So that was how it was going to be.
12
EMILY
Bette was staring right at her.
Or at least, she had been. Only for a fraction of a second before Emily had decided to walk away. Before Bette could say anything. Congratulate her, perhaps. Or maybe not. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a congratulations after all.
Judging by the surprised look on her face, she didn’t even know.
Not that it mattered. Emily had gotten where she needed to be without Bette’s help.
Except…that wasn’t actually true.
Bette had laid the foundation. Her rehab plan had worked, and all the new physical therapist had done was build on it, and fine-tune things so Emily could manage in a restricted position for longer, without pain.
Bette had built the dam, so to speak.
And then she’d broken it down. Twice. First by pretending that the moment at the gala, pressed up against that stone wall, hadn’t happened. And then second by walking away the other night.
Emily scowled and shoved the thought away, flipping open the chart in her hands with a little too much force. She had a surgery booked for this afternoon. A shoulder arthroscopy to repair a rotator cuff tear. It was kind of ironic. A shoulder injury was what had kept her out of the OR and now she was about to slice into someone else’s, steady-handed like the last few weeks hadn’t almost knocked her flat.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Emily yanked it out and slid a finger across the glass. It was Tessa. The message read:YOU. ME. CELEBRATORY COFFEE. CAFETERIA. NOW.
Emily stared at the message for a moment, her lips reluctantly curving into a smile. Of course, Tessa would turn this whole thing into something more than it had to be. It wasn’t like Emily had just been handed the coveted Nicholas Andry Award. She was simply doing her job again, a job she’d trained her entire adult life for.
With a last glance around the surgical ward, a traitorous part of her hoping to spot the familiar silver-streaked hair of Bette, Emily shoved her phone back into her pocket and started toward the cafeteria. At least Tessa would be a good distraction.
The cafeteria smelled like burnt coffee, industrial-grade disinfectant, and stale bran muffins. It wasn’t exactly her favorite place in the hospital, nor her go-to for a caffeine fix, but this morning it would just have to do.
She spotted Tessa immediately. Her best friend was sprawled in a chair, legs crossed, oversized denim jacket draped over her shoulders and her hair piled into a messy bun atop her head. In front of her was a coffee cup, no doubt filled up with a filter coffee. Anywhere else, Tessa would order a caramel latte with two pumps of hazelnut, one pump of vanilla, and light foam. However, the hospital cafeteria wasn’t the place for customized orders. No special requests are allowed.
“Finally!” Tessa exclaimed as Emily dropped into the chair across from her. “I was starting to think you were standing me up.”
“You messaged five minutes ago.”
“Exactly,” Tessa said, eyes flicking over Emily. She frowned. “Wait. Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” Emily asked, glancing down at her scrub top, hoping she wasn’t wearing it inside out or that it was smeared with some of the chocolate protein bars she had for breakfast. Or maybe it was her hair––she’d barely touched it after her shower. “What’s wrong with how I look?”
“You look like someone canceled your birthday.”
“I’ve never liked my birthday,” Emily replied and then pointed at the second cup of coffee on the table. “That’s mine, right? No sugar.”
“Yes,” Tessa nodded. “Now tell me why you look so doom and gloom when you should be celebrating.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “It’s just another surgery, Tess. Nothing to get?—”
“It’s not just another surgery,” Tessa interrupted, basically launching herself over the coffee table. She grabbed Emily’s hands between hers and shook them. “It’s your first surgery after months of feeling like a clerk in this damned place. If that’s not worth celebrating, then I don’t even know you anymore.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Emily said, unlocking one hand from Tessa’s mighty grip. She picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. It tasted bitter, almost as bitter as her mood. “And I don’t want it to feel like a big deal either.”
“Is that because you’re emotionally repressed and don’t know how to celebrate your own victories?” Tessa said, leaning back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest in that know-it-all way.
Emily replied with a deadpan look, “Thank you, Doctor Freud.”
