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“All the same type of doll too. The ones where the eyes open and shut with how you move the doll. He has a thing for blondes with blue eyes and has over a hundred he’s collected. He was very proud of that when he told me, and I was very grateful my hair is brown and not blonde.”
A small laugh ripples through the OR. “You and me both,” the circulating nurse deadpans.
“And I assume he lives in his mother’s basement and his ex has a restraining order out on him? What did he do with the bodies of the dolls, or do I not want to know?”
“I have no clue. I didn’t get that far with my questioning, nor did I want the answer. I stopped pressing after he said doll heads.”
I give an exaggerated shudder, making Katy laugh.
“Nice work, Dr. Fields,” Katy applauds. “You can breathe now. Your staples look perfect. I’m going to speak to the family. Thank you, everyone.”
We leave the OR as the nurses, along with Dr. Fields, finish up with the patient before they move him to the PACU or post-anesthesia care unit, and we go and scrub out. Katy is singing quietly to herself again. She did that a few times during the surgery and was doing it before while she was scrubbing in as well.
“That was excellent, Dr. Barrows. So far, I have to agree with Dr. Kincaid. You know what you’re doing in there, and you do it with heart and passion.” I shoot her an approving glance. She was great. A thoughtful and patient teacher. Calm at all times. Skilled at a higher level than her fifth-year peers.
The pleased smile on her lips makes me want to kiss it just so I can feel it for myself, and I clear my throat, shoving my fixation with her back into the recesses of my mind. How am I already so fucked with this girl? It’s only been twenty-four hours.
“Thank you, Dr. Lawson. I appreciate that, and it means a lot coming from you. Wait till you see me kick some ass with a serious trauma.”
I smirk at her arrogance. “What was all that about the patient’s thing?”
She glances at me as she takes her foot off the pedal and dries her hands with paper towels. “Whenever I can, I ask either the patient or a family member something about them I should know. Something I can take with me into surgery. Something beyond the mechanics of what I’m there to do.”
“Something personal,” I contribute.
She removes her scrub cap and holds it in her hand, staring down at the pink fabric with what I think is a small blush tinting her cheeks. “Yep.”
“What? What aren’t you saying?” I dry my hands and lean my hip against the sink, facing her with my arms folded expectantly over my chest. “There’s more, I can tell.”
She puffs out an annoyed breath, making a few flyways of hair dance around her face. “I need to work on my poker face.” She sighs, still not meeting my eyes. “Fine, but we’re back to that no-judging, can’t hold it against me thing.”
“Promise.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip, shakes her head, sighs again, and then utters what I think is “fuck it,” only to quickly go on. “When I was a third-year medical student, the chief resident told me that surgeons like to cut and sometimes in doing so, we forget the person on our table is a person and not simply a patient there for us to work and learn on.” She looks up at me, her stunning, bright blue eyes locked on mine in a way that makes me feel their intensity. “That stayed with me, especially as someone who has been through a similar traumatic event. So I ask that question because when I walk into that OR, I want to remember it’s not just a cool case or another surgery. It’s someone’s someone I’m trying to save.”
Fuck. I wish I hadn’t asked. I wish I didn’t know that. For a moment, I can’t do anything other than stare unblinkingly at her. Taking in every perfect line of her beautiful face that easily outshines every other woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Sounds like a good teacher,” I quip, hating the thickness in my voice and hoping she doesn’t hear it. Her truth is making me feel way more than I want to feel right now. The warmth flowing through my veins is like a drug made out of sweet, delicious poison, and I find myself once again staring at her lips, remembering just how equally sweet and delicious they were.
“He was.” She pushes away from the sink, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “I’m going to update the family and then head out. I’ll see you Monday, Dr. Lawson.”
“See you Monday, Dr. Barrows.”
She leaves me here, and I take a few extra minutes to get my head back on straight. Again. Something I seem to have to do with annoying frequency anytime I’m near her.
My phone vibrates against my hip, and I pull it out, read over the text, and then head for the computers so I can put in the order the nurse needs. I log in, reading through the patient’s chart when I hear a squeal of delight followed by a loud laugh. When I look up, I see a little girl, maybe five or six, running straight for Katy, who crouches down and scoops her up into her arms, twirling her around the middle of the surgical floor.
The little girl wraps her arms around Katy’s neck, and Katy kisses her cheek before a tall and good-looking man approaches her and snakes his arm around her waist, drawing both of them into his side. They talk, all smiles and laughter, and then the girl says something to Katy, who nods enthusiastically in response. After that, the three of them head for the exit together.
And that sweet, delicious poisonous drug I was feeling high on only moments ago turns corrosive, burning me from the inside out.
I’m an asshole.
A huge fucking asshole.
I never asked Katy if she was with someone. If she was married or a mother.
I never asked her anything personal about herself at all.
