I MAINTAIN MY PROFESSIONALISM AND concentration during the surgery, but I feel everyone’s eyes on me the entire time. Watching, judging, and wondering exactly how I got to where I am, holding a camera scope during a nationally-televised rare surgery.
I’m a twenty-four-year-old second year resident. I already have a target on my back for being the youngest doctor here. People already expect me to fail. I don’t need to give anyone any indication that I don’t deserve everything I’ve gotten.
So when Prichard stroked my cheek in the scrub room in front of the entire surgical staff, it took everything I had not to knee him in the balls. He said I had an eyelash on my cheek, but then a gentle swipe turned into a caress and a caress turned into a cupping. When he leaned in, I couldn’t believe what was happening. I yanked myself out of his grasp, pulled my mask up over my face, and gave him clipped, one-word responses the rest of our time together.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem angry with me during the surgery and even allowed me to present some of the particulars during the procedure. Camden’s knee accepted the graft perfectly and, technically, it couldn’t have gone better.
But the look in his eyes before he went under still chilled the blood in my veins. His blue pools were swimming with anxiety and…loneliness. I almost regretted my decision to not see him prior to operating, just to help put his nerves at ease. But I’m so attracted to him and in tune with his desires. I was scared he would rattle me. Letting my relationship with him cloud my focus was not an option. I needed a clear head and I needed to trust myself to do his surgery properly.
I hurry and scrub out, anxious to see Camden after he wakes up from his anaesthesia. I nod and smile politely at Prichard, even though I want to be a cold bitch to him. I can’t lose my spot on the follow-up surgery in a month, so I plan to avoid any personal interaction with him until then. It shouldn’t be too difficult because I’m coming up on some time off here soon.
Striding into the post-op room, my eyes find Camden right away. He’s the only patient whose feet are hanging off the end of the bed. His eyes are closed and his face is moving side to side as he stirs. A nurse has just finished replacing his IV fluids.
“Has he woken up yet?” I ask, approaching the other side of the bed.
“Yes, he was awake for a bit but has been in and out since then.”
“How’s his pain?” I ask.
“Good. He said he had none.”
My brows arch. “You can’t always trust his answer on that. He looks restless, so let’s give him eight hundred milligrams of Ibuprofen.”
“You’re talking like you know me,” Cam’s voice croaks. His blue eyes crack open and he swallows as if his throat hurts. I grab the lidded cup with a straw and try to offer it to him, but he shakes it off. His blonde hair is disheveled and his normally tan skin looks pale beneath the fluorescent lights. Regardless, he’s still painfully handsome.
“I just know from experience that you like to minimise your pain,” I smile sweetly.
“I don’t need you to speak for me.” He grimaces and closes his eyes tightly, as if he’s trying to fight off a sharp jab of pain somewhere. “So how did the surgery go, Doc?”
My brow furrows at how he addresses me, but since the nurse is standing only a few feet away, I decide to ignore it. “It went really well. Your ACL accepted the graft. Your knee should feel great in a day or two, just like we said. You can start working out with the PT tomorrow. It should feel pretty normal. Just avoid football until we pull the graft out in a month. By then your ACL should be fused back together and you’ll be good as new. Really, it all went perfectly. From the procedure to the broadcast, everyone is buzzing about how this will be changing recovery time for ACL tears in sports medicine. It’s exciting. Dr. Prichard is talking to your family in the waiting room now.”
“Great.” He slow blinks a couple times and stares at me with a hard look in his eyes. “Glad I could help you get ahead.”
I frown as he looks away and can feel the nurse’s curious eyes on us. I shrug as if I don’t have a clue what he means by his remark, but deep down I can tell something’s wrong. “Well,” I begin awkwardly, “you helped a lot of people get ahead, I’d say. We’re very grateful. I’ll let you get some more rest. I will check on you again soon, Cam.”
I reach out and touch his shoulder, mindful to not appear too personal, and he doesn’t even look at me. I turn to leave and hear him quietly say, “Bye, Dr. Porter.”
I look back and he closes his eyes as if he’s closing the door on something so much bigger than this moment. I have no clue what’s going through his head, but my only hope is that I can get a better handle on him later. Or better yet, when he’s out of the hospital.
