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“Some cases hit harder than others. I’m no different in that,” I tell her simply, starting to walk away.
“Have a good night, Bennett,” she calls after me, using my first name in a familiarity I don’t like. It’s not the name, it’s her voice using it. “Will I see you tomorrow morning?”
“Likely,” I throw back at her.
“Excellent. I’d love to have more time to show you my skills in the OR before we start fellowship interviews.”
I freeze, my body seizing.
What am I doing? I very nearly got caught fucking Katy in the women’s locker room. More than that, I have Cricket up my ass because I’m her boss and presiding over the fellowship for the trauma department.
But what’s hitting me in the worst of ways is how can I pick Katy—who more than deserves it—for this fellowship? I’m fucking her. She’s living with me. I’m trying to get her pregnant. If I succeed, what do I tell my boss and the board? That I’m nominating the woman pregnant with my child for a fellowship I’ll be overseeing? Even if I tell them our situation beforehand, they’ll never pick Katy for the position.
Moreover, they could—and likely will—fire me over this.
I told Katy this wouldn’t be an issue, but someone like Cricket Peterson could and would make it one. Did I just ruin both of our careers, and what happens if our secret gets out?
Chapter Seventeen
I got my period. I sort of expected it when all the tests we took came back negative, but still. It sucks. On top of that, my patient died on the table this morning. There was no saving him, and I knew that, but it was just one thing on top of the other, and I still have six hours left on this bitch.
“I heard about your patient,” Cricket chirps, giving me mockingly sad eyes with a stupid smirk that makes her look even more like a bug than she already is. “I guess you can’t save them all. Though I’m sure I could have.”
“Oh, you mean like the lady who died in your OR yesterday? The one you likely could have saved, but didn’t?” I retort, staring at the computer screen in front of me and pretending like she’s not getting to me as much as she is.
She makes an annoyed noise in her throat because there is no retort to that.
“Whatever,” she snaps. “You’re just upset because Bennett?—”
“Delivery for you, Katy,” Michelle, one of the nurses, says with a big beaming smile as she walks over carrying a cellophane-wrapped basket.
“What is it?” I ask as she sets it down before me.
“You’re not allowed to have that out here,” Cricket bites, her face pinched up as she eyes the large basket with derision—and likely a bit of jealousy.
Michelle and I ignore her. I’m too focused on what’s before me. “It looks like a basket of goodies for you. There’s a card too.”
She rips the taped-on card and hands it to me. Tearing at the small white envelope, I open it, and immediately a smile spears my lips as a pack of happy butterflies fills my chest.
Hope you’re not too down, but if you are, I hope this makes you feel better. Don’t stress it. We’ll get there when the time is right, but, in the meantime, I can’t wait to be inside you again. P.S. The baked goods are all sugar-free or sugar substitutes.
It’s in his handwriting, which means he put this together himself and had it delivered.
“Who’s it from?” Michelle asks.
“A friend,” I whisper, biting into my lip as I tuck the card in my pocket and then attack the cellophane with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas morning. I told Bennett—who has the day off and is going to his mother’s chemo treatment to read her smut—before I left the house this morning that I got my period. He gave me a sweet kiss on my forehead, one on my nose, then wrapped me up in a hug for the ages and told me I was beautiful and perfect and that most people don’t get pregnant on their first try, so I shouldn’t let myself get too upset.
And now he did this.
Something so sweet and thoughtful it makes my heart pinch and my face hurt from trying to contain my smile.
Since our encounter in the women’s locker room over a week ago, things between us have been great. We went to the attorney and discussed with him what we want and what we don’t want, and he drew up papers we both signed. Bennett came swimming with me a couple of mornings, and I went running with him on others. We eat dinner together—healthy meals he cooks for us—when we can.
We talk. A lot. Constantly. And are so fucking honest with each other, it’s insane.
I haven’t slept in his bed, and we haven’t had sex in mine. We’re still maintaining boundaries, but this friendship we’ve developed feels, well, like something that is almost so much better than a friendship. Even when I’m forcing myself to remain neutral and unaffected.
So this basket is messing with that a bit, but right now, I don’t care.
