Page 8 of Resisting You

But what if Foster was right? What if he’d just jumped to conclusions?

It was a difficult call because strange things had been happening for the last few weeks. Everyone knew he was fussy about his scrubs, so there was a shelf dedicated to the ones he liked. It wasn’t official or anything, but everyone just knew they were his.

And when he went to change, he found all the ties had been removed. Then a week later, he pulled a fresh pair of socks out of his locker, and there were holes cut into the toes and heels of every pair he had stored away.

He’d seen Frey smirking at him after that. He’d winked, which made Renato’s stomach do a strange sort of flip, and then he’d lifted his coffee at him in a silent cheers.

It had to be him, but he had no proof. So he seethed in total silence because he wasn’t about to make an accusation he couldn’t back up. But with this, it was obvious. He didn’t need a confession for circumstances to prove that Frey had been entirely inappropriate and wildly unprofessional on the job.

Only…what if he hadn’t? What if Foster was right?

He hated the realization that he’d have to investigate and withdraw his complaint—hopefully before Frey lost his job if he was actually at risk. Renato was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a monster. At least, that’s what he told himself every time one of the residents ran away from him, crying. He was just trying to make them better.

It was about time for his rounds, and he could see if his patient remembered anything preop. He grabbed his white coat and his stethoscope from the coatrack beside the door, then headed down the hall toward the little walkway that connected the medical offices to the main hospital.

He passed by the kitchen and got an unpleasant whiff of what they were preparing for lunches, then eventually turned and slipped through the door that led to the lab and pharmacy wing. A few people nodded at him—recognizing him more than he recognized them—and he hoped he appeared at least a little polite.

He didn’t have the best reputation for being friendly, but he wasn’t in a hurry to change that. He wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to do his job and pay his bills. He didn’t need this to be a party. He’d done the social thing years ago and had outgrown it quickly.

He never joined a fraternity or anything like it, but he had been social back at the university.

Grady was always dragging him around to parties filled with Julliard students and future somebodies whose names he’d never remember.

He’d smiled enough back then. He didn’t need to do that now.

Slipping into the elevator, he was reaching for the button when he noticed a very short nurse in pink scrubs covered in puppies wearing a matching pink hijab. He jumped a little, then stared at her apologetic smile, and he recognized her as one of the nurses closest to Frey.

Fantastic. He tried not to groan, but he knew all the nurses would be out for his blood if they realized he was the reason that Frey wasn’t working there. He hesitated before the doors closed and sealed their fate.

Her grin widened, which probably meant Frey hadn’t been fired. He wasn’t really sure if that was good news or not.

“Morning, Dr. Agosti.”

“Good morning?—”

“Yara,” she offered.

He nodded, then realized why she was so tense. He didn’t understand her religion completely, but he knew she lived by a set of rules, and he might have forced her to break them just then. “Yara. Are you okay with me riding in the elevator with you? I should have asked, I’m sorry.”

She smiled softly, not quite looking at him. “You’re fine. Thank you.”

He stared at the lit button she’d already pressed, then counted each floor as they dinged past them in awkward silence. The doors opened, and he waited for her to exit before taking a calming breath and heading for the nurse’s station.

The charge nurse on duty was one he’d known for years—and someone he actually liked, though she also liked Frey quite a bit, so he was starting to question her judgment. But Celia had been working for the hospital longer than him, which showed in the tired lines around her eyes and the no-nonsense way she handled everything.

“Disasters?” he asked as she handed him a stack of charts.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Four-oh-seven is struggling a little this morning,” she added.

His amputation from yesterday—the exact person he’d come to speak to. Maybe he learned about the penis drawing on his leg, and that’s why he was upset. He looked over the report. “Pain?”

“He reported minimal phantom pains when I checked on him,” she said. “Ajish came in to make sure his epidural hadn’t slipped, and that all seems fine.”

Renato nodded, then put in an order to give the poor man something for the uncomfortable sensations. There wasn’t much he could do about it. There never would be. He would have to adjust, to cope, to learn different ways to alleviate the sensations of severed nerves that would never completely heal.

And most of that would be psychological, which was something he couldn’t help with.

“I’ll go talk to him now,” he said, then flipped through the rest of the charts, but everyone in recovery seemed to be doing well.

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