Chapter 7

Taylor Swift blares through my headphones, and I sing along, tying my scrub bottoms and then tucking in my long-sleeve shirt and scrub top in because I'm that girl who likes to be tucked in. It's not even six in the morning, and rounds don't start until seven thirty. It's my absolute favorite time of the day to be here.

It's the quietest time in the hospital. At least for trauma surgeons.

It's also the best time of day to catch up on post-ops and labs and other things that have to get done, but you lose track of when the surgeries start rolling in.

My head bops from side to side, my hips swiveling along to the beat, and I dance and sing my way out of the women's locker room, only to bump into the last person I was expecting—or hoping—to see.

"You are shitting on my happy time," I tell Zane, the asshat from ortho I made a grave mistake with. Speaking of being that girl, I was her for about a year. The one who screws around with the guy with the bad reputation thinking they'll never be the one to get screwed over by him. Owen, Keegan, and Kenna all tried to warn me.

Hell, Owen and Kenna don't even work at this hospital but had heard stories about Zane in theirs. Talk about a freaking, blazing red flag. If a reputation is bad enough to span multiple hospitals, you should be smart enough to listen.

But did I listen?

Nope. Not this girl.

I screwed him—and I use that term deliberately—in a few bar bathrooms around the city after a few too many shots, but then, like a fool, I started listening to his lies as he told me how much he liked me and wanted an exclusive relationship—the first time in his life he ever wanted that with anyone. Swoon, right?

Naturally, I jumped in with both feet and two blind eyes because he was cute and great in bed and sweet in our private, vulnerable, post-sex moments.

I thought I had broken through to the other side of his manwhore ways, and I was the girl who changed him. We were that annoyingly cute couple who held hands in the hospital halls and threw each other sugary-sweet googly-eyed smiles that made everyone around us want to throw up. He even went out of his way to get along with my people.

After six months of being together, I moved into his place. And for another six months after that, Zane held me captive. He plied me with good sex and drugged me with swoony words of love. I thought he was it for me. We were even talking about trying for a baby—something we were both so excited for—and he was with me through my endometriosis surgery.

One evening I found an engagement ring tucked in the back corner of his desk drawer, and when he told me he made plans for us to go away for my birthday, I knew he was going to propose. Then, the night before we were set to go away, I discovered he was messing around with a nurse at Brigham and Women's and a doctor at Tufts. I had no clue. I suspected nothing. Until I came home early that night and found him having a three-way with both of them.

In. Our. Bed.

He swore it was the first time, but the women claimed otherwise. Who do you think I was smart enough to believe?

I moved out that night and into Keegan and Kenna's home office, and I never looked back.

I learned. I learned that appearances can be deceiving. I learned if something is too good to be true, it usually is. I learned that I needed to rediscover faith in my gut and to always follow it. And I decided my primary guiding force would be work, myself, my people, and nothing else.

So yeah…

"Move," I bark, my voice edged with agitation when he doesn't get the message. My elbow jabs and hits his flank. Thankfully, it provides enough breathing room for me to pass without having to touch him or get too close. Unfortunately, it wasn't hard enough to crack a rib or two.

He recovers quickly—far too quickly if you ask me—and then he's by my side again, keeping pace. "You could just talk to me," he pushes out. "You could listen to what I have to say and hear my side of this."

I laugh. Because, truly, that's a good one. His side? Only cheaters think they're entitled to have a valid side.

"No thanks." I throw him a sideways glance. "And legit, what are you doing here? You're like five months too late and well past your expiration date. Now get off my floor."

"You blocked me."

I roll my eyes. "Pathetic. Totally freaking pathetic. Of course I blocked you. What sane woman wouldn't? This is why all your fucking around will eventually lead to you being miserable and alone, nursing an incurable STI. Go spread it to someone else. I'm done with your cooties."

He grabs my arm, spinning me in place, and then walks me back into the wall. Getting right up in my face, his dark eyes blaze into mine. I shove against him, but he uses his size and weight to hold me in place.

"You won't talk to me. I've been trying to come up and see you, but you have the nurses locking me out of this side of the surgical floor and your ORs. Keegan kicked me in the nuts when I showed up at her apartment looking for you, and Kenna told the doorman to call the police on me if I showed up again."

It was funny when Keegan did that. He cried like a little bitch. And you have to love it when your girls go to bat for you, even when you didn't initially listen to them. "That's love. That's loyalty. Something you wouldn't know anything about. Now move."

I shove against him, but he pushes my hand away, pressing me deeper into the wall, his face inches from mine.

