Chapter 4

"Good morning," Wes greets us just after the change of shift with a content smile on his face. "I know you've all heard the rumors, and if I haven't gotten a chance to speak one-on-one with you, I apologize. I tried to get to as many of you as I could yesterday. Some of you may feel as though this move is very sudden, but it's time for me to step down as chief of trauma surgery."

I take a sip of my coffee as I stand in the back of the pack, hating the bundle of nerves tightening my stomach. Cricket Peterson—my biggest competition here—is standing front and center like the suck-up she is. Part of my nerves come from the fact that I'm sad. Wes was my mentor. He's the one who brought me here to this residency program. I'm going to miss him and the trust we had with each other.

And obviously, the other reason for my nerves is standing just to the side of Wes looking like Superman in scrubs. Especially when he slides up the sleeve of his long-sleeved undershirt to reveal his powerful forearms. Damn. I clear that away and go back to listening to Wes.

"It's something I had been thinking about for a while," Wes continues. "It was a difficult decision. I've been here my entire attending career. With that, I wasn't going to leave this department to just anyone. Lucky for us, the perfect person fell into our laps. Dr. Bennett Lawson received his medical degree from Johns Hopkins, where he also did his residency before doing a trauma fellowship in Los Angeles. He's spent the last five years working as an attending and then chief of trauma surgery at the Mayo Clinic. Please join me in welcoming him. Doctor?"

Wes steps aside and Bennett, tall, confident, and sinfully fucking gorgeous, steps forward. His eyes instantly meet mine, as if he knew exactly where I was standing—and hiding—all along. I catch a curl of his lips that could hardly be called a grin before it disappears just as quickly, and he shifts his focus to the crowd before him, all business.

"Good morning, everyone," he says, and I swear, I hear two nurses nearby emit dreamy sighs. "I'll keep this brief since I know you have patients to get back to. As Wes said, this likely came as a bit of a shock to you. I realize I'm stepping into some very large shoes, and I'll attempt to fill them as best I can. General and trauma surgery is what I've dedicated my life to, and I'm beyond thrilled to be working with such talented staff at one of the best hospitals in the country."

Bennett continues to speak, but I'm distracted by the two second-year residents near me. "How are we supposed to focus on patients when he's walking the halls?" one teases the woman on the other side of her.

"I know," the other resident whispers. "I heard he's divorced. You think he's looking for wife number two?"

They both snicker. "Gah, I can only hope so. Oh, but listen to this," her friend murmurs conspiratorially. "My cousin is an intensivist at Mayo and he told me that Dr. Lawson was forced into resigning. That's why he left there and came here."

My eyes bulge, but I do my best to hold in my reaction.

"Forced into resigning?" the other resident hisses under her breath. "For what?"

"No clue. But it has to be pretty bad to get fired, right?"

"For real. I'm shocked they hired him here if he was fired from Mayo."

"No joke. Whatever the reason, the hospital kept it quiet."

I return my attention to Bennett, not sure what to make of that.

"I appreciate your time, and I'm always available if you ever need anything," he finishes, giving a small but firm smile.

In a beat, he's surrounded by people welcoming him—naturally, Cricket is first—and I linger back, insatiably curious about what I overheard. I pull out my phone and do a quick Google search, but nothing comes up other than a brief press release from Mayo stating that Dr. Bennett Lawson has stepped down as the chief of trauma surgery. That's it. No reasons are provided, and it says he stepped down, but then again, I don't think press releases usually go into nefarious details about firings.

I glance back up at him, watching him from afar. This stiff man with his rough lines and stern voice is so different from the one I encountered yesterday. So different from the man I had known for a year of my life.

Whatever happened to him, whatever his reason for leaving or being forced out, he's different. Cold. Detached. Distant. Keegan said she heard he was a jerk. I haven't seen that from him at all, so I think that might just be a rumor and nothing more. Regardless, I think there's a lot more going on with Dr. Bennett Lawson than anyone here knows about.

Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, I decide. His personal business isn't mine to know, nor does it impact what I'm here to do. I make my way over to him once most of the crowd has dispersed. His cobalt blue eyes watch me approach, a smirk slithering across his lips.

"How'd I do?" he asks in a low tone now that it's just the two of us. "Did I sound like a total asshole?"

I can't help my snort. Or the fact that I love how he's still familiar with me. "I already told you I don't suck up."

He chuckles, gripping the back of his neck. "That bad, huh?"

I shake my head. "You're not fooling me, Doctor. Confidence isn't something you're lacking. You're fully aware they were eating out of the palm of your hand."

He wipes at the blooming smile on his lips and shifts until he's facing me head-on. "But not you," he surmises.

"I'm not so easily won over anymore."

"I'm not either, Dr. Barrows." Something crawls over his expression as he says that—something dark and haunting. He looks away and clears his throat. "We should get to work. I'm sure you have rounds."

I do have rounds and I do need to get back to work, but for whatever reason, I pause, tempted to ask about the rumors I just heard, but know I can't. I need to let whatever past we have stay there. Something about him is too tempting. Too familiar, even if it's been seven years.

Still, I find myself asking, "You good?"

His head whips back to me, surprised by my question. He stares blankly for a moment before his features soften, and he shrugs. "Not exactly. But hopefully, I'm getting there. I'll see you around, Dr. Barrows."

I take his dismissal for what it is and throw him a wave as I start to walk away. "See you, Dr. Lawson."

"Mrs. Jacobs,"I greet the anxious wife of my car accident patient. "I'm Dr. Barrows. I'm the surgeon who will be taking care of your husband today." I explain how we're getting a CT scan of his abdomen to know the extent of his injuries, but based on my initial exam and his current status, I'm having him prepped for surgery.

"You mentioned something about his spleen?" she murmurs, knotting her hands in her lap. I nod, and she gulps. "Do you think you'll have to remove it?"

I place my hand on her shoulder without squeezing it—this is meant to be comforting, not reassuring. "I won't know anything for sure until I get the CT results, and even then, I likely won't know for sure until I'm in there. But if I do have to remove his spleen, you should know there are many people who go on to live normal lives without it. They're nice to have, but not essential."

She bobs her head as tears leak from her eyes, and it never gets easier to do this part of the job.

I ask her questions about her husband's health and any medications he's taking, and then I instruct her and her daughter where the surgical waiting room is located and that I'll be back to update them as soon as I can.

But before I leave the room, I ask the question I ask of all family members and sometimes patients when I meet them. After she tells me what I want to know, I leave the room, ready to get into that OR and do what I do best.

It's situations like this that made me want to be a surgeon. I know what it's like to be the family member, the child, about to lose everything, and every time I step into the OR, I work my ass off to make sure that doesn't happen to someone else the way it happened to me.

I hustle my way to the elevator—because there is no way I'm jogging up eight floors before going into surgery—reading a text that tells me that OR three is being prepped for my patient when a shadow moves in directly beside me and two things I hate happen at once.

The first, my stomach does a somersault and my heart speeds up when I catch the scent of whatever soap, shampoo, or deodorant he uses that's so freaking heavenly. The second, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention when he accidentally brushes against me.

"Where are you headed to, Dr. Barrows?" Bennett asks, his voice low.

I blow out a silent breath, buzzing in a way I know better than to buzz. "The OR. I'm doing an ex-lap on a patient with a suspected splenetic laceration. You?"

"I was told you had a trauma down here, and then I saw you walking toward the elevator."

I twist to him. "Were you looking for me?"

His eyes dance about my face, and then he clears his throat and turns back toward the elevator. "I happen to have some free time this afternoon, and I thought I'd assist you in surgery."

I scoff. "Assist me, huh? I'm cute, not stupid, Dr. Lawson. I know full well you're here to evaluate my work as you are every other resident in your program."

