5.

Ava

My sneakers squeak an apology on the sterile linoleum as I rush toward Charles Johns’s office, the echo trailing behind me. The clock above the nurses’ station screams at me with its minute hand pointing sternly at the one. I’m five minutes late.

My patient’s wide, fear-filled eyes and trembling hands claimed those minutes, her heart a ticking bomb awaiting defusing through the most delicate of incisions.

“Dr. Johns…” I announce myself, pushing open the door without waiting for consent, the words I’m sorry perched on my lips. But they dissolve into silence when I see him —Roman. He’s leaning casually against Dr. Johns’s bookshelf, looking infuriatingly handsome in a white coat that clings to his shoulders like it’s made just for him.

“Ah, there you are.” Dr. Johns greets me with a nod, seeming unfazed by my delay as his silver-rimmed glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Roman Quinlan.” His smile is polite, but there’s a twinkle in his eye, like he’s privy to some secret joke.

“We’ve…met.” Roman’s voice is smooth, a slow pour of molasses that sends a ripple of unwelcome warmth through me. “Medical school classmates.”

“Is that so?” Dr. Johns’s eyebrows rise, a chessmaster watching his pieces come into play. The office suddenly feels smaller, the air thick with history.

“Small world,” I manage, but it sounds more like a gasp than casual conversation. Inside, I’m a mess of tangled nerves. Roman Quinlan. Of all the doctors in the city, why him?

“Very small,” Roman agrees, his gaze holding mine, a question lingering in his eyes.

I remember those eyes. Once, they promised love. Now they hint at battles yet to be fought.

“Indeed.” Dr. Johns clasps his hands together, oblivious to the silent war being waged in his presence. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

Dr. Johns leans back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. “The fundraiser for King George House,” he begins, steepling his fingers. “It’s imperative that we get it right. We’ll need an adaptable venue, one that can weather the whims of June—outside if blessed by sun, inside should the rain conspire against us.”

I nod, barely listening, my mind racing around Roman’s sudden appearance like palpitations I can’t control.

“Of course there will be a meal,” Dr. Johns continues. “A lavish affair to impress. And the silent auction needs to be large—enticingly so. We’re aiming to have every department sponsor a table—for their team, for their friends. It doesn’t matter as long as they contribute. We want at least two hundred attendees.”

Roman’s pen dances over a notepad, jotting down notes. His focus seems clinical, detached, and it makes me want to snap the pen right out of his hand.

“King George House needs us,” Dr. Johns finishes with gravitas. “New roof. Electrical work. This fundraiser isn’t just a party. It’s essential.”

“Understood, Dr. Johns,” Roman says smoothly, the traitor. “We’ll make sure it’s a success.”

“Good.” Dr. Johns stands, a signal that the meeting is over. “I trust you to work together on this. It’s a big responsibility. I want to meet with you every week to get updates on how it’s going, and I expect you to collaborate. This isn’t the time to sit back and let the other person pull all the weight.”

He looks at me as he says this. Does he think I don’t work hard?

We step into the hallway, and Dr. Johns’s office door closes behind us with a soft click. I can feel the heat of my fury. Working with Roman? Might as well ask me to co-sign a pact with the devil.

“Look, Roman—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“Ava, I know we can handle this.”

“Handle this?” The words are ice picks. “I don’t need your help. I’ve got this.” My fingers curl into fists, nails digging crescents into my palms.

“Are you sure? You heard what Dr. Johns said. This is a two-person job. There’s a lot to do, and…” He stops when he sees the hard set of my jaw.

“Positive,” I assure him coldly. “I’ll do it all on my own.”

He holds my gaze, and I can see the gears turning in his head, calculating, always calculating. But for once, I want him to underestimate me, to think I’m still that resident he left behind without a second glance.

“Fine,” he says.

“Fine,” I echo.

But even now, I know I will need his help. This is a full-time job, and I can’t do it alone. But I don’t know if I can trust Roman to do anything more than give me advice on the work I do.

“Here,” I say, despite my reservations. I thrust a piece of paper toward him. It flutters slightly, as if caught in a breeze only I can feel. “It’s the schedule to look at venues this afternoon. Be there, or don’t—it’s no skin off my nose.”

