Page 134 of The Love Operation

“Thank you for your honesty,” I say, turning to leave.

“Thank you for yours,” he says, and I can’t tell if I imagine the flicker of doubt in his voice.

As I leave Dr. Vaughn’s office, my phone buzzes like a hive in my pocket. When I look down, there are messages from my siblings, my dad, Dahlia, Isaac, and Delenn—texts, missed calls, voicemails. Some of it’s weekend overflow, but Isaac’s and Delenn’s messages—short, urgent, repeated—tell me they’ve heard something.

I close my eyes. My brain feels cotton stuffed. I’m exhausted. And it’s only lunchtime.

I want to crawl under my desk. Instead, I have a full clinic this afternoon.

And a PR crisis to manage before it spreads.

Isaac: What happened in the OR? Are you okay?

Me: I’m fine. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it in the meeting this afternoon.

He doesn’t text back right away, so I switch to Delenn’s texts.

Delenn: There are rumors circulating about a surgeon passing out in the OR. Do you know who it was?

Delenn: OMG, Cord. Did you pass out??

Delenn: Wait. Is this—call me.

Me: Everything’s fine. I’ll explain later. I have clinic.

Delenn: Cordelia Wren, I swear. I am losing my shit over here.

Me: There’s nothing I can do right now. Clinic.

Me: I’ll meet you at your office after.

Delenn: Fine. But if you did what I think you did, I’m going to kill you.

Me: I wanna be the one who picks out my tombstone. And no fake flowers.

Delenn: Do not joke.

Me: I’m not.

I’m so filled with dread, I could pop. Thankfully, my patients haven’t heard anything, and I can focus on something that actually makes sense: clinic.

I’m halfway through when Anna pokes her head into the room, her blond curls haloing her face. “Dr. Wren, sorry to interrupt, but Isaac Thompson is here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

Apparently, my thoughts are showing on my face because Anna winces. Hell, I can feel the growl rumble in my chest.

“It’s okay, Dr. Wren,” my patient, Ms. Clara, says, eyes twinkling as she glances at her husband. She’s seventy-six, with SI joint dysfunction and trochanteric bursitis. We were about to inject her bursa. “We understand if you have an emergency.” She purrs the word like she’s auditioning for the lead role in a hospital soap. Clearly, drama is her drug of choice.

I can already hear her calling Ethel, her best friend and fellow patient. You won’t believe what happened, Ethel. Dr. Wren was with me—mid-injection!—when she had to rush out. I think someone lost the use of their legs. Paralyzed. I’m sure that was it.

My initial reaction upon hearing Isaac’s name was irritation, but I would like to see him. Then I remember our last conversation. And then I don’t want to see him. Then I remember how his proximity makes me giddy inside, and I do want to see him. And then I remember where I am and what happened today, and I definitely don’t want to see him.

When I look at this scenario, I feel like my life has been one poor decision after another. I know that’s a hindsight problem, but I’m beginning to wonder if all these risks are worth it.

I think about the last memory with Benedict. I don’t know what to do with that information yet, but I can figure it out. And if I hadn’t taken that risk, Delenn’s study risk, I wouldn’t have the new data to operate on.

It doesn’t change the fact that I put my career in jeopardy—more than once—so seeing Isaac right now feels like one more weight, not a lifeline.

Scraping the last bit of confidence from the bottom of my soul, I say to Anna, “Put Mr. Thompson in my office. Tell him I’m with a patient and I’ll be there when I can.”