Chapter 18
Tim’s POV
I’m late to the pool again, and the faint sheen of water around the edges tells me Brielle’s already done her laps for the morning. She’s efficient like that, and I’m… well, exhausted. I overslept. With a few hours to spare before my shift, I drag myself through thirty laps and then head back to my apartment for a quick shower. As I step out the door afterward, phone and keys in hand, my eyes linger on hers- the door that used to feel so inviting, so open. Could I just walk in like before? The thought curls tight in my chest.
Finally, I shake off the doubt, grab the handle, and turn it. Locked. Figures. I knock once. No answer. Then again. Still nothing. Resigned, I shove my hands into my pockets and make my way downstairs. There’s plenty of time before work-I could grab breakfast in the cafeteria, maybe run into her there. At least that’s what I tell myself. She’s got her own life, after all.
The cafeteria teems with life, a cacophony of conversation and clattering silverware. Not how I’d typically want to start the day, but I grab a tray of food anyway and retreat to the quiet sanctuary of my office. Sitting there with nothing but my thoughts and the muffled hum of the hospital around me, I eat quickly. Might as well get ahead on my rounds this morning.
One of the nurses on duty today is Galenora-a real professional, someone I genuinely respect. She doesn’t flirt with the doctors or cut corners. When I’m in the OR, she’s the one I want by my side. Not because she’s flashy, but because she’s dependable.
“Morning, Doctor,” she says, meeting me with a clipboard and that no-nonsense demeanor I’ve come to appreciate. “Mrs. Grellan had a good night. She’s already reminding everyone that you promised her she could go home soon if she behaved. We’ve even lined up a mobile nurse for her aftercare. Could you sign off and leave the instructions?”
I can’t help but grin. “Well done, Galenora. That’s going to make her day. Want to come with me to deliver the good news?”
We head to Mrs. Grellan’s room together, but before I reach the door, I hear it-a raised voice, tense and sharp. Galenora quickens her steps, throwing me a glance. My own stride lengthens, my pulse quickening. Whatever’s happening, it’s not good. You don’t upset post-op heart patients. That’s rule number one.
When I step into the room, my stomach twists. One of the nurses-one of those* nurses, the flirty kind more interested in snagging a doctor than actually doing her job-is standing over Mrs. Grellan, while the poor woman looks on the verge of tears.
“Doctor,” Mrs. Grellan chokes out, her voice trembling. “Please… get her out.”
I keep my tone steady, calm. “Get out,” I say to the nurse. My insides, however, are anything but calm.
Her eyes widen. “But, Doctor, she-”
“Now,” I snap, sharper this time. My patience is thinner than I care to admit, but I’m already making plans to file a report with my boss about this. It’s not the first complaint about her, but it’ll be the last if I have anything to say about it.
The moment she’s gone, Mrs. Grellan breaks down. Genuine tears, etched with relief. “Thank you,” she
11:08
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manages between sobs.
I gently grab her chart, scanning it. Her blood pressure’s higher than I like. Honestly, no surprise there after what just happened. I sit in the chair beside her bed, leaning forward. “What happened, Mrs. Grellan? What got you so upset?” I ask softly, ready to take all the time she needs.
She sniffles, wiping her eyes. “My son. He didn’t get the promotion he was going for. Called me in a mood, and I got upset. Then that nurse told me to ‘suck it up.’ Said not everyone can get what they want, that ‘maybe next time’ he’ll get it. She had no compassion. None.”
Her voice hardens, and I nod along, feeling the heat rise in my chest on her behalf. “What if she didn’t get something she wanted? Would she ‘suck it up’? How dare she…”
“Mrs. Grellan,” I interrupt gently, “we’ve arranged for a nurse to help you at home. With the doctor’s permission-which I’m happy to give-you’ll be headed home today. How does that sound?”
The sheer joy in her smile is better than a thousand thank-yous. Moments like these make the job
worth it.
“Doctor?” she says, her voice suddenly sly.
I smirk. “What? Are you that desperate to get rid of me?” I press a hand to my chest in mock offense.
“Oh, give it a rest,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. “You’ve got plenty of people to operate on. I’m replaceable.”
“There’s only one you,” I counter seriously.
Her gaze softens. “There’s clearly more than one nurse like that, though.”
I exhale. “We can’t have you upset, so I’m releasing you home on one condition: follow all my instructions and see me in a week for a check-up. Deal?”
“Deal.” She squeezes my hand with gratitude as I finalize the paperwork and hand over instructions to
Galenora.
The rest of the day flows smoothly, thank God. Or at least, it does until I’m preparing to clock out. Just as I grab my jacket, an emergency rushes in. Ten grueling hours later, I finally stumble through my apartment door, bone-tired. Midnight. Brielle’s got to be asleep by now. My answering machine blinks; it’s my mother reminding me about Sunday dinner and asking me to bring wine. I groan. One more thing to deal with.
Exhaling deeply, I flop into bed, giving in to the pull of sleep.
Morning sneaks up on me fast. Six o’clock sharp, and I skip my usual swim, opting instead for toast on the go. There are two patients who need me urgently today, one of whom might not survive. My thoughts swirl as I leave the penthouse-but all that screeches to a halt when Brielle steps out of hers
at the same time.
Her hair is shorter-sharp, striking. I freeze, stunned by how different, how beautiful she looks. But before I can form words, she smiles.
“Morning!” Her voice is like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
I blink and manage, “Morning. How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Heading to work,” I answer quickly, my nerves kicking up. “Can we catch up for dinner later?”
“Sure,” she says easily. “I’ll cook. That way, if you’re late, it’ll keep.”
“Sounds like a date.” Grinning, I start to turn away, then stop. “Sorry, got to run. Catch you later?”
“Later,” she promises, waving me off as I dash toward the elevator, already feeling lighter than I have in
days.
