Page 40 of Obeying

"I'm thinking you look very comfortable."

"I look like I'm being eaten by furniture."

I let the laugh out. His eyes stay on my face a second too long, but I don't look away.

We didn't have rounds together today. He was pulled into back-to-back meetings, administrative stuff, the side of running a surgical department that has nothing to do with actual surgery.

"What brings you out this late?" he asks.

"Brennan's birthday. Our group went out."

"Ah. I saw him earlier today. Didn't get to greet him." He pauses. "Although when he saw me in the hallway, he froze."

"Brennan is terrified of you."

"I'm aware."

"But he admires you. They all do, actually." I take a sip of my coffee. "Most of the residents are scared of you and in awe of you at the same time. It's kind of funny to watch."

He adjusts his glasses. "I know people think I'm too harsh."

"They don't think you're harsh. They respect you. There's a difference." I shrug. "And don't even get me started on what the girls say about you. It's honestly not that different from med school. Same effect, just a different environment."

He looks at me. "What do the girls say about me?"

"Absolutely not. I'm not feeding your ego."

"I don't have an ego."

"You have the biggest ego in this hospital, and you know it."

"That's not ego. We call that self-awareness."

I roll my eyes, and his mouth twitches at the corner. He's enjoying this. I can tell because he leans back slightly, relaxes into the armchair, and his gaze stays on me.

Then it drops to my arm. I'm wearing a jacket even though it's summer. I've been wearing jackets since Miguel left his mark.

"How's the arm?"

I pull the sleeve down instinctively, even though it's already covered. "Healing. The bruises are fading."

He nods and doesn't say anything for a moment, but he's looking at my sleeve like he wants to see through it. He's angry for me. And something about that, someone being furious that I'm hurt without making it about themselves, warms me more than the coffee.

"I want to ask if you're okay," he says. "But it feels like a stupid question."

"No, go ahead. Ask it. So that finally, Logan Maxwell asks a stupid question. I want to witness this historic moment."

He laughs. Low and surprised. I've spent weeks earning his almost-smiles, and a full laugh feels like winning something I didn't know I was competing for.

"Fine. Are you okay?"

"No." It comes out more honest than I planned. I look at my coffee. "I'm not okay. I mean, I said I'd fight back, and I will. I'm not running away anymore. But still, I'm scared. The complaint, the investigation, it's everything he said he'd do, and I can't stop it. Every true thing about my life makes me look guilty. He paid for things, and he got me into the program. I showed up out of nowhere with a gap and a story that sounds convenient." I pause. "On paper, I look exactly like what he says I am."

"You're not what he says you are."

"The board doesn't know that."

"Then we make sure they do."