I huffed out a short breath. Fuck me sideways! Now, she was reading my misguided actions as an interest in her?
“People are taking bets as to how long she’ll last.” She giggled, obviously enjoying Reggie’s downfall. “You are a remarkable man, Elias.”
Jesus!
No, I wasn’t remarkable. I was an asshole who was trying to get a competent and good nurse fired because I was holding a grudge against her for what happened five years ago. Maren thought that made me strong—a badass.
I gazed at her across the table and realized I didn’t want to be the man she respected. I wanted to do better.
So, I started on that journey the following day when Reggie was assigned to my OR.
Cindy mentioned it casually in the hall. “She’s on the rotation. Unless you want me to change it.”
I didn’t, and I told her as much.
The procedure was a Bentall, a complex open-heart surgery involving valve and aortic root replacement.
Reggie arrived early, which I had learned she always did.
She didn’t look at me as she checked instruments, confirmed tray counts, and adjusted the overhead lights. She moved through the prep like it was a dance she’d choreographed herself.
She was in navy blue scrubs, no makeup, and her hair was pulled back tight under a bandana. She looked unbothered and untouchable.
Beautiful.
We scrubbed in together in silence. She didn’t speak. I didn’t either.
Once in the OR, it was like watching a masterclass.
She knew exactly what I needed before I asked for it.
Passed clamps with zero hesitation.
Managed the perfusion team with two clipped instructions and a glance.
Anticipated every instrument.
Handed me the valve before I asked for it.
Not a single wasted movement.
My second-year fellow dropped a suture, and Reggie caught it mid-air before it hit the sterile field.
“Nice catch,” one of the residents crooned.
She didn’t say anything; just moved on.
God, she was good, insanely better than Delaney, and I’d wasted weeks without her assistance.
We closed smoothly, without complication.
I stepped out of the OR and peeled off my gloves. The surgery had gone perfectly. The rhythm had been there, and that’s when it struck me; it was like the old times. Eventhenas a novice, Reggie had had this composure and professionalism about her.
I had to let go of the past, I decided. Completely. I needed to move on.
It was after ten when I left the hospital and spotted Reggie across the garage, keys already in hand, a tired grace in the way she moved—shoulders back, head high.
I caught up to her just as she reached her car.
