Hotshot Doc(64)

“Everything okay?” I ask when I’m finished.

She doesn’t turn to face me. She tosses a thumbs-up over her shoulder and adds a, “You betcha.”

“You seem flustered.”

“Just maybe warn a girl next time you’re going to prance around in nothing but a towel,” she says, her tone high-pitched and strained.

“You were on the phone. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Okay, well,” she says, continuing to address the wall instead of me. “If I can’t meet your eyes the rest of the day, don’t take it personally.”





What started out as a pretty great morning takes a sharp turn for the worst when I arrive for my meeting with our in-house legal team. Four sour-faced old men with thick glasses, starched shirts, and deep-set wrinkles line one side of a conference table while I sit across from them. I haven’t had much exposure to them over the years. They’re employed to protect the surgeons and staff at the hospital, but right now, they’re standing between me and my patient. Their counsel has droned on and on:

“This case is a legal nightmare.”

“The liability isn’t worth the potential benefits to your patient.”

“We can’t ensure that the hospital’s malpractice insurance would cover this lawsuit in the event of a negative outcome. Your other colleagues have voted against the surgery.”

Ah, yes—the three other assholes who are supposed to have my back. Dr. Goddard, Dr. Richards, and Dr. Smoot want to leave my patient permanently paraplegic on the advice of a few scrooges in bad suits.

They’re in the room too, sitting to the left of the lawyers in their white coats, though at present they don’t exactly deserve to wear them. They’re unable to meet my eyes when I glance over at them. If I could, I’d wring their fucking necks.

“I wasn’t aware my colleagues had reviewed the case as thoroughly as I have,” I bite out. “Not to mention, a case like this isn’t exactly their specialty. I could get a dozen reputable surgeons who specialize in scoliosis fusions on the phone who would back me on this.”

“Dr. Russell, you aren’t thinking clearly.”

The accusation comes from Dr. Richards. He’s finally worked up enough courage to speak for himself, but the glare I shoot in his direction makes him turn his gaze right back to the conference table. He doesn’t say another word.

“C’mon, Dr. Russell,” Dr. Goddard says, sounding exasperated as he takes up the charge for his friend. “There’s what, a 10% chance you’ll be successful in this case? What about the other 90%? What if you injure her further, or worse?

“Think of how that would look for the practice. We don’t need publicity like that. The local news has already picked up this story. They’re touting you as the hotshot surgeon, a hero, but when you fail, what will they call you then? Huh?” He shakes his head and looks to the doctors on either side of him for backup. “You think we’re telling you no because we’re heartless, but you’ve lost sight of your own limitations. You’re foolish if you think you’re going to help that girl.”

“Not to mention the cost of the surgery itself,” Dr. Smoot chimes in. “You’re talking about a figure well over a hundred thousand dollars. Our department has a certain amount set aside for pro bono cases, and you’ve maxed that out, Dr. Russell. How exactly do you plan on covering this case?”

I’m seething. I knew there might be some resistance from my colleagues, but I didn’t think they’d take it this far.

I stand up and offer a tight-lipped smile to the room. “Thank you for the information, gentlemen, but my patient and her parents are due to arrive any minute. If you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Dr. Russell!” Dr. Goddard shouts, but I don’t pay him any attention.

I’m still shaking with rage when I finish climbing the stairs back to the sixth floor. I slam open the door to the stairwell and storm into the hallway. Bailey’s pacing a few yards away and when she catches sight of me, she beams.

“They’re here! They just arrived! Patricia has them set up in the conference room.”

As I step closer, the hope twinkling in her eyes only makes me angrier.

“Good,” I reply dryly. “They’ve arrived just in time for me to inform them there won’t be a surgery.”





Chapter 23





BAILEY



I didn’t think we’d get here: standing in the operating room, seconds away from starting June’s surgery. The room is quiet, tense. The low hum and periodic beeping of machines are the only break in the silence. I’m looking to Matt, waiting for his cue.

It’s not just him and me at the operating table today. There’s a second surgeon with us, a friend Matt completed his fellowship with—Dr. Mitchell. He took a red-eye to be here in time, and he’s working for free. In fact, we all are; it was part of the negotiation Dr. Russell made with the hospital.

The other spinal surgeons are up in the viewing gallery now, watching us like hawks. Their stuffy lawyers sit behind them as cheerful as the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but other than that, the gallery is empty. It’s strange considering this is a hallmark case in Matt’s career. Residents should be clambering over one another to get a front-row seat.