"I fucked up," he rasps brokenly. "Please, Katy. I know I fucked up. But I miss you. So much. You were the best thing to ever happen to me, and I ruined it by being selfish and immature. All I can think about is you and the plans we were working on. I want that. I want all of that with you. So fucking badly. Please, babe. It's not too late." He cups the side of my head, holding me in position. "We can start over and still do this together."

I scoff. It's bitter as hell. I shake my head, forcing his hand away. "Save your half-baked apology for someone who actually cares. You think I'd consider having a child with a lying, cheating asshole like you? I'd never intentionally poison the genetic well like that."

He growls in frustration, slamming a hand into the wall next to my head. "For Christ's sake, Katy. I've been—" Before he can finish his statement, he's dragged away from me by the back of his scrub shirt. "What the hell?" he barks.

"You better not be my new intern," Bennett snarls, releasing him and shoving him in the opposite direction of me.

"Intern?" Zane snaps indignantly. "I'm a fifth-year ortho?—"

"I don't care." Bennett cuts him off, his voice sharp but not raised. He stands tall over Zane, using his extra three inches of height and fifteen pounds of muscle to his advantage. Zane doesn't back down, but he's also not stupid enough to fuck with a chief of a department either. "You're on my floor talking to my resident in a way I don't like. And from the looks of it, she doesn't like it either."

"This is personal between me and Katy and it doesn't concern you."

"That's where you're wrong. Dr. Barrows may have nine thousand cousins who know everyone in this building, but trust me, I'm not someone you want to mess with. Remember that. If I see you anywhere near her or if you put your hands on her again, I'll get your impotent ass kicked off your service and out of this building."

"Impotent?!" Zane squawks, and I choke on my laugh.

"I have a feeling it speaks to you on multiple levels. Now go."

Zane gives Bennett a scathing look and then shifts to me with an expression that tells me he's not done with me yet, then wisely leaves the floor.

Bennett turns to me, his features softening, his gaze all over me as if searching for signs of injury. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

I shake my head. "I'd never let him hurt me again."

He considers this. "Your ex?"

"Yep." I rock on my feet.

"The reason you're celibate?" he surmises.

I shrug. "More or less. He slept with two women at the same time in our bed, but that part is sort of extra and irrelevant to the fact that he's a cheating, lying, backstabbing swine. Anyway, thank you for stepping in like that. I apologize that you had to."

He hovers over me, his eyes searching mine, something in his I can't quite read. "You don't have to thank me, and you certainly don't have to apologize. I have a persistent ex like that too."

My head bounces. "I heard you were divorced. That was another rumor."

"It seems a lot is going around about me." He sighs and looks around. "My ex is the one who got me fired."

"Oh." Because I don't know what to say to that.

"In case the rumor mill churns up the circumstances surrounding it, the reasons are bullshit, manufactured, and based purely on my ex's vengeful, vindictive nature that I didn't realize she had when I married her."

"Oh." Again, that's all I've got. Even though I'm dying to know, I won't ask what she did to get him fired. "I'm so sorry. That sounds… fucking awful," I say bluntly. "She tried to ruin your career?"

"Tried and almost succeeded."

"But you're here now," I offer brightly.

"And she's calling me here, which likely means she's trying to ruin this for me too."

"What a bitch. Maybe you just need someone to tell her to fuck off the way you just did Zane."

His lips bounce. "Are you applying for the job?"

My eyes sparkle. "Absolutely."

He grins, complete with a chin dimple and pearly white teeth. "Next time she calls the floor looking for me, I'll have the nurses put you on."

"Deal."

"I know you're not married to Owen, but were you married to that guy? I heard him mention something about you trying for children."

"No. Not married. But…" I trail off, laughing lightly and uncomfortably. This is too personal of a conversation to have with your new boss, but that seems to be what we're doing this morning. "Well, I have some reasons, let's go with that, but I want to try to have a child or children in the near future if I can. It's something he and I had talked about and wanted to try for back when we were together. Until I found him with those two women, of course."

Bennett's eyes round, and his jaw goes slack. For a long, awkward moment, he stares at me like this, as if he's too dumbstruck to respond.

"But don't worry," I quickly tack on, surprised by his reaction. "If I were to get pregnant, it's nothing that would interfere with my residency or fellowship. I promise. I'd never let that happen. If that's your concern."

He swallows audibly, licks his lips, and shakes his head as if my words aren't making sense to him. "You're trying to get pregnant? Still? Even though you"re celibate?"

I look away, feeling my face heat. I can't answer him. I shouldn't have even said what I said. But after my appointment yesterday morning with Dr. Feelgood—yes, that's his actual name—things are starting to move in the right direction, and my excitement got the better of my mouth as it always seems to. Plus, Wes knew what my plans were, and as my boss, if I do get pregnant, Bennett will eventually find out, and if I keep it a secret from him, he could hold it against me when it's time to pick a trauma fellow.