A while later, Belle finds me in the cafeteria throwing away the remnants of my lunch. “Hey! I heard surgery went well. How was your goodbye?” she asks, adjusting her tray on her hip.
“My goodbye?” I ask, setting my tray on the conveyor belt.
“With lover boy. I saw a nurse pushing him out the back exit door a little bit ago. I suppose to avoid all the paparazzi and media crews. I assumed you already spoke to him? Arranged your first date.” Her eyes flash with a dirty look in them.
My face crumples. “Prichard said he wasn’t getting discharged until after three o’clock.”
“Well, he must have changed his mind because Camden was definitely leaving just now. He was in street clothes—”
I don’t even let her finish before I take off, moving through the hospital as fast as I can, not caring if I look like a lunatic. This probably reeks of desperation, but after his chilly demeanour in post-op this morning, there’s no way I’m letting him leave on that note.
I head to the back area of the hospital where they deliver the hospital beds because I know that’s where they’ve released VIPs before. I burst through the large metal door and squint as my eyes adjust to the London daylight.
“Looking for someone?” a voice asks. I swerve around to find Camden sitting all alone in a wheelchair alongside the building. He’s hiding back in the shadows, dressed in a zip up hoodie that is pulled up over his head. His legs are bare in a pair of athletic shorts with a cloth fabric bandage wrapped around his right knee.
“I was looking for you,” I reply breathlessly. “I didn’t know you were getting discharged so early.” I walk over so I can see his face better, and he looks off to the side as if he doesn’t want to make eye contact.
“Same-day surgery. All a part of that magical procedure you performed on me today.” He turns back and his blue eyes are icy cold. I think I preferred the no eye contact thing.
“Are you waiting for a car?”
“Vi had to drive around because some paparazzi was following her.”
“And the nurse left you out here alone?” That’s against hospital policy and I immediately want to ask what her name is.
“I wanted to be alone.” He pierces me with a look in his eyes as if he’s trying to convey more than what we’re talking about. “Don’t worry about me.”
“So…that’s it then?” I ask, the words feeling odd and sticky in my mouth. We’re finally outside the hospital, breathing fresh air with no one around to overhear us. This is what I wanted, so why does it feel so awkward?
He looks at me, his face hard as stone. “Did you expect more?”
“I mean…I guess. I thought…” my voice trails off. How do I put into words that I had hoped we could have sex sometime soon.
“Let’s not drag this out.” His words are sharp and clipped and final. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out when things shifted between us.
Steeling myself, I say, “I’m just surprised. I thought we had an arrangement.”
“Things change,” he adds with a careless roll of his eyes. “It’s not really that shocking.”
My jaw drops as he continues looking at me as if I’m nothing more than his doctor. As if I didn’t risk everything by kissing him and sleeping in his bed with him.
Gosh, I’m such a fool for believing that he even liked me. A brief flicker of irrational anger toward Belle crashes over me. “Stop downplaying your appeal, Indie. It’s unappealing.” The only thing unappealing is me continuing to let this tosser look at me as if I’m nothing.
I adjust my glasses and retort back, “You know what…it’s fine. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. There’s a chance this could have ruined my career, and for what? A footballer? You’ve probably had more rides than the London Eye.”
“Oh, real original,” he sneers.
My voice trembles with anger. “Better than a pun.” Then a moment of silence stretches out between us, both of us leaning in, eye-fucking each other with quiet rage. This entire exchange is childish and juvenile, but bloody hell, does it feel good on some deep, dark level.
“It was nice to meet you, Dr. Porter.” He turns his wheelchair to look away from me, and my anger flatlines at his formal address.
Our little affair is truly over before it even started. I’m left blanketed in the shame of everything I risked for someone like him.
When I first met Camden, he was warm and playful. Charming even. I escaped into a secret world where I was wild and carefree and broke all the rules. I laughed a lot.
Now, he’s cold and indifferent—exactly everything I thought a player might be.
“I’d say it was nice to meet you, too, Mr. Harris, but I’m not sure it was. I’ll see you in a month.”
And just like that, I red card myself back to the real world.
