How to Save a Surgeon

by C. M. Stone

  “Are you okay?”

  He looked up to see she’d come back, now dressed in her clothes from the night before. Darla’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking him over in concern.

  “A little disappointed, but I’ll be fine. Why?”

  She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, chewing on her bottom lip. “The accident last night. I know you said it was just because all the bad driving here makes you angry, but you were mumbling in your sleep and thrashing around like…well. It just seems like you’re not fine.”

  Perceptive of her. The accident probably had at least a little to do with his agitation too. He dragged a hand through his hair, nodding. “I lost someone in a car accident.”

  She winced, but didn’t look at all surprised. “I’m sorry. If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

  Did he want to talk about it? He’d hardly said a word about it to his best friend since the funeral, and he was practically spitting nails every time someone alluded to it at the hospital. But Darla didn’t look judgmental, and there was no pity in her eyes. The woman was a master at balancing empathy, it seemed.

  “The first year of my residency I had a girlfriend named Amy. She struggled a lot with bipolar disorder and her meds never seemed to work well enough for her. She’d tried to kill herself once that I know about. But she was wonderful. Brilliant and sweet and intuitive.” He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling all the pain come back again. “And then…I don’t know what happened. She went wandering late one night. Was she having a manic episode? Needed a walk to clear her head? Was it something I did? I’ll never get to know, because some drunk hit her in a crosswalk.”

  “Not having any answers must have been really hard for you.”

  He nodded slightly. “That’s part of it. And the guilt because I couldn’t fix everything for her. I couldn’t make anything better.” He got to his feet abruptly. “I need to get dressed for work. Do you want to get coffee on the way? Maybe a breakfast sandwich?”

  She gave him a wan smile. “I wish I could do coffee. I’m going to be a zombie all day.”

  “You’re doing rounds with me. I’ll steer you away from neuro so you don’t munch brains.” He forced himself to grin, even as what she’d said nagged him. She’d mentioned medication the night before and had taken something at dinner. “Why can’t you do coffee?”

  “Um.” A long moment dragged out before she followed that single syllable with more. “I’m on beta-blockers for a mitral valve prolapse and anxiety. Even that chocolate I just had can make things worse for me sometimes, but I still cheat.”

  Cold fear shot down his spine. So soon after talking about Amy’s death, it was hard to shake the chill. “Is it serious? Didn’t you say your dad died from a heart condition?”

  “A much more serious one, and it wasn’t diagnosed before he died.” She said the words in a rush, as if she’d had to make the same reassurance before. “I’m very careful. The anxiety and not being able to chug caffeine are my biggest problems.”

  He nodded reluctantly. “I guess they would be.” He thought back to their first meeting, how he found her in the supply closet—and hated himself for it.

  “I’m fine, Jackson,” she insisted.

  She did seem to have things under control. Plenty of people lived long and healthy lives with a minor heart condition like that without being diagnosed at all. But how many of those people were surgical interns, straining their bodies with poor diets and a chronic lack of sleep?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sheer agony of life without caffeine didn’t fully hit Darla until she tried balancing a love life with sixteen-hour workdays. Getting home again after her shift and crawling into bed was all a blur. So was showering and eating and getting dressed the next day.

  Brandon watched her with his brow furrowed in concern as she got out of his car in the employee parking lot at the hospital. “I’m starting to see why you hate those beta-blockers.”

  “It actually hasn’t been as bad as I worried it’d be. If I’m getting enough sleep, anyway. The list of stuff I’m not supposed to eat sucks a little. Processed sugar, chocolate, alcohol…”

  “How can you even live like that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad, and I don’t always stick to it. The lack of constant migraines and anxiety attacks makes it all worthwhile.”

  “Okay, so. I’ve got a question. If adrenaline is bad for you and you need to do all this stuff to keep your heart from going too fast—”

  “I can exercise,” she interrupted. “I’ve got to be careful with it and I do get out of breath no matter how much I train, but it’s good for me. My cardiologist recommends it even.”

  Brandon shook his head with an annoyed expression. “I know you jog. I meant, how do you have sex?”

  “Oh God, Brandon.” She covered her face with one hand. “I’m not answering that. If you know what’s good for you, you’re never going to ask it again. Ever.”

  “It’s just healthy medical curiosity.”

  She dropped her hand to glare at him. “It’s as gross and wrong as me asking you how you have sex.”

  Brandon’s question coupled with the knowledge she’d be on Jackson’s service again made it difficult to keep her mind on work. Delicious memories of being in Jackson’s bed kept creeping back in, overshadowed only by the memories of being on Jackson’s counter. If she closed her eyes, she swore she could retrace every spot where his fingers had slid on her skin, as if they’d burned themselves into her flesh.

  Ten minutes later, she was in her scrubs and ready to report for rounds. She stepped into the elevator and hit the button for her floor.

  “Can you hold that for us?” a voice called.

  Automatically, she put her hand out to keep the doors opened. Only then did she notice who had spoken. A man in an all-black costume with a bat-eared cowl was walking toward her, flanked by several other superheroes.