He grasps my jaw and forces it back to him, his eyes fierce, and I notice his hand on my face is shaking. His extreme reaction startles me, and I'm not sure what to say or how to respond.

"Answer me, Katy. You want a child and are trying to have one on your own?"

"I haven't started trying yet," I manage to utter.

He shakes his head, blinking at me in rapid-fire, and then without a word, he walks off, storming down the hall and leaving the floor. All I can do is stare after him, at a total loss as to what just happened.

I've spentmost of my shift today avoiding Bennett. After our wild encounter this morning that I still can't make heads or tails of, I'm not sure what to say or even how to be around him. But it seems life doesn't give a shit about my discomfort or nerves when it comes to my boss.

"What is it?" I call to the floor nurse as I sprint toward the elevator after getting a 911 page to the ER.

"GSW. They're rolling in with it in two minutes. It sounds pretty bad."

I throw her a wave and slam my fist into the elevator button, twisting my back to crack the tension out of it. It was a slow day, but it's been a fast-paced night. A hit-and-run had me and the ortho team—thankfully not Zane—in the OR for the better part of four hours and now a gunshot wound.

The elevator doors open, and I step on, but just as the doors start to close, Bennett comes flying on. He startles when he sees me, but quickly recovers. "They paged you too?"

"Yes."

He nods, and we both fall into an awkward silence as we descend, and I try very hard not to think about the last two times I was alone with this man on an elevator.

"You doing okay? With being on the elevator, I mean," he asks as if reading my thoughts.

"Yes. I'm trying not to think about it. How's your mom?"

He turns to me, his eyebrows raised, not having expected me to ask. "Good. She's good. She's back home and mouthing off as she likes to do with me. I had a nurse come in and check on her, so she's mad at me about that."

I smile softly. "I'm glad to hear that. Not that she's mad at you, but that she's doing better and raising hell."

"Me too. Thank you for asking."

I nod, and then we fall back into silence until the doors open. We both take off at a sprint, following the gurney that's surrounded by ER doctors and nurses.

"What do we have?" Bennett asks as we enter the trauma room after quickly throwing on trauma gowns and gloves.

"GSW times three, two to the abdomen and one through and through to the shoulder." The ER doctor starts talking as he works on intubating the patient. "Lost a lot of blood in the field. Vitals are a mess, with a thready pulse in the one-sixties and blood pressure dropping to eighty over palp. Pulse ox sucks at eight-two, and I'm not sure why he wasn't intubated already, but he is now. Breath sounds are equal."

"Okay, good. Hang a unit of O-negative blood and open the fluids wide," Bennett orders one of the nurses. "Someone throw in a central line. I don't want to give him pressers unless we have to. Let's see if we can stabilize him a bit before we bring him upstairs. I need trauma labs sent stat. Dr. Barrows, how are those wounds looking?"

"No exit wounds for either of the abdominal entry points, and he's bleeding at a good clip despite applying pressure. We need to move him upstairs and open him up now. My guess is one of the bullets hit an artery and we're losing time."

"Alright, let's move. You heard her. Someone call up to the OR and let them know we're on our way. Dr. Barrows, are you with me? I'm going to need all the hands I can get."

"I'm with you," I tell him, and then we're locking the side rails of the gurney and racing for the elevators. The ride up is slow, and the patient is far from stable. My hands are holding pressure on one of the abdominal wounds, and the ER nurse has her hand on the shoulder wound. The elevator stops, and an intern and two more nurses immediately take the patient from us and wheel him toward the OR.

Bennett and I run over to the sinks, donning our scrub caps and masks, and then immediately start scrubbing in.

"He's a kid," I say, my voice low and my stomach in knots. I hate traumas on kids. They're the worst.

"A kid?" Bennett questions as he scrubs his knuckles.

"He looked like he wasn't a day over fifteen. Big body, but young face."

Bennett curses under his breath. "We didn't have a ton of gunshot wounds in Minnesota. I mean, I'd float up to Mayo in the Twin Cities and we'd see more there, but not that often. Not like we did when I was in Baltimore or LA."

"We don't get a ton here either."

He shoots me a sideways glance, lingers for a second, as if he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it and heads into the OR. I suck in a breath, hold it in my lungs, and then follow after him. Being around Bennett is like being on a rollercoaster, and while it's sometimes thrilling and fun, it's also spinning me through more loops and drops than I can take.

Bennett and I spend the next few hours working quickly and tirelessly to save this kid's life. We hardly speak to each other unless it's about what we're doing, and anytime we do, it's as strained as it's been all evening. Something shifted between us, and it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that it's related to what happened this morning.

But the real question is, what the hell do I do about it?