Page 37 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

“Kurt—”

“No, Jackson, look. I’m not dropping off the team. But we can’t all be at the hospital twenty-four seven,’ says Kurt. “Some of us have lives.”

I want to argue with him, to point out that I’m only doing thisbecauseof my personal life… But I don’t want to let him know about the child. Amanda hasn’t told anyone yet. I can’t out her.

“Fine,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Kurt gives me a strange look but doesn’t push any further. He takes off two evenings that week.

So, I start pulling double.

Every moment that I’m not at work or doing something with Bonnie, I’m in the lab, trying to figure out how we can help. And if I’m not there, then I’m on the phone.

I have money.

I have alotof money.

The patent for the blood test that I developed served me well, and I have years of being a top-ranking doctor on top of that. A few smart investments alongside that, and it’s a certainty that my bank account will never be in the negative again.

That being said, I would happily empty every last penny into this research without thinking twice about it.

Research funding has a steep price.

It’s not just the time that needs to be located. Everyone’s paycheck still needs to be signed. Equipment needs to be purchased—a lot of it. The hospital doesn’t have what we need, or they have it, but the machines are old, faulty, and outdated. Me spending my own money to update the labs is something the hospital has no problems with, quite the opposite.

So I buy the equipment. I pay the test subjects that we need, and make sure to handle all of the proper paperwork for it; signing the dotted line so that if something goes wrong, it’s my name that will get dragged through the mud, and not Mercy General or any other staff member.

Once I do this, everyone is a lot more willing to take the risk and help.

And I can see the way that Amanda once again finds her optimism.

Today, as we’re finishing up for the day, I notice that Cara is looking exhausted too. She’s a good friend for Amanda and a smart woman, never shying away from work. She’s stayed late today to help us, and I can’t help but be proud of her, and happy that Mercy General is where she’s doing her residency.

When I tell her that, her whole face lights up. “You know, that means a lot coming from you, Dr. Hawk. I wouldn’t mind if you passed that along to the guy that I’m supposed to be shadowing. He’s kind of a prick.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” I say, with a chuckle. Some of the attending physicians forget that we’re supposed to be shaping the next generation of health care providers. I’ll have to look into it and see who she’s been matched with.

We finish cleaning up and say our goodbyes. I leave the lab and head for the break room, where I’m supposed to meet up with Amanda. Not surprisingly, she’s not the only one in there.

Amanda is sitting on the couch, clearly waiting for me. The lounge is supposed to be a break, a safe space away from the hospital chaos. It’s meant for relaxing between long shifts, and during the little bit of time that we get between rounds, for people that aren’t looking to take a rest in the sleep room.

And right now, Dr. Jack Kitt is leaning over the back of the couch, much, much closer to Amanda than is proper. He’s got a hand on her shoulder and she’s looking increasingly uncomfortable. The TV hanging from the wall is up too loud—a football game, with lots of cheering—for me to hear what’s being said at this distance, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess at it.

A frown twists over my face, and straight down my spine. It’s like something inside of me has just been pulled wire tight. I’m not a naturally angry person. I’mnot. But seeing Amanda so uncomfortable, and this man looking so smug, rubs me the wrong way.

Stepping across the room, I reach out and grip Dr. Kitt’s shoulder. He jumps, startled.

“Jackson,” says Dr. Kitt. He doesn’t look the least bit ashamed to have been caught coming on to Amanda.

The moment that he straightens up to talk to me, Amanda stands up and puts space between us. She smiles at me, but it’s a nervous, tight looking thing.

“You should learn to mind your own personal space.” My grip on his shoulder goes tight.

Dr. Kitt finally frowns at me, as though just realizing that he might have overstepped a line and that I might not be pleased with it. “I was just having a conversation with the new resident.”

“She’s hardly a new resident at this point,” I say, my voice tart and my words snapped out sharply, like a knife. “And I think it’s pretty clear that she didn’t want to have a conversation with you.”

“It was just a talk,” says Dr. Kitt. He’s younger than I am, but not by much, and he works in surgery. Surgeons always think that they’re at the top of the food chain.

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