Page 27 of If Cain Were Able

I stand from behind my desk, grab my lab coat, and make my way to OR number six, trying like hell to push every thought out of my mind except the little kid who needs me to ensure he makes it out of this hospital alive.

By the time I finish the case, I’m spent. My hands are shaking from the adrenaline crash, and the edges of my vision are blurry. I’ve been awake for thirty hours at this point and desperately need to sleep.

Except I’m so exhausted that I’m wired and I know sleep will evade me.

Which is why I’m currently standing in the pediatric ICU, counting on the shadows to keep me hidden. Because my last patient is so young, his parents have been given beds in his room to be able to stay with him.

I find comfort in the rhythmic beeping of his monitor.

But it’s not long before my gaze drifts toward the kid’s parents. Mom and Dad are both awake. They’re talking quietly, as Dad rubs circles across his wife’s back, and I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of unwavering support.

What would it be like to go home and have someone waiting for me? To have someone I could share the burden of that kid’s case with…or the next case. To not eat dinner alone or climb into a cold bed.

Achieving everything I have has required my total focus and all of my energy, but I’m feeling worn a little thin. After my night with Patrick, I felt a shift that I can’t afford. I can’t possibly be a good partner and continue to be the number one ranked cardiothoracic surgeon in the world. There just aren’t enough hours in the day.

But for the first time ever, maybe I wish there were.

Chapter 16

Patrick

Irecovered faster than I expected, too, that last time. After the shock of being with Cain again wore off, I immediately began rebuilding my walls. Not that he doesn’t know how to dismantle them, brick by brick, but I won’t give him another chance to get that close.

He played my body like a fiddle, then said goodbye without so much as a backward glance.

That was six months ago, and I’m committed to moving on. Granted, I haven’t actually done anything to move on, but I accept the flimsy excuse for closure as what it is, and have done my best to forget Cain ever existed.

Grabbing my laptop, I settle onto the couch in nothing but sweatpants, trying to get lost in work. Going through the motions…faking it until I make it…whatever you want to call it.

It’s a Saturday, which means I can pour a glass of wine while I scroll through emails, but Liam’s words from that night that feels like a lifetime ago still ring loud and clear in my head: You work too hard, and you still probably drink too much.

I guess he’s not wrong, but what else have I got?

Logging into my email, I see an unread message from my boss discussing a new contract we’ve acquired. As I read through it, it all sounds normal. A hospital system is restructuring its administration, and there’s pushback from the physicians.

Enter my team of mediators to make everyone happy.

Same old shit.

Until I read the hospital name and my drink slips from my hand, splashing across the scar on my chest like some sick and twisted sign from that bitch, Karma.

Boston Memorial.

The last time I stepped inside that hospital, Cain held my literal heart in his hands, and I left with the scar I still bear.

I fire an email to my boss, taking the coward’s way out, explaining in not-so-great-detail the conflict of interest, and ask to be removed from the assignment.

His response comes quickly: My request is denied.

Apparently, my ‘calming nature’ along with my experience in this particular area make me the prime candidate for not only a spot on this team but the leader of it.

My flight information is attached.

I have four days to brace for impact.

With forty-eight hours until my flight to Boston, I’m helping Liam move new furniture into one of the guest rooms of his bed-and-breakfast when he catches me completely off guard.

“Dad, do you stay in touch with that doctor friend of yours from college?”