by Hamel, B. B.
Still, it’s a disease that could cause Myra to have pain for the rest of her life. It’s a disease that could land Bailey in prison.
Fucking hell.
I don’t know how we ended up here. Everything’s so complicated, so broken. I head into my office and eat my lunch, all alone, not even bothering to look at patient files like I normally do.
I just can’t stop thinking about the look on Bailey’s face when she left. She was so hurt… so devastated. She couldn’t believe I said what I said, and I hate myself for it. I want to go back and hit myself.
I’m doing this for her. I just want her to understand.
“Knock, knock.”
I sit up straight, a little surprised. I was a lot more lost in my own head than I realized.
I turn and look at Grace Cooper standing in my door. She gives me a tight little smile. I haven’t seen Grace in a few weeks. I figured she’s just been busy, since normally she has plenty of time to bust my balls.
“Hi, Grace,” I say, leaning back in my chair and turning to face her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“May I come in?” she asks.
“Of course.”
She steps into my office and hesitates. “And sit?”
“Go ahead.” I gesture at a chair that doesn’t have a stack of files on it.
She sits and adjusts herself.
“Listen, Westin,” she says. “I know things haven’t been the best between us. You understand why as well as I do.”
“Sure,” I grunt. “You care about the bottom line and I care about patients.”
“No, I care about making sure my surgeons aren’t going into risky, needless surgeries just because their ego is too big.”
We stare at each other in silence for a moment until she sighs and shakes her head.
“Okay, I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m not here to get into it with you, Westin.”
“What are you here for then?”
“Truthfully? You’ve been doing a good job lately.”
I frown slightly. “Thank you,” I say.
“I know I haven’t said it. I’ve been hard on you and it isn’t warranted. You made a mistake… a costly mistake, but just one mistake. Of all the surgeries you’ve done, you have the lowest error rate. Did you know that?”
I shrug. “I didn’t,” I admit. I never bothered reading the reports the hospital put together.
“Of course not,” she says, laughing. “It’s in the paperwork, so you wouldn’t bother.”
“If it’s not a patient file, you can be pretty confident that I won’t end up reading it.”
She sighs with a little smile. “Okay, that’s fair. Truth is, you’re an asset to our hospital. You bring in a lot of patients every year, and not just because of the risky stuff.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” I admit, still frowning.
“I want to make peace,” she says. “I want us to have a more… cordial relationship. I want to put the past behind us.”
I’m quiet for a short beat. “Why now?” I ask.
She looks surprised. “Excuse me?”
“Why not?” I ask again. “I mean, you’ve had plenty of opportunities. I haven’t done anything particularly impressive lately. Why do you want to move on now?”
She smiles at that. “Ah, well, you haven’t done anything amazing, you’re right. But that’s exactly why I want to move on.”
I cock my head. “Explain.”
“See, Westin, your problem isn’t that you’re not talented. You are, you’re incredibly talented. But you also have an ego the size of this entire state, and it can’t fit in my hospital. So I need you to learn to tamp it down, control it, get over it. I think you’ve been showing progress lately.”
“Just by doing the boring, routine, bullshit surgeries?”
“Not just by doing them,” she says. “But by doing them well.”
I think about that for a second. “Okay,” I say. “So I do my job. So what?”
“I think it shows growth. I’m here, reaching out, trying to make peace. What do you say?”
I purse my lips. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“It depends, in all honesty. Does this ‘peace’ thing mean that I’ll be able to do more surgeries I actually want to do? Or are you just trying to avoid a hostile work environment lawsuit?”
She laughs at that. “I’ll be less strict in the future,” she says. “You can do some, not all, but some of the surgeries you want to do.”
I feel my heart beat faster, just a little bit. This is what I’ve been waiting for, the chance to get back to work for real.
“That could be acceptable,” I say slowly.
“Okay then.” She smiles. “So let’s make peace.” She puts her hand out for me to shake.
I hesitate, staring at the hand.
What will this mean for me and Bailey?
The whole reason I took her on in the first place, the whole reason we’re doing this in the basement hidden away in some unused room is because Grace won’t let me do real surgeries anymore.
But if I make peace… maybe we can do it officially.
Or maybe this is a trap.
I’m not sure what to do. It can’t hurt to shake her hand and make peace, and might actually make my life noticeably better. I mean, if Grace isn’t breathing down my neck, I won’t have to be so paranoid about what’s happening next. At least Grace won’t be looking so closely at every move I make.
But I can’t ask her about Myra. There’s no way she’ll let me do it, not immediately. And if I ask, she’ll know that I’m thinking about this patient, and she’ll be on the lookout.
I reach out and shake her hand. She smiles at me and I smile back.
“I’m looking forward to a better working relationship, Westin,” she says.
“I am too, Grace.”
I force myself to give her my most charming smile. She stands and brushes her pants off. “Well. I’m off to another meeting, sadly. I’ll leave you to your rounds.”
