Page 51 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

I head to the locker room, changing into my scrubs. As I prepare for my shift, I can’t help but think about how Emma is changing everything. The kiss, the time we spend together, the way she looks at me—all of it is chipping away at the walls I’ve built around myself. I need to remember that the deeper I let these feelings sink, the harder it will be to pull out later.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway buzz overhead as I step out of the changing room. My dad stands by the entrance, looking weary in his rumpled scrubs, a steaming cup of coffee clutched in his hand.

“There you are,” he rumbles, a hint of relief in his voice.

“You look knackered.” I gasp. “Long day?”

“Just dealing with some loose ends,” he replies vaguely.

“Thanks for covering my shift this morning.”

“No problem, son.” His smile disappears into his cup as he takes a long sip of his coffee. “So, how was your date?”

The word hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken expectations. A prickle of annoyance runs down my spine. “It was fine,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze. “Just went to check out some wedding venues for Damon and June.”

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Well, good luck with that. Finding the perfect spot can be a real headache.” He claps me on the shoulder.

“Go on, get some rest.” I force a smile as I put my hands on his shoulders, pushing him toward the exit. “I feel guilty that you’re tiring yourself out on my account.”

“Nonsense,” he gruffly dismisses my concern. “Besides, you know I can't stay away from this place for too long.”

“That's how I know you need to rest,” I counter gently. “Head home, Dad. Get some sleep.”

He studies me for a moment, his brow furrowed in a way that speaks volumes of unspoken concern. “Everything alright, son?”

“Yes, Dad,” I interrupt, cutting him off before he can delve deeper. “Now I need you to head home.”

He nods, a hint of suspicion lingering in his eyes. “Alright then,” he finally concedes. “You take care of yourself. And if there's anything bothering you, don't hesitate to talk about it, alright?”

“Thanks, Dad,” I mumble, feeling a pang of guilt for brushing him off. “I will.”

He gives me a final squeeze on the shoulder before turning and lumbering toward the exit. Watching him go, I can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. He's worked tirelessly his entire life to build this practice. The least I can do is handle my own problems without adding to his burden.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and head to the nurses' station. As I move through the familiar hallways, the sterile smell of the hospital wraps around me, grounding me. The routine is comforting, a distraction from the whirlwind in my head.

One of my first patients is a chatty middle-aged woman named Mrs. Larkin. She’s in for a routine checkup, and as I examine her, she starts talking.

“How’s your relationship with Emma going, Dr. Miller?” she asks, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

I give her a half-smile. “It’s going well, Mrs. Larkin. Thanks for asking.”

She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. “Emma was the town sweetheart when she was young, you know. She has a way of pulling people’s hearts and sparking emotions.”

I take in her words, feeling a knot tighten in my chest. “I’ve noticed,” I reply softly.

Mrs. Larkin smiles knowingly. “Just be careful, Dr. Miller. She’s a special one.”

I finish the checkup and move on to my other patients, her words echoing in my mind. Emma has a way of getting under your skin, of making you feel things you’re not sure you want to feel. I know I need to avoid her, to keep my distance before it’s too late.

Emma Rodriguez, with her bright smile and easy laughter, is a threat to my carefully constructed emotional barriers. I have to avoid her. For my own sanity, for the sake of this charade, I have to keep my distance.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of consultations, checkups, and the sterile routine of the hospital. With each passing minute, the need to avoid Emma intensifies. Every time my phone buzzes in my pocket, I flinch, half-expecting it to be a text from her.

Finally, after a grueling shift, I finish my rounds and collapse into a chair in the doctor's lounge in the early morning. Just then, the familiar buzz of my phone disrupts the silence. I pick it up to see Emma's name flash on the screen.

My heart leaps into my throat, a mix of annoyance and a strange longing coursing through me. I stare at the phone, debating whether to answer. Picking up could lead to another conversation, another unexpected spark of connection that I desperately need to avoid. On the other hand, ignoring it might lead her to come to the hospital, and the thought of seeing her face-to-face right now is far more unsettling.

With a sigh of resignation, I swipe the screen to answer.

---