His fingers brush mine as he takes the paper, an accidental caress that I wish didn’t send a jolt up my arm. I pull away quickly, leaving him standing there.

“See you around, Dr. Quinlan,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“See you, Dr. Winters,” he replies.

I don’t dare look back. The air in the hallway feels charged, every molecule vibrating with electricity. I put distance between myself and Dr. Johns’s office—between myself and Roman.

“Dr. Winters,” Roman calls after me. “Wait.”

I stop but don’t turn around, my hands clenched at my sides. “What?” The word comes out sharp.

“Look, I know there’s bad blood between us…” He’s close now, his breath ghosting over my shoulder.

“Bad blood?” I whirl, meeting his gaze head-on, the old hurt flaring up like a muscle spasm. “You could say that.”

“Listen, Ava…” His use of my first name catches me off guard, sending ripples through my carefully controlled fa?ade. “We both know this fundraiser is going to be a massive undertaking. It’s not something either of us can handle alone in the time we have.”

“Is that so?” Skepticism drips from my words.

“Yes.” His eyes are steady, earnest, looking into mine. “It’s more work than you think.”

I laugh, but it’s devoid of humor. “And here I was thinking you’d just bail on me again. You know, when things get too tough or when you realize someone might actually outshine you.”

His expression falters. “Ava, that’s not fair—”

“Fair?” Fire ignites in my belly, spreading rapidly until I can almost taste the flames. “You walked out on me, Roman. Left me to pick up the pieces because I got the fellowship and you didn’t. And now you’re what? Here to make amends?”

He steps back, as if my words physically assault him. “I didn’t come back to fight with you. I volunteered to help you with this party because despite everything, I thought it might be fun.”

“Help? Fun?” I scoff. “Or is it because you can’t stand the thought of me succeeding without you? Afraid I’ll prove I never needed you in the first place?”

“Ava…” His jaw clenches, and I see the muscles twitch—a telltale sign of his frustration.

“Save it, Dr. Quinlan.” I cross my arms over my chest, a shield against the memories threatening to pierce through. “I’ve heard enough empty promises from you to last a lifetime.”

“Empty?” There’s an incredulous lift to his eyebrows.

But I’m not buying it—not anymore. “Prove me wrong then.” I toss the challenge like a gauntlet at his feet. “Stick it out. Show up. Do the work. But don’t expect me to fall at your feet in gratitude for gracing me with your presence.”

“I will be there to help,” he says.

“I look forward to seeing that,” I reply, hiding the tremor in my hands behind my back.

His face, usually so composed, betrays a flicker of surprise, and I feel a twisted satisfaction at having caught him off guard.

“Look,” he finally says, his voice softer now, almost imploring. “I know I left. I never had a fallback if I didn’t get the fellowship. My ego was bruised, and I wanted to be excited for you, but I’d lost the rudder that guided my life. You deserved better. And now I understand why I lost the job. I didn’t have the passion you do. But I’ve found where I truly need to be—in pediatrics, handling emergencies, saving kids. That fellowship…it wasn’t my path.”

His blue eyes search mine for understanding, for a sign of forgiveness that I’m not ready to give. A part of me wants to believe him, to find sincerity in his words. But that part of me is buried under layers of hurt and skepticism.

“Pediatrics, huh?” I manage, keeping my tone light, almost dismissive. “I guess you’ve found your noble calling then.”

He nods, a determined set to his jaw. “Yes, and that’s why I’m here—to see this through with you. I’m not walking away this time.”

I bite back a scoff. What does that mean? How many times have I seen that same resolve before it crumbled like dry sand between fingers? Too many. “Good for you,” I say instead. “Then I guess I’ll see you this afternoon. I called all over town, and these were the only places that still had openings for an event of this size.”

Roman raises the paper I gave him. “Sounds good,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you,” I say, as my thoughts churn like a tempestuous sea. I don’t believe you. You’ll find some emergency, some crisis that only Dr. Roman Quinlan can handle, and you’ll leave me to pick up the pieces. Just like I had to do last time with the pieces of my heart.