“Have a good day.”
She hesitates at the door and gives me a genuine smile. “You too, Westin.”
She leaves and I lean back in my chair.
What a strange twist. I never thought Grace would just come out and make peace with me. In fact, I figured we’d be fighting until I left and went to a new hospital or she got fired, whichever came first.
Or until she caught me trying to pull off this surgery.
I’m tempted to ask her to make it legit. I mean, this could be the perfect starting point. She lets me do this surgery for real and I think we could really start to fix our relationship.
But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to ask. If I put it on her radar and she says no, I might be screwing everyone. We just made this little handshake deal. It might be too soon to start asking for risky, difficult surgeries instead of waiting for her to assign them.
I can’t do that to Bailey. Even if we’re fighting, I can’t do that to her. I have to keep my head down and move on. I’m doing this surgery on Myra for her, for both Myra and Bailey. I’m doing it because I care about them…. Because I care about Bailey much more than I ever thought I would.
Maybe it’s stupid, I don’t know. Maybe I’m making a mistake.
But I can’t help myself. I want her and I want to help her. I’m not turning away, no matter what.
19
Bailey
I go to the basement the next night and we have a little session like always. Things are a little strained, not as light-hearted or as fun, but we get through it.
At the end, before I’m leaving, he touches my arm softly. “I’m sorry for what I said last night.”
I look up into his eyes. My heart melts and I want to kiss him like a moron.
But then his words hit me again.
“Shouldn’t have said it then.”
I walk away, leaving him back in the room alone. The session’s information is swimming in my h
ead along with my own anger and disappointment with everything.
I go home and sleep fitfully. I dream about him, about his hands on my body. I wake up, go to work, and I can’t get him off my mind.
I don’t know what to do. I clearly want him and care about him, but the whole fuck toy thing just keeps pushing me back. I keep thinking about how he’s only in this to take my body, not to help me. I can’t let myself get attached to him, I can’t feel emotional.
This isn’t an emotional thing. This is just business, at least for him as far as I can tell.
But maybe I’m wrong. I can feel his lips against mine still, the way he kissed me, the way he touched me.
It’s all too much.
After work, I head out to my mom’s. I don’t have to be at the hospital for another few hours, so I figure I’ll see her first, have some dinner, make sure she’s doing okay.
She’s on the couch like always when I step into the house.
“How are you, sweetie?” she asks.
“Hi, Mom.” I walk over, kiss her cheek, and sit down. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she says, waving me away. Ever since that incident with the bathtub, I’ve been extra vigilant and it’s starting to annoy her. “Honestly, dear. That was just one time.”
“I know, Mom, but it means your pain—”
“I know,” she says, cutting me off. There’s an edge in her voice. “I know. I’m okay.”
“Sorry,” I say softly, putting my hand on hers.
She smiles tightly and squeezes my hand in return. “So. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for the free food,” I say.
She laughs. “Oh, you’ve come to the right place then.”
“Pasta?” I ask, getting up. “Or did you get a pork loin? I can make rice too.”
“Pasta is fine, honey,” she says. “Oh and there’s some chicken in there, if you want to make that, too.”
“Gladly. Want to sit out with me?”
She nods. “Help me up.”
I get her out of the chair and we shuffle into the kitchen together. She winces the whole time but I get her down in a chair with a nice padded seat and back, her feet up on another chair. She sighs as I start cooking.
“So, tell me about Westin,” Mom says as I put the water on to boil and start cleaning the chicken.
“Mom,” I say. “What do you mean, tell you about him?”
“Oh, come on. I saw the way you look at him.”
I frown. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. He’s a handsome man, you now. And he’s doing us a huge favor.”
Yeah, but he’s going to get to keep your daughter as his own personal fuck toy at the end of it.
“I know,” I say. “He’s a good person.”
Which might actually be true, I realize.
“That’s obvious,” she says. “He really saved us that night. Did you call him, by the way?”
“No,” I say softly, shaking my head a little. “He just showed up.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised. “Why?”
“I didn’t show up to our practice and he just… came.”
“He just knew you needed him,” she says, laughing a little bit. “He drove all the way out here on a hunch that you might need him.”
“He was right,” I say, shrugging.
“Do you know how rare that is?”
I frown but don’t reply. I concentrate on taking the skins off the chicken breast tenders, cleaning off the fat and veins, heating up her old cast iron pan. I marinate the chicken in some balsamic quickly, get the pasta sauce and the pasta started, and get everything ready.
“Seriously, Bailey,” she says again after a lull. “What’s going on with him?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I mean, we’re just working together. He just cares and wants to help.”
“Come on,” she says with a sigh. “He’s risking a lot to do this and he doesn’t know either of us at all. We’re total strangers to him. I just want to know why.”
“I don’t know why,” I lie, hating myself for it. “He likes the difficult surgeries. He’s good at them and the hospital hasn’t been letting him lately. I think he just wants the challenge.”