  If glee was light, Darla was sure her smile would have been blinding. She looked over the group as they stepped into the elevator, then out past them into the lobby they’d just left. A few of the staff were doing their best not to stare, but others were smiling and talking about the spectacle.

  “Dr. White called you? That’s fantastic.”

  “You know Nancy?” a woman with a yellow cape asked.

  “I’ve worked with her a little. I actually told her about you guys and how I thought it’d be good for the kids.”

  “Thanks for the recommendation.” The woman beamed. “We always love going somewhere new. Most of the time, we’re over at St. Jude’s Ranch.”

  The doors slid open again. Before them stood Jackson and Nancy, who looked to have been deep in conversation. Jackson just barely turned his head to the side to acknowledge Darla’s arrival, then did a double-take.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “The volunteer group for patient morale.” Nancy clapped him on the shoulder and smiled to Darla. “It was her idea.”

  Darla moved closer to him as they dispersed from the elevator. Even without any caffeine, she could feel nerves bubbling up inside of her like a Coke sent on a roller-coaster. “I told you about cosplay.”

  “Yeah, you did, I just…” He trailed off, staring at one of the men in the group as he pulled on a Spider-Man hood. “I think I misunderstood what cosplay is.”

  “The kids really love it. They get to meet their heroes and have this great experience to take them away from their fear and pain, you know?”

  “That’s sweet.” Jackson tore his gaze away from the costumed volunteers to refocus on Darla. The shock in his jade green eyes gave way to something warmer and softer, instantly melting away her tension. “And a really good idea. Maybe you should request Dr. White’s service more often.”

  She stepped a little closer to him, lowering her voice. “But I like working with you.”

  One of his hands skimmed her arm, sending shivers racing down her spine. It could easily have just be
en a friendly touch, but there was no convincing her body of that now. “I like working with you, too, but you seem awfully drawn to pediatrics.”

  She took a deep breath to try to center herself, but all it accomplished was heightening her awareness of his scent. His earthy cologne and the mouth-wateringly masculine scent of his clean skin itself were nearly enough to make her forget where she was. “Liking kids isn’t the same as being good at pediatric surgery.”

  He came closer, his lips hovering beside her ear so his breath tickled. “I know talent when I see it. Just accept that.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Behind Jackson, an unwelcome, mocking voice spoke up. “Trying to screw your intern into submission, DeMatteo?”

  The moment shattered, leaving her cold, muscles tense. She jerked free of Jackson’s touch and looked up to see another doctor watching them. Mevlyn again. Another trauma surgeon, though not one she’d ever worked with. Between this and the last conversation she’d had with him, she was now grateful for that.

  A muscle was jumping in Jackson’s cheek as he ground his teeth together, not turning to face the other man. “Morning, Dick. What can I help you with?” His voice was tight in contrast to the pleasant words.

  “I’m a little concerned about a lack of professionalism here. You’re supposed to be educating her, you know. Not getting into her panties.”

  Anger flared in Jackson’s eyes, sudden enough to make her take a step backwards in shock. This time he did turn away from Darla to face Mevlyn. “Don’t talk about Morales that way ever again.”

  “Then don’t give me anything to talk about. I thought you two were looking a little too close.”

  “Shut up.” The words came out as nearly a growl, his hands curling into fists. “Don’t say another word about it.”

  “About what?” Mevlyn screwed up his face as though he were thinking, then smirked at Darla, ignoring Jackson for the moment. “That you need her for Singh’s recommendation?”

  Jackson stepped forward as if to grab onto Mevlyn. What he’d intended to do next, Darla couldn’t know, because instead Mevlyn jerked backwards and slammed into the young man in the Spicer-Man costume, knocking him into the wall.

  “Excuse me!” He pushed Mevlyn off of him.

  Mevlyn shook his head slowly, his upper lip curled with disgust, and walked away.

  Darla put a hand over her chest, the pounding of her heart vibrating beneath her palm. “What the hell was that about?”

  “Dick being Dick. It’s nothing.” Jackson stepped over to the young man Mevlyn had bumped into, checking to make sure he was all right.

  All Darla could do was watch. What did she have to do with the Chief of Trauma Medicine giving Jackson a recommendation? She assumed it had something to do with the professorship position he wanted. Something that made Jackson defensive. She watched him with narrowed eyes, suspicion getting the better of her.

  Once the cosplayers had gone on their way and it was clear no harm had been done, Jackson turned back to her. “Come on. We’re already running late on rounds.”

  She followed him, but her concerns wouldn’t stop nagging at her. “Were you talking to me about pediatrics the other morning to help your career? So I won’t be on your service?”

  “Excuse me?” The look he gave her was full of such naked bafflement she had to believe it was sincere. “No, I’m not. Believe me, that’s about the last thing that would help my career.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s complicated. Maybe we could get into it after work, but right now isn’t the best time.”

  “Fine.”

  Jackson paused outside a patient’s room to check the chart. While he was reading it, a nurse approached with a worried expression on his face.

  “Dr. DeMatteo? Chief Singh needs to see you in his office.”

