Page 133 of The Love Operation

When he looks up, his eyes are flint.

The current chief of surgery: Dr. Russell Vaughn. Early seventies. Chief for the past twelve years.

Chief identifying characteristics: Old school, but doesn’t snub progress. Believes in excellence, not excuses. Unflappable. Never rushed. Allergic to drama. Runs this department like a chessboard—quietly, strategically, always ten moves ahead. A little scary. Confident, and with reason.

Physical exam: On-the-taller-side White male. Not overweight, but not small either. Skin like old leather, and a face carved in lines of authority—forehead perpetually furrowed, crow’s feet deep. Steel-gray eyes behind no-nonsense rectangular frames that make everything he says feel like it’s being underlined. Operates rarely, but always wears scrubs.

Impression: The chief for a reason. Knows how to steer the ship. Big shoes to fill. Firm, mostly fair. Has a humorous, family man side, but rarely lets it show.

“Don’t ‘Hello, Dr. Vaughn’ me, and don’t pretend you don’t know why you’re here. You were unresponsive in the OR for a full two minutes, Dr. Wren. That’s serious.”

“I understand,” I say, remaining calm. “It was unacceptable, and I fully understand the position this puts you in.”

“It’s also, I’ll remind you, the position you’re gunning for,” he says. “This kind of episode doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

My insides twist, but I don’t let it reach outward. “Understood,” I say, voice remarkably steady. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t sleep. I haven’t eaten. I’m dehydrated. I paused to recall the name of the suture I needed and must’ve slipped deeper into thought than I realized. But I didn’t put my patient at risk. As Dr. Wal can attest, I completed the procedure with him present. Protocol was followed.”

He doesn’t bite. “Plenty of people would argue otherwise, about both the risk and the protocol.”

“Respectfully, sir, these are the same conditions we’re trained to operate under. Med school. Residency. Every step teaches us to perform under pressure—on no sleep, no food, constant demand. I met my moment, but I didn’t compromise care. And it won’t happen again.”

He exhales heavily, then removes his glasses and sets them on the desk. His face softens, but only slightly. “You’re a damn good surgeon, Cord. And if you repeat this, I’ll deny it—but you’re my favorite for chief.”

That throws me. “I . . . that surprises me.”

He chuckles. “The email?”

“That and . . . other things.”

“I needed to see how you’d handle a storm. Chief of surgery doesn’t mean sailing smooth. You’ll be tested. You’ll have to stand up—for yourself and everyone else.”

I nod, an odd sensation bubbling in my gut. The compliment was unexpected, even gratifying—but amid all this, it feels like emotional whiplash.

He leans forward. “So you understand my position. This is the kind of thing that gets whispered about in elevators. I need to know I can defend you. I need to know I can trust you in that room.”

“You can,” I say. No hesitation. “I’ve never given you reason to doubt me.”

“Not until now,” he says. “Are you under any undue stress? Anything physical I should know about?”

I meet his gaze. I can’t tell him the truth. “I told you what happened. The fault wasn’t in my skill—it was in letting myself get that depleted. That’s on me. And it’s fixable.”

He nods, the answer seeming to land. “Then you’ll understand why this goes in an incident report and why I’m referring you for a fit-for-duty evaluation with Employee Health. Standard procedure. If it’s as you say, you’ll be cleared.”

I nod again. I expected this. I don’t like it, but I own it.

It’s not the end. It’s not the end.

“Until that clears, you’re off the OR schedule. Two days. Maybe more. I need to cover both our asses here.”

“Understood,” I say again.

He stands, sticks out his hand. I take it.

“You’ve proven yourself time and time again. I think this department would flourish under your command, and I don’t want to see it all go down the drain because of this. But I also know that you’ve got a lot of pressure on you right now. And a lot of eyes.”

I hesitate—then ask the thing I’ve been dreading. “Will this hurt my chances?”

He sighs. “That’s to be seen. You’ve got friends on the committee, but not everyone’s a fan. This gives them fuel. We’re meeting this afternoon.”