He smirks but still doesn't look at me. "You're a hell of a lot more than cute, Katy, and I certainly never thought of you as stupid. But I don't remember you being this brave and bold with me the last time I knew you."

I dip my head to hide the smile the flutters in my belly are trying to spread across my face and press on. "The last time you knew me I was a third-year medical student. I was there to look but not speak or touch. If you want to assist me, be my guest. I'm not sure how much help I'll require with an ex-lap and possible splenectomy."

Just then, the elevator doors open, and he pans his hand, indicating I should get on first.

I shake my head in horror and take a step back. "No way. I'm not getting on an elevator with you."

He twists and starts walking backward, stepping onto the elevator and giving me a taunting look. "I thought you were brave and bold. A total badass trauma surgeon who never turned down a challenge."

Defiantly, I fold my arms. "Really? You're going to throw down the gauntlet like that?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning casually against the elevator wall and holding the open button on the panel. "Hey, I'm the one who's been stuck three times, and here I am, tempting fate while making it my bitch. But you go ahead and take the stairs." He rolls his wrist and checks his watch. "I'm sure the patient is stable enough to wait for you to do that. Spleens aren't notorious for being bleeders or anything."

"Bastard," I grumble under my breath and reluctantly step on the elevator beside him, making sure I give him a wide berth.

"What was that? I'm not sure I caught it."

I rock back and forth from my heels to the balls of my feet as I stare straight ahead, trying to focus on my breathing. "Probably better that way. It wasn't particularly kind."

He smiles, making his dimple divot deeper into his chin. "Do you normally call your boss a bastard?"

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I pinch the inside of my palm to quell this… this feeling. "I thought you said you didn't hear it."

"No. I said I wasn't sure I caught it. I lied. I was curious to see if you'd admit it or try to cover it with something else."

My gaze stays trained straight ahead. Why did I get on this elevator? It's about to lock me in here and start moving. Especially since he finally releases the open button. "Yes, I normally call my boss a bastard. Just ask Wes. Though, in fairness to him, I only used it when he was being a particularly bastardy bastard and it was more a term of endearment since I've known him practically my entire life. He's good friends with my uncle, Callan."

"Bastardy bastard? Hm. That sounds a lot like me. At least as of late." Before I can question that, he continues with, "Your uncle works in the ER here. So does his wife, Layla, right?"

That catches me by surprise. My neck twists and my chin lifts so I can gawk at the side of his handsome face. "How did you know that?"

He doesn't so much as glance in my direction as he says, "I do my research." But then he does look at me, and something in his eyes glimmers. It makes my pulse race even before he adds, "And I remember the important things. You told me the night of the party that they worked here."

He looks back at the doors as they close, leaving me here utterly flummoxed by that. That was seven years ago. How in the hell does he remember?—

"He's the one who took you in when your parents died?" he recalls, snapping me out of my thoughts only to have them nosedive into insanity land as the elevator starts to shoot up.

"You have an amazing memory. I can't believe you remember that about my uncle and stepmother." My voice cuts into a gasp as the elevator makes a weird noise. I swear on all that is holy if this fucking elevator gets stuck again…

He shifts in beside me when he hears it, his hands reaching out for me as if he's about to touch me, comfort me, only to catch himself and lower them to his sides. He's far more in control with his restraint and protocol than I am right now because reflexively I grip his forearm before I'm even aware of the motion. My heart is racing too fast, my head is spinning, and I'm a half-beat from hyperventilating.

"Sorry. I realize this is likely inappropriate, but it seems yesterday gave me a bit of a fear of elevators," I manage. "I didn't think it would be this bad, but here we are. If we get stuck, you might regret goading me onto it."

"Grip me as hard as you need to."

Oh, thank God. I do as he instructs, not even caring that he's my boss.

"I've got you," he soothes. "Just breathe."

"I'm breathing. A lot. Probably a bit too much."

"Okay, fine. Breathe less." Humor dances in his voice.

"You breathe less." I close my eyes. "Sorry, that was rude and also inappropriate."

