Page 2 of Near Miss

Dr. Ladak’s finger moves at rapid speed down the stack of papers, but he pauses and does a double take when he hears my name.

One eyebrow rises on his forehead. “Quite the kick to miss last season.”

“No shit. Wouldn’t mind a do-over for that one.” I hold out my hand to him and grin again, like we aren’t talking about one of the worst moments of my life and the source of my never-ending public embarrassment.

He leans forward and shakes my hand, lips twitching upwards. He turns to my brother and taps the stack of papers. “Call Dr. Roberts for a consult. I want her eyes on the labs and her lead.”

Nathaniel pales, his nostrils flare and his lips part. He opens and closes his mouth for what seems like the world’s longest minute before he speaks. “Can’t we just email her? She’s so mean.”

A laugh catches in my throat, and the million-dollar grin I’ve grown to hate shifts into a real smile.

My brother cringes when Dr. Ladak narrows his eyes at him. “She’s not mean, Dr. Davis. She doesn’t tolerate mistakes or lazy surgical work, and it’s not her fault some of your colleagues can’t perform to her standards. I mean it, she signs off before we move forward.”

He hands the folder back to Nathaniel and nods at me, like maybe he’s warming up to me and the Beckett Davis charm hasn’t lost all its shine, before disappearing back through the doorway.

“Who the hell are you so afraid of?” I ask, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall, obscuring what I consider to be a fairly terrifying photo of a clown and a donkey.

Nathaniel pulls his phone from the pocket of his jacket, thumbing out a text before dropping it back. “She’s a transplant surgeon. She’s a fellow and she terrifies me.”

“Why?” I prod, still smiling. My cheeks start to ache, and I forget I’m in one of my least favourite places. It feels like I’m just a regular person, teasing his younger brother for something inconsequential.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Nathaniel’s eyes are still wide, and he starts to look around like whoever this Dr. Roberts is, she might also possess supersonic hearing and be able to detect her name being uttered from anywhere in the hospital.

My brother doesn’t look like a twenty-eight-year-old pediatric oncologist who saves children’s lives every day. He looks a bit like he used to when I gave him shit for not finishing his chores, because our mother and father certainly weren’t around to do it.

“Enlighten me.” I shrug one shoulder.

He shakes his head, voice dropping to a whisper. “She’s—”

“You paged?”

Nathaniel’s nostrils flare, and he takes a measured swallow before scrubbing the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw and turning around.

I tilt my head so I can peer over his shoulder and get a look at whoever has him so terrified.

A dark eyebrow rises on her forehead, arms cross over teal scrubs, and the fingers on her right hand tap impatiently against her bicep. Eyes that sort of remind me of mine—and Nathaniel’sand our sister, Sarah’s—widen like she’s trying to encourage speech. Green, and even under the shitty fluorescent lighting embedded in the panels above us, amber flecks shine.

Her nostrils flare with exasperation, full lips purse as she stares at my brother. Even her hair—impossibly shiny and this deep brown, pulled back in one of those bubble braids—looks annoyed at Nathaniel where it swings slightly behind her.

Beautiful, but thoroughly unimpressed.

“Well?” she asks again. She has one of those raspy voices—I sort of hope she keeps talking, because even when she’s mad, it sounds nice.

Nathaniel clears his throat and holds up the manilla folder in a pathetic display. “Consult. Dr. Ladak and I have a patient, fifteen years old, in remission, but her kidneys are shot. Everything’s in there. She’s not high on the donor list, but her cousin is a perfect match, and she’s willing to donate.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She uncrosses her arms and takes the folder from my brother. She tips her head from side to side, her features soften, lips moving ever so slightly as her eyes track the words on the page.

My brother looks nervous, and I feel a bit like an asshole for making him take me around because my agent told me to—this is obviously important to him.

So I do what I do best—I try to get her to like me. I push off the wall, my smile changes, and I stick out my hand to her. “Great to meet you, Dr. Roberts. I’m Beckett—my brother speaks very highly of you.”

“He’s the one who plays football,” Nathaniel blurts, and I cut him a look, lips pulling back and eyes sharpening on him before I look back to her and that stupid smile slides back into place.

My hand stays outstretched, her eyes flick up to me, finger pausing halfway down the page. She blinks. Once. Twice.

And I wait for the inevitable, but it never comes.

“I don’t watch football,” she mutters before looking back down at the stack of papers and closing the folder.

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