Page 36 of Obeying

Mitchell Jonas is sitting in my usual chair, drinking the worst coffee the machine has to offer, looking way too comfortable for a man who just got back from three weeks in Denver.

"Oh no," I say.

He grins. "Miss me?"

"My quiet days are over."

"Your quiet days were boring, and you know it." He kicks the chair across from him out. "Besides, from what I've been hearing, your days were anything but quiet. We need to talk."

Dr. Mitchell Jonas. Vascular surgery. My closest friend in this hospital, which says more about the state of my social life than it does about Mitchell. He's been in Denver for the past three weeks, teaching a workshop on endovascular repair techniques, so he missed the entire Miguel situation, the pepper spray incident, and apparently every interesting thing that's happened in this building in a while.

Mitchell calls me out when I'm being too harsh, buys terrible coffee, and once told me my bedside manner was 'clinically adequate but emotionally bankrupt'. We've been friends since residency, mostly because he was the only person who didn't try to impress me during my first week, and I respected that.

He leans forward and says, without any lead-up, "I heard about what happened. Is it true?"

"Which part?"

"Any of it. All of it." He studies me. "The part where you threatened a guy in front of your entire department. The part where you, Logan Maxwell, who has never once in his life done anything that wasn't calculated to the decimal point, are apparently risking your career over a woman." He leans back. "Seriously, I was gone for three weeks, and this is what happens? It's like I returned to a parallel universe or something."

"She's not just a woman. She's a colleague who was assaulted in my department. I wasn't just going to let that happen."

Mitchell nods slowly. "That's a very professional answer. Want to try again?"

I don't say anything for a moment, and he waits. He's good at that.

"I knew her. Med school. We were…" I take off my glasses and clean them because I need something to do with my hands. "Rivals."

"Rivals." He repeats, clearly unimpressed. "You're blowing up your career for a rival."

"I'm not blowing up my career. I'm addressing institutional injustice."

"You're into her."

"I'm addressing institutional injustice."

"You said that already."

"Because it's the answer."

"It's not, but sure." Mitchell rubs his jaw. "Okay, explain something to me. In the years I've known you, I have never once seen you do anything without a strategic purpose. You eat the same lunch every day because it's efficient. You schedule your haircuts three months in advance. You once told me that spontaneity was a character flaw. And now you're telling me that you threatened a man in public and are actively choosing to go down with this ship, all because of institutional injustice?"

"Yes."

"Logan."

"What?"

"I'm a surgeon. I know what denial looks like. I've seen it in patients who refuse to believe their scans. You have all the symptoms."

"I don't have symptoms. I should know, I'm a surgeon as well."

"You have it bad." He stands up, straightens his coat, then sits back down like he's not actually done. "By the way, I talked to Dr. Vance. She had a lot to say about your resident."

I sigh. "I should have known the first thing you'd do when you come back is gossip. How else would you know all this on your first day back?"

"It's not gossiping. It's called gathering information. I told you I was going to be a detective if I wasn't a doctor."

"You're being nosy, Mitchell. Don't dress it up."