He shifts closer to me until the side of his body is aligned with mine, the contact grounding me and making my head spin less.

"You have to get over the panic at some point," he instructs.

"I was planning to. Tomorrow."

He chuckles. "You're not working tomorrow."

"Oh, darn. Monday then."

"It wasn't so bad when we got stuck, was it?"

"Truth that you can't hold against me?"

His arm rubs against my shoulder. "Go for it."

"I was terrified."

His head angles and his eyes catch mine, sparkling rare blue gemstones. "You were fun. I liked that you were pretending we didn't know each other. Incidentally, you talk a lot when you're scared."

"I talk a lot all the time. I just tend to ramble when I'm scared. I did warn you about it."

"You did. That's true." He nudges my shoulder. "Truth that you can't hold against me?"

"Go for it." I throw his words back at him, clutching him a little tighter because he's here and he's letting me, and frankly, this elevator is no picnic.

"It was the highlight of my day."

A strangled laugh flees my chest. Partially because, even though I was freaking out and terrified out of my skull, in a weird way, it was for me too. And partially because I want off this elevator yesterday. Except my life never goes in a straight line, so we stop on a floor, and no one is there to get on. What is that bullshit?

"You're a liar," I challenge. Still, I like that he feels the same way I do about it.

"No. I swear," he promises. "Who knew I'd get trapped with the student I made out with once? And what are the odds that she'd work for me again?"

He did not just say that we made out when I adamantly denied last night that's what we did. I squint accusingly at him. "Are you distracting me or flirting with me?"

"Both," he says plainly. "But don't worry, I'll only flirt with you on the elevator and only as a means to distract you until you're over your newfound fear."

"I'll remember that. If I ever get on one again after this. How slow is this elevator, speaking of which? This is a hospital. People's lives are on the line here." I shake my head in exasperation. "If getting stuck was the highlight of your day, your life must not be all that great at the moment." My eyes shoot wide, and I clap my free hand over my mouth. "Oh, shit. I'm so sorry."

His head tilts. "Don't be. You're not wrong."

"Why is that?"

"Maybe I'll tell you about it another time. We're here."

The elevator finally comes to a stop, and the doors mercifully open, granting me freedom. I take a deep breath, peeling my hand away from his arm. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. You have my nail marks on your skin. And yes, I get there's a joke in there."

"I wasn't going to go there even if my mind did. I may flirt and distract, but I do have boundaries."

"Sort of," I tease and step off the elevator. "Thank you for distracting me. Again. It looks like I survived without getting stuck."

"Maybe you're cured then."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Doctor. I'll see you in the OR. I'm going to check on the status of my patient and the CT results first."

Without waiting for a response, I start off at a good pace when he calls out, "I remembered you, Katy. Just as you were impossible to ignore, you were impossible to forget. But don't worry, that was the last time I'll ever bring it up, and I promise not to try to distract you like that again."

I turn back to him, the sudden change in his tone and demeanor surprising me a bit. "You were fine."

His face dips toward his feet. "As long as I didn't make you uncomfortable. I'd never want that."

"You didn't," I promise. "But I agree about us not bringing it up again. I work for you, and that was a long time ago."

He nods his head and slowly lifts his chin. "I'll see you in surgery, Dr. Barrows."

He stalks off in the other direction, and I stand here for a half-beat, our strange interactions leaving me perplexed. At least we're on the same page. No more flirting. No more discussing our past.

I remember the important things. I remembered you, Katy. Just as you were impossible to ignore, you were impossible to forget.

Ugh. No. Just no. I roll that off my shoulders and let it die on the hospital floor behind me. Nothing good comes from crushing on your boss. But more importantly, I don't want more from him.

I have too much at stake.

Too much to earn and prove.

So Bennett Lawson might be painfully gorgeous with a smile that makes angels weep and nuns want to sin and say the most perfect things at the perfect moment, but from now on, where he's concerned, I'll be taking the stairs.