As I set it down on the counter where the microwave and coffeemaker are, I take them in. Perfect. Each and every petal is perfect. He must have spent a small fortune on these. Especially, to have them delivered here at this time. And even though I don’t want to feel anything about this, I do.
Enraged.
Grasping the card in my hand, I pry it free from the plastic fork that was holding it up proudly, and stare down at the white paper unable to open it. I have this big surgery and then a day of delivering babies. I will not allow myself to be distracted with this.
Instead, I slip it into my scrub pocket and do my best to forget about it. To pretend that it’s not burning a hole in the fabric where it rests, anxious to get at me and ruin my artfully crafted composure. How dare he? Haven’t I suffered enough at his hand? Does he truly feel a bouquet of roses will turn my heart back in his direction? Make me absolve him of his sins?
“Nice flowers,” Janet Johnson, a fellow third-year resident and bitch supreme, sneers as she saunters behind me like the room belongs to her. It might. Her family is loaded. Not quite Fritz loaded, but I know for a fact her daddy paid her way here. “Did your loser fiancé pick those up at Walmart for you?”
God, she’s such a condescending, entitled scag.
“Actually, the card says they’re from your father to me.”
“You’re such a cheap, useless—”
“Don’t you have a job to pretend you know how to do?” I cut her off, my back to her. I shouldn’t have snapped at her like that, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. She seriously only got this job because her father has offered up millions to pay for a clinic, focusing on women’s health.
“I heard Carter’s giving you the robot. Does your fiancé know you’re sucking your attending’s dick for favors you don’t deserve and haven’t earned?”
“Uh-huh. Who do you think taught me how to take it so deep?” I smart, rolling my eyes as I do. I spin to face her, trying to get past her when she dips to the side, blocking my exit. “Move, I need to get to surgery.”
She steps into me again as I make another attempt at weaving around her, and seriously, this is not the time or the morning to start shit with me. “I saw you walk in here this morning with Dr. Fritz. You think you’re his favorite because he knows you. But I’m better than you in every way. You’re nothing now that I’m here. Know this” —she juts a finger in my direction— “your time with him is over. I’ll make sure of it.”
I make a show of rolling my eyes, this time so she can see. This chick is like a bad soap opera with her threats. I swear, every time she opens her mouth, it’s a new rendition of the same song, ever since she started here a few months ago.
“Knock yourself out, Janet. And while you’re at it, thank your daddy for the fun time and the roses for me, would ya? I have a patient to operate on.”
I plow past her without a second thought or a look back. Maybe if she spent half her time learning how to be a good doctor instead of a hateful wench everyone would be happy. As it is Dylan and I, along with the second years, have to pick up the slack from her doing a shitty job.
But right now, I can’t focus on her. Or her threats.
I have enough on my plate and Janet is the least of my problems.
8
Surgery begins in ten minutes, and I start scrubbing in, getting my mind in the game. Focusing my energy on my patient. Funneling everything external out of my head, I enter the OR like I own it, silent as the nurse gowns and gloves me up.
“Dr. Hammond, what is the goal of robotic-assisted laparoscopic excision of endometriosis?” Carter bellows and all eyes turn on me. Dammit, the cocky bastard is going to treat me like an intern.
“The goal is to treat and excise the endometriosis without harming the healthy tissue of the uterus around the abnormal growths.”
“What are the benefits?”
“Faster recovery, less pain, smaller incisions, earlier return to normal activities, decreased risk of infection, and hopefully, better fertility outcomes.”
He’s smug, devilishly gorgeous, even with his mask covering half his face as he stands on the non-dominant side of the surgical table.
“Dr. Hammond, please conduct the time out and proceed with your surgery.”
I gawk at him before quickly composing myself. When he offered this to me, I thought I was to assist. Not lead. A swell of nervous anticipation crests through me but I do just as he instructs. I run the hell out of this surgery. Knowing this is exactly what I was born to do.
It’s complicated. There’s a lot of scar tissue and adhesions. More than I was expecting from what was visible on the imaging in her file. Carter guides me through it with a sharp tone and strict instruction. I allow Dylan to come closer, allow him to view the surgical field so he can see what stage IV endometriosis looks like on the inside, and by the time the nurses wheel the patient out, her uterus is clean.
“Slayed it, girl,” Dylan whispers to me with a wink as he goes along with the PACU nurse to help get the patient settled. I give him a wink in return; satisfaction bubbling up inside me like a well, flowing through my veins.
That’s why I do this.
Because when she wakes up, Dylan and I can tell her that in six weeks, she can start trying to have children. I contain my squeal of delight but just barely. The scrub nurse gives me an elbow bump and a ‘nice job’, and I exit the OR like the rock star I am.
“Brilliant work,” Carter commends, stepping in beside me as I start to scrub out.
“Thank you.”
Understatement of the century. I can’t name any other third years who have gotten to do what I just did entirely on their own.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I don’t ever have to do anything. I did it because I wanted to, and you’ve earned it.” His dark eyes meet mine and something about the way he’s staring at me makes my skin tingle. “I’m in the office the rest of the day.”
“I’m on the floor with deliveries.”
“I’ll see you at home then.”
Dammit, now I’m buzzing. “I’ll see you at home.”
My smile as well as that strange kinetic energy flowing through me carries me down the floor, past antepartum and into labor and delivery until I find Tony there waiting for me.
He smiles when he sees me, having caught my smile and thinking it was for him. It’s not. I have zero smiles for this man right now.
“Did you get my flowers?” he asks, that smile only growing as I walk toward an empty patient room and step inside. That card is still in my pocket. I never got to it and now doesn’t seem like the time to fish it out and read it.
“I did.”
Tony sighs when he realizes the way this is going. He drops onto a chair and then reaches for me, trying to stop me from hovering by the door. “Come here,” he begs softly. “Sit next to me. Sit with me. Please, Grace. I can’t talk to you when you’re there and I’m here.”
“I’m good over here.”
He frowns, staring down at his hands in his lap and I take a minute to survey him. His eyes are black and blue, as is the bridge of his nose, and his right eye has a cut just below it and is decently swollen.