I’ve already had to repel teasing comments from other attendings and residents that claim I favor Grace above all others. I’m essentially her boss. She is a senior resident, one who reports directly to me. I evaluate her work. I teach her.
Any sort of relationship beyond professional is frowned upon. Unethical given my position of authority over her. I can make or break her career with a simple word. Even worse, if something as deadly as dirty gossip spreads not just within these hospital walls, but throughout the country—trust me, gossip travels fast within our resident/doctor world—it’ll limit where she’ll receive worthy-of-her-talent attending position offers.
We’re already toeing the line, but I assured my boss at the time that Grace’s relationship with my family and my brother would not impact our work. That I could be fair and impartial.
Then I started to like her.
Then I started to really like her.
Now I’m living with her, and she’s no longer engaged.
But all that means is I have to keep myself in closer check.
So yeah, I wasn’t so anxious to come home today. I ate shitty hospital food for dinner instead of leftover enchiladas as I wanted. All I can hope for now as I unlock the door to my condo is that Grace is in her room.
Only the moment I swing the door open, all that unease flees from my body, completely overtaken by a surge of adrenaline. “Grace?” I yell, dropping my bag to the floor and rushing across the foyer to the edge of the great room where she’s sprawled out on the floor. I fall to my knees, cupping her face in my hand and tilting it toward me. “Talk to me.” She’s not stiff, jerking, or twitching. No obvious signs she’s seizing.
She blinks, her pretty blue eyes clear but a little distant. “I saw some flashes of light, so I sprawled myself out on your rug in case it was a focal aware seizure that wanted to turn into a tonic-clonic one.”
“Is that how it happens for you?”
“Yes. Usually. I laid down and did my deep breathing exercises and it passed.”
“Did you take anything? An Ativan?”
“No. They’re in my purse and I was afraid of dropping in the kitchen.”
Jesus Christ, I sit back on my haunches. “How long have you been on the ground?”
“I don’t know. Ten minutes maybe? I was thinking mostly.”
“Are you on any other medications?”
She shakes her head, slowly starting to sit up. I help her, moving her until her back is against the couch, nowhere near the coffee table, keeping a close watch on her eyes and body. I’ve never actually seen Grace have a seizure, but I know Oliver has, more than once, and I know it scared the shit out of him.
“I haven’t had a seizure in four years and my neurologist weaned me off Keppra over a year ago. Now it’s just rescue meds if I feel something coming on.”
“Grace. Dammit.” I should have been here. I was sitting at my desk avoiding her because I don’t know how to be around her like this, but I should have been here. “Don’t move. I’m going to get your Ativan.”
“No,” she snaps, reaching out and grabbing my arm to stop me. “I’m fine now. It was over before it even started. It might not have even been a FAS. I don’t typically get flashes of light; I get more of a wave sensation followed by what sounds like a fan with people talking into it blowing in my head. Anyway, I didn’t want to take any chances. I was just being overly cautious. I really am fine. It was… you know… a stressful day.”
“Because of Tony?”
“That certainly kicked things off. Janet didn’t help as the woman stalked me down all day just to make nasty comments, and then I had a delivery that didn’t go well. Drug-addicted mom who was in the process of coming off her high, delivering a twenty-six-week preemie. Mom left AMA (against medical advice) not even two hours after delivering.”
I grimace. “Sorry. Baby doing okay?”
“Up in the NICU with a Wonder Woman sticker beside her incubator. Her vitals were okay, but not stellar when I left.” She tilts her head at me as I move to sit beside her. “You gave Tony quite the broken nose. He’s sporting a pretty good shiner and a laceration under his eye.”
I grin at her change of topic, rubbing my hand across my mouth to the back of my neck. “Oliver told me to break his nose. So, I did.”
“And his eye?”
“That was a bonus.”
“So you broke his nose because Oliver asked you to? Since when do you ever do what he requests?”
I look into her eyes, something in her tone as she asks that. “I didn’t hit him only because Oliver asked me to.”
“Then why did you?”
I reach out and cup her cheek in my hand, allowing myself to appreciate her soft, velvety skin for the first time. It sends a rush of heat through me, an electricity so potent all the hair on my arms stands up. She must feel it too because she sucks in a rushed breath, her eyes widening.
“I hit him because he had it coming. Because he deserved that and more. And when I walked out of there, I regretted not hitting him harder.”
She stares at me for a moment, her eyes searching mine, my heart hammering in my chest. I can’t do this with her. It’s wrong. Us. The timing. All of it. I release her face and she quickly looks away.
“Did it feel good?” she questions, now staring down at her hands. “I’m kind of jealous I didn’t think to punch him this morning.”
“It did feel good.”
She takes my right hand from my lap and examines it. It’s perfectly fine, but having her hold my hand, touch my skin, make sure I’m not hurt has me wanting to lean in and kiss her so badly I can hardly take a breath in from the crushing desire of it.
“Your hand appears to be okay. I would have been pissed at you if you had hurt yourself. Then again, maybe I would get more surgeries all to myself that way.”
I chuckle, inching in before I can stop it. “I’m giving Janet a laparoscopic total hysterectomy tomorrow.”
“What?” she gasps in outrage. “You can’t. Janet isn’t half the surgeon I am. Not even a quarter.”
“Agreed. But she needs more OR time and people already talk about how you’re my favorite resident.”
“Am I your favorite, Dr. Fritz?” She bats her eyelashes playfully, tilting her head coquettishly.
I laugh, moving in even closer. So close I can see just how brilliantly blue her eyes are. The color pure and even like a cloudless summer sky. Even as her pupils dilate ever so slightly. The fragrance of her shampoo and the smell of her skin hit me hard on an inhale. I can feel the heat of her body, how it’s starting to get warmer than it was even just a few moments ago.
“Not my favorite,” I lie. “Just the best.”
“I’ll take that. I like being the best. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.”
“You seem less sad today than you were yesterday,” I note and then hate myself for saying it even if the barrier it instantly puts up is an essential one. She stiffens, looking away again, but I don’t move. I don’t pull back. My arm is touching her arm and our knees are bent, our thighs side by side.
Kissing her would be easier than breathing right now. And from this angle, I’d just have to turn a little—not even a lot—and I’d have full access to her lush bee-stung lips. I’d lower her to the ground in a second, my body on top of hers in even less time.