Mom goes quiet for a little longer. I start cooking the chicken, working in batches, setting it aside. The water starts boiling so I dump enough pasta in for the two of us. Once the chicken’s done, I set it aside on a plate, wipe out the pan, add a little olive oil and tomato sauce, and put the burner on low.
I lean against the kitchen island and look at my mother. She gives me a tight little smile.
“What happened?” she asks. “You seem distracted. You don’t like talking about Westin now?”
“Mom,” I say, getting frustrated. “Can’t you drop it?”
“No,” she says. “I really can’t. He’s going to cut me open soon and you seem like you’re angry with him. I want to know why.”
“We had a fight,” I admit angrily. “Okay? It’s not going to affect the surgery, I promise.”
She sighs. “I know, sweetie. But what did you fight about?”
I clench my jaw. I don’t know how to explain this to her without telling her all the lurid details, so I try and keep it vague.
“We had to make some compromises on what’s going to happen. We took some risks. I think it’s going to be okay, but we fought about it.”
“I see.” She sighs a little and runs her hand through her hand. “Listen, honey. Did I ever tell you that your father had a temper?”
I smile a little bit. “All the time.”
“And that’s because you got your temper from him?”
“I know, Mom. You’ve been telling me that since I was two.”
“And yet here you are, still not listening.”
I glare at her, annoyed, but don’t say anything.
“I’m just trying to make you see that maybe Westin isn’t the bad guy,” she says quickly. “I’m sure you both have your reasons.”
“We do,” I say curtly.
“But honey, really. He drove all the way out here on a hunch,” she says softly.
I bite my lip and check the sauce. It’s warming but not simmering yet. The pasta needs just another minute.
“So he’s nice,” I say finally.
“And he likes you.”
I turn and face her. “How do you know that?”
“I can see it when he looks at you. It’s so obvious, sweetie. Don’t you see it?”
I turn back to the food, thinking about Westin. I think about his eyes, his smile… the way he looks at me, head cocked, eyes squinting, like he’s both amused and interested at the same time. I think about his hands on my body… his tongue, lips, cock…
“Maybe,” I say finally. I pour the pasta into a strainer and dump it into the sauce along with the chicken. I turn the heat up to medium and let it finish for another minute before I put it all into a big bowl. I divide it into two smaller bowls and put one in front of Mom and one in front of myself.
“Cheers,” I say and we clink our forks together.
“I like Westin anyway,” she says as we eat.
“Come on. Can’t we talk about anything else?”
“We can, but I want you to know that I like him. I’m sure whatever you fought about isn’t that important in the grand scheme of things.” She looks up at me. “Sweetie, he drove all the way out here on a hunch.”
I give her a long look and sigh. “I now, Mom. I know.”
She just laughs a little. “It’s okay if you like him, too. You’re allowed to have good people in your life.”
“I’m just… I’m worried that once this is over and you’re better, he won’t…”
“Won’t, what? Be interested in you? Sweetie, if anything, he’ll be more interested. You’ll be able to just be people together. You won’t have me hanging over your heads.”
I sigh and give her a look. “Maybe you’re right.”
/> “I am right. I’m your mother and your elder. You should listen more.”
“Yeah, yeah. How’s the food?”
“Wonderful as always.”
We eat and talk about other things, but I can’t stop thinking about what she said.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe he really does like me beyond just our deal. I think I know what she means by the way that he looks at me… and I think I felt it that night, too. When he kissed me, when he fucked me. When we came together and afterward he held me in his arms tight, just held me there when he didn’t have to anymore.
And he did come out here on a hunch. I can’t forget about that, since she drilled it into my head.
I kiss her cheek, clean the dishes, then head off to the hospital. I keep thinking about what she said the whole drive, going over it again and again.
And I think about his apology the night before.
We were both angry. He said something shitty… but maybe I said something shitty, too.
Because if he does like me, then accusing him of just using me for my body still…
Well, that would piss me off, if I were in his position.
I get to the hospital and park. I head in the usual way and go down into the basement. It’s so familiar now, I do it by habit almost.
He’s there waiting for me like always. He’s never late, not a single time. He’s always right here, always ready.
I step into the room and he looks up.
And for a second, I think I see it. I think I see what my mom was saying.
“Bailey,” he says and he smiles.
“I’m sorry too,” I blurt out.
His smile gets bigger. “There. That wasn’t so hard.”
I roll my eyes at him. “God, you’re the worst.” I walk over and sit in my usual spot. He stands and stretches.
“Ready to work, my little toy?”
I give him a look but smile despite myself. “Let’s get to it, asshole.”
He grins at me, walks to the whiteboard, and we dive in.
20
Westin
We pass two more weeks like that.
I want to do the surgery as soon as possible, but Nany keeps putting us off, and I can tell Bailey is nervous. So I give us another couple of weeks to practice, drilling it over and over and over, going through every little step, every little motion.