  Jackson frowned and didn’t look away from the chart. “Can it wait?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He sighed and handed the tablet to Darla. “Monitor my patients and let them know I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sight of Dr. Richard Mevlyn sitting in Singh’s office made Jackson’s stomach burn with acid. His hand gripped the doorknob tight enough to make his knuckles ache, which seemed a better option than busting those same knuckles on Dick’s smug face.

  “Shut the door, DeMatteo.” Singh looked like he’d just taken a bite off a lemon. “It’s bad enough the two of you fought in the hallway like a couple of junior high students.”

  He started it. Jackson bit his tongue to keep from reinforcing the chief’s view of them as children. He shut the door behind him, then took the empty chair.

  Singh leaned back, hands steepled before him. “What’s this about?”

  Dick jutted his jaw forward as he spoke, the picture of righteous indignation. “He was flirting with an intern. Morales. I confronted him about his behavior, and he threatened to hit me.”

  “I didn’t threaten anything.” Jackson rolled his eyes. “I was going to hit you and then you tripped into someone instead.”

  Singh pinched the bridge of his nose, his forehead wrinkled up like a cheap suit. “You can’t hit people at work, DeMatteo.”

  Jackson leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on one armrest. Warnings were going off in his head not to push things, not to be too aggressive or defensive, but that self-protection warred with honor. Even as he worried about the consequences, he was gratified to let honor win. “You can’t sexually harass interns either.”

  Singh gave him a hard look. “What are you talking about?”

  “A hostile workplace.” He jerked a thumb toward Dick. “He was harassing her, talking about screwing her and getting into her panties.”

  Dick went stiff in his chair, leaning forward. “Whoa, hey. You’re taking that out of context.”

  “Yeah? The context of using your position to publicly humiliate and intimidate an intern?”

  “Enough.” Singh shook his head at the two of them, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You can’t mentor a resident you’re dating, DeMatteo.”

  Darla had asked him not to tell anyone. Did that mean he had to lie, too? This was all getting rapidly out of control. After a litany of swearing in his head, he nodded. “I know. I’m not.” Even as he said it, he knew that somehow, someway, this was going to bite him in the ass.

  “Good. And for God’s sake, you can’t punch your coworkers, even if they are being asses.”

  Dick sputtered. “That’s not fair.”

  “I don’t care if it’s fair or not. I care about providing a safe working environment and avoiding lawsuits. What were you thinking, Mevlyn?”

  “Come on. I didn’t mean it seriously. I wasn’t trying to hit on her or something.”

  Singh rose from his chair and gestured toward the door. “‘Hitting on’ someone isn’t the problem here. Please, both of you, no more of this. If you act like children again, I won’t hesitate to fire you.”

  …

  Jackson’s mood remained foul for the rest of the day, a fact he was sure Darla had picked up on but he avoided answering her questions. Lying for her had been his own decision, but talking about it while he was still upset carried the risk of making her feel blamed. There was little chance to cool off enough to explain it to her when the threat of being fired hung over his head no matter what he did to try to keep his mind off of it. He wanted nothing more than to take Darla home and forget about the world for a few hours, but even that was denied him. She was scheduled for an overnight float, staying in the hospital all night to keep an eye on patients and be available in case of an emergency.

  He went home, showered, changed, and then realized the futility of it all and went back to the hospital.

  It took a few minutes before she could respond to his text messages, then followed his directions to one of the on-call rooms. Equipped with bunk beds and a table, they gave doctors somewhere to rest when it
was desperately needed.

  Darla shut the door, her smile threatening to split her face. “I’d been worrying you were mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.” He shook his head a little and pulled a salad out of the bag he’d brought. “I couldn’t sleep at home, and I figured you might want something to eat that didn’t come from the cafeteria.”

  “Thanks.” She sat and took a few bites off the salad with such desperation he wondered if she’d stopped to eat anything all day. She washed the salad down with the juice he’d brought her, then sighed. “Working overnight like this is the worst. I don’t know how I’ll survive my second year.”

  “Yeah, the twenty-eight hour shifts second year are brutal.” Even with caffeine, he recalled. He wondered just how literal her struggle to survive her second year would be. Something calmer and slower sounded so much safer for her.

  He leaned back from the table, watching her and thinking. Part of him still couldn’t quite believe Singh’s threat, but he’d never known the Chief of Trauma Medicine to bluff.

  The obvious answer to avoiding any further problems was right in front of him, but it made him sick to consider.

  He spun the cap from his own bottle of juice on the table, watching it roll instead of looking at her. Every time she caught his eye, he could feel his brain shutting down and all he wanted to do was touch her. “I’m sorry for upsetting you the other morning, when I said you should switch to pediatrics.”

  “It’s okay. I probably overreacted.” She shrugged. “My mom’s dealt with a lot of racism and sexism over the years from trauma surgeons, and taking care of kids seems like such a girly thing to do.”

  “What’s wrong with girly?” He spun the bottle cap again, flicking it toward her.

  She caught the cap before it spun off the edge of the table and gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”