of, order every test to help, and still make the wrong decision, or something still goes wrong. Sometimes you hate yourself for it.”
His eyes lock on me. “Think about Elda. We dideverythingby the book, and we still lost her. Sometimes the body rejects what’s best for it. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. You have too much talent to waste it somewhere else.”
His response has me choked up. I suck in a breath and return my attention to the frying pan, adding the diced peppers and onions to the melted butter with a sizzle. “If you ever decide being a sexy, brooding doctor is too boring for you, you’d make a great motivational speaker.”
“A sexy, brooding motivational speaker?” he asks as a genuine smile crosses his face.
“Obviously.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lainey
“Let’s go back over some parts of the lymphatic system once more. Then maybe I’ll give you a break.”
I whine in response but can’t deny how grateful I am for Ryan’s help. After a huge breakfast, half of a football game, and a second pot of coffee, Ryan muted the TV and has spent the last two hours quizzing me on everything from the cardiovascular system to details of the male genitalia, making sure I’m ready for my mid-term.
We’re lying on both ends of the couch, facing each other. My textbook and notes cover his lap and as he talks, he mindlessly grabs my foot, starting a massage that pulls my focus from pulmonary function to reminiscing about last night.
He wiggles my leg to get my attention. “Quit staring at my dick and tell me again about erythropoiesis, starting from the bone marrow, and tell me how erythrocytes are made.”
I vigorously scrub my hands across my face. Maybe I was staring at his dick. But right now, he’s only wearing his black joggers, and since his tee and briefs are busy in my washing machine, I’m very aware of how naked he is under those pants.
“Okay, okay. First, the kidneys sense a decrease in oxygen, which signals the body to release erythropoietin. Tho—"
“Tell me the two most common causes of the decrease in blood oxygen,” Ryan interrupts.
“Anemia and … some type of hypoxia?”
