Caldwell exhales sharply through his nose, then rubs the bridge of his nose like he’s warding off a headache. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, not with venom this time. Exhaustion. Weariness. Maybe even recognition.
He leans forward slightly. “Worked for, huh? You think you’ve been working?”
“Sir?” I blink.
“You walk into this program with a name and more cockiness than your rockstar brothers. You’re a brilliant student and try to sabotage yourself by fucking half the hospital staff. Then, when the going gets as rough as it can be, you waltz into a deposition like it’s your turn on stage. Do you really think I believe you’ve learned something?” His voice cuts sharp. “You’re not as charming as you think, McGloughlin.”
My fingers twitch against my thigh. “I’m not proud of everything I’ve done.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he snaps. “One thing you are good at? Covering your ass.”
I inhale slowly. “I’m not here to cover. I’m here to make amends, if possible.”
“Why now?” He doesn’t blink.
“I’ve always needed this program. You know as well as I do I need your support to finish my residency. I didn’t come here to manipulate you.” I glance past him, briefly. The window behind his desk shows nothing but gray sky. “I came because I want to stay and earn my place in neurosurgery.”
His laugh remains humorless. “You selfish little fuck. Do you really think this is about you?”
My stomach seizes.
“This program has a reputation to uphold,” he continues. “When a resident behaves recklessly—whether in the OR, or in a stairwell—it reflects on all of us.”
There it is.
The veiled threat.
“I haven’t broken any hospital policies,” I reply evenly.
“Are you sure?” His brow arches.
I bite the inside of my cheek.Don’t react.I’ve been prepared by my team for this. “I’ve followed professional protocol to the letter since day one. Every personal interaction I’ve had was consensual.”
“Professional my ass.” He leans back, studying me. “You had a reputation, you know. Before Miranda. Before the lawsuit.”
I say nothing.
They all signed.
Every single one.
The crisis attorneys called me two nights ago—NDA after NDA. Some typed statements, some handwritten notes. None of them accusing. All of them clear.
Every woman said the same thing, in their own way:he never made me feel small.
Even Cecily. She was the only one who hesitated. But Tara and Priya—thank God—talked to her. Told her I wasn’t the problem. Told her I helped them realize they deserved more than stolen moments in stairwells.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even intimacy.
But it was never cruel.
Still, I know now—that’s not enough.
Not for who I want to be. Not for Marcella. Not for the man I’m trying to become.
That chapter’s closed. Quietly. Cleanly. And I’m never opening it again.
Caldwell doesn’t know this, though.
