Chapter 5

Thanks to the VA’s new star surgeon, I have to get out of the house a good hour before I usually do. Grand Rounds are forty-five minutes before my first patient is generally scheduled, and then I have to show up fifteen minutes earlier to babysit His Greatness. I barely know how to use the AV equipment as it is. He’d be much better off having Ben here.

Admittedly, when lectures are given at the VA, the AV people do tend to leave you hanging. When I gave my first lecture here, I had five minutes to figure out how to load my PowerPoint and get it on the overhead screen all by myself. So it isn’t entirely ridiculous that the surgeon requested my presence. But he doesn’t know how bad the AV people are—he’s just being a jerk.

Last night, I was tempted to Google this surgeon, but I realized I’d forgotten his name. Or else Dr. Kirschstein never told me in the first place. Anyway, it was probably better I didn’t .

When I get to the small auditorium where we hold our rounds, Dr. Kirschstein is waiting for me by the door in his long white coat with his name stenciled on the lapel. He’s got his arms folded across his chest. “Dr. McGill!” he booms. “You’re late for your tour of duty!”

Dr. Kirschstein always refers to my hours at the VA as my “tour of duty.” Like I’m a soldier serving on the front lines rather than just an outpatient doc treating vets for high blood pressure.

I look down at my watch. It’s ten to eight. “I’m five minutes late.”

Dr. Kirschstein blinks a few times because one of his gray eyebrow hairs has descended into his field of vision. He has the longest eyebrow hairs I’ve ever seen in my life—so long that they’re nearly bangs. Lisa and I call them “eye bangs .” I generally find excessive eyebrow grooming to be ridiculous, but Dr. Kirschstein could definitely use some eyebrow grooming.

“Dr. Reilly is very upset in there,” he tells me.

The Great Surgeon is having a tantrum. He probably needs his diaper changed. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Leah was… she was being difficult this morning.”

As opposed to every morning.

“My wife will send you a book about raising children,” Dr. Kirschstein says. They’ve got four kids, from all accounts I’ve heard.

“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “No need. ”

“It’s a good book!” he insists. “I’ll bring it for you tomorrow. My wife says it helped her a lot.”

“Okay,” I mumble.

Hey, maybe it will help. His wife has not only raised four kids and put up with Dr. Kirschstein all these years, but she’s also a physician herself. Probably one of the first female physicians in the country.

“You’ll need to apologize to Dr. Reilly though,” Dr. Kirschstein says. “He’s quite upset.”

Fine. I’ll apologize to Dr. Reilly. I’m sure he’s going to chew me out anyway.

Dr. Kirschstein opens the door to the auditorium. I start to follow him, but then something hits me:

Dr. Reilly .

No. It couldn’t be.

Eight years ago, I was breaking up with Dr. Ryan Reilly so that I’d be free to date Ben. Ryan was… well, it’s hard to come up with a good adjective to describe him. He was handsome as hell—that goes without saying. He could be incredibly sweet and charming, but in the hospital, he was the biggest asshole you’d ever come across. He was always nice to me though.

For the most part, it wasn’t that serious between the two of us, but sometimes it felt very serious. We both used to date other people from time to time, but somehow, we kept ending up together. It always felt so good and right with him. He was, deep down, a good guy and also an incredibly gifted surgeon. But Ryan had absolutely no desire for a relationship that would lead to marriage and a family. Well, he did want those things, but he couldn’t have those things. For reasons that only a few people were aware of.

When Ben came along, I ended things with Ryan for good. But of all the men I ever dated, he’s the only one I ever still think about.

As I follow Dr. Kirschstein through the door to the auditorium, I get this sick feeling in my stomach. It couldn’t be the same Dr. Reilly. Reilly is a relatively common last name—there must be tons of surgeons with that name. What are the chances it’s the same guy? Also, Ryan would never work at the VA in a million years. I bet Dr. Reilly is some balding, middle-aged guy with a pot belly.

Except I happen to know that my Dr. Reilly did a fellowship in vascular surgery.

As I step into the auditorium, my worst fears are confirmed. There he is at the podium at the front of the room, wearing his usual green scrubs—Dr. Ryan Reilly. The only man who seriously occupied my thoughts through my three years of internal medicine residency.

And he looks great. Really, really great. Ryan must be in his mid-forties by now, but he’s every bit as good looking as he was when he was a surgery resident. Maybe it’s just because I’m older too, but he seems even sexier now than he was back then. Every strand of gray in his golden hair, every fine line on his face just makes him all the more handsome.

It’s so unfair that men can get so much sexier as they get older, whereas women just get older . I’ve gotten at least a dozen strands of gray in my red hair since Leah was born, and trust me, they don’t make me look more distinguished. They just make me look old.

And that’s when it occurs to me:

Ryan is going to see me for the first time in eight years.

Oh crap.

Suddenly I regret every piece of beauty advice I never took from Lisa. Maybe I can find her real quick and get a five-minute makeover. Right now, I’m wearing some black pants paired with a gray sweater. And it’s not one of those sweaters that “hugs my curves” or some bullshit like that. It’s a fuzzy sweater. It’s warm and ugly.

I’ve got about five seconds before Ryan looks up and sees me. Maybe I can say I’m sick.

Of course, then it’s too late. Ryan’s blue eyes lift from the computer on the podium and he sees me across the small auditorium. A (sexy) smile spreads across his lips. I can see the lack of surprise on his face, and it’s clear he orchestrated this whole damn thing. I knew I should have changed my name when I got married .

“Dr. McGill,” Ryan says as I slowly make my way toward the front of the room. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”

Dr. Kirschstein’s eyes widen, although it’s hard to tell because they’re mostly obscured by his eyebrows. “Oh! I had no idea that the two of you are already acquainted!”

I say, “We used to work together,” just as Ryan says, “We used to date.” But Ryan is louder.

“I met my wife in medical school!” Dr. Kirschstein booms. “And I don’t have to tell you that it was a very fortuitous experience.”

“It might have been,” Ryan says, “except Jane here dumped me.”

I glare at him. “That’s not exactly true.”

“It is,” he insists. “You told me you were seeing some other guy. He had some short name. What was it? Kip? Pip? Skip?”

“Ben,” I mutter.

“Right! Ben.” Ryan grins at me full-on. God, he is every bit as sexy as he was back then. “How did things work out with ol’ Ben?” He glances down at the wedding band on the fourth finger of my left hand. “Pretty well, I see.”

I finger my gold ring self-consciously. “Yes…”

“Well, congratulations, Jane.” His blue eyes meet mine. “I just wanted you to be happy. ”

The thing about Ryan is that he’s not being sarcastic. He did want me to be happy. And he knew he couldn’t give me what I wanted.

I look over at Ryan’s left hand. No wedding ring. Just like he promised.

Dr. Kirschstein is staring at me with his eyebangs furrowed. “Do you have things under control, Dr. McGill?”

“Absolutely,” I lie.

I’m not sure whether I want Dr. Kirschstein to stay or go, but once he’s gone, I wish he’d stayed. Especially when I stand next to Ryan to help him with the computer and I can smell his aftershave. It’s the same one he’s always used and I feel my knees trembling. God help me.

“You know how to do this, don’t you?” he asks me. “I was told that Dr. McGill is the AV expert.”

He was told incorrectly. “I can do it.”

“They also told me you’ve been working here for over a year.”

I turn away from the computer to glare at him. “You were asking questions about me?”

He shrugs. “Why not? I was curious.”

“Okay, fine.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Since we’re asking questions, how come you came to work here? I thought you were snooty Park Avenue private practice all the way. ”

Ryan grins at me. “What? Are you saying the VA is an inferior place to work?”

“ No .” I feel my cheeks grow warm. “I’m just saying…”

Damn, why does Ryan Reilly always get me so flustered? Yeah, he’s hot. But I’m married now. And Ben’s hot too.

Okay, not as hot as Ryan. Still.

“Their vascular guy retired,” he tells me. “They really needed someone to replace him. They offered me a very good deal. Trust me—I make a lot more money than you do, Jane. Probably by an order of magnitude.”

I don’t doubt that. My salary is nothing to get excited about. I still can’t afford that sofa Ryan used to have in his bachelor pad.

I watch Ryan open his email account to download his presentation, feeling slightly dizzy with déjà vu at the sight of those muscular forearms covered in golden hairs. He hasn’t changed his email address in the time since we dated. I know that because every single year on my birthday, Ryan sends me an email with the subject, “Happy Birthday,” but that is otherwise blank. He hasn’t missed one birthday in the last eight years.

“So,” he says as I load his power point presentation onto the computer, “I heard one of your responsibilities here is to take the new hotshot surgeon out to lunch today. ”

“I can’t,” I mumble, not taking my eyes off the screen. If I look at him, I know I’ll blush. And I’m the sort of person who is really obvious about my blushes. I turn red like a tomato. Ryan either isn’t obvious when he blushes or he never, ever blushes.

“I think you have to,” he tells me. “It’s your duty . If you don’t, I may have to speak with your commanding officer, Dr. Kirschstein. You could be court-marshaled for something like this.”

“I can’t do it,” I say, grateful to have an excuse. “I have this thing I have to get to at my daughter’s preschool.”

Ryan is quiet for a second. When I raise my eyes to look at him, there’s a sad expression on his face, although it quickly fades. “You’ve got a daughter?”

I nod. “Her name is Leah.”

Thank God for the change in conversation topic. There’s nothing less sexy than talking about your preschooler. Maybe I should mention her incontinence to seal the deal.

“Is she a redhead like you?” he asks.

“Unfortunately, yes.” I make a face. “She even has my freckles. Poor thing.”

“Your freckles are adorable,” Ryan says in a low voice, almost in my ear. “Remember when I used to count them? ”

I do. I remember dozing off in bed with Ryan as he gently touched each successive freckle on my arm, whispering, Twenty-one, twenty two… Until I hit him with the pillow and called him a dork.

My chest aches. I’ve only been with Ryan for five minutes, and I’m already starting to remember how much I used to like him. But I can’t forget that there was a very good reason why things never worked out between us. The thing that we never, ever talk about. And I can’t help but say to him now, “You seem okay…”

He gives me a sharp look. “I am okay, Jane.”

I believe him. Ryan looks as great as he ever has.

There’s absolutely no sign that he might be dying.