Page 24 of No Greater Love
"Patient care," I muttered, gesturing vaguely at my phone. "Bad lab values."
What the hell was I supposed to do with this? I'd offered advice as a polite formality, not expecting to actually dispense relationship wisdom. And this guy was asking about making things right with Sophia Mitchell after lying to her? I knew Chief Petty Officers at Great Lakes who would have withered under the kind of fire Sophia could bring to bear. I'd seen seasoned doctors back away from her when she was in righteous-fury mode defending her patients or nurses. The resident who snapped his fingers at her two years ago hadliterallynever been seen in the ER again.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I could ignore it. Claim I was busy with patients. God, that was so tempting.
Awww, hell.
What exactly did you lie about?
I typed instead, immediately regretting the decision to engage. The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
Jack
Can't go into details. Just know it wasn't anything harmful, but it was fundamental. An omission that changed how she sees me.
Fundamental but not harmful? Fundamental but not harmful?!? What does THAT mean?My mind raced, trying to square that circle, but came up empty. What the hell could he have done that fitthatdescription and had Sophia Mitchell ready to bring the thunder? Before I could respond, he texted again:
Jack
On a scale of 1-10, how fucked am I?
I considered everything I knew about Sophia Mitchell. Her incredible competence. Her absolute and utter intolerance for bullshit. The way she valued honesty above almost everything else, especially after what she'd been through with her ex.
I typed back honestly.
11. But not necessarily permanently fucked.
I hesitated, then added:
Look, I'm the last guy who should give relationship advice. But I know Sophia. She doesn't do games. If you fucked up so bad it doesn’t fit in a text, you better just own it and then pray as hard as you can to whatever deity will listen.
I hit send and immediately felt like an idiot. What the hell did I know about fixing relationships? My longest relationship in the past five years had been with my coffee maker.
The phone buzzed again.
Jack
Thanks, mate. That actually helps. I can do that. I owe you.
"Who are you texting?" Maria asked, appearing beside me with suspicious timing.
I quickly pocketed my phone. "No one."
"Mmm-hmm." Her knowing look was insufferable. “‘No one’ named Jack, perhaps? From New Zealand?"
"Don't you have specialists to page, Maria? We're still waiting on the wet read for that vascular ultrasound. Let's get to it," I deflected.
"I'm multitasking," she replied smoothly, leaning against the counter with no intention of leaving. "So Jack texted back, huh? Must be serious if he's actually responding to your attempt at emotional support."
I glared at her. "You really have nothing better to do than monitor my text messages?"
"Not really," she said cheerfully. "This is the most interesting thing to happen since Dr. Brown got stuck in the elevator with that guy from Pharmacy she's been avoiding for months." She patted my arm. "You're a good friend, Nate. Whether you admit it or not."
She sauntered off, looking pleased with herself, while I tried to remember when exactly I'd agreed to be anyone's "good friend."
But as I worked through my notes, I kept thinking about Jack's situation. The poor dumb bastard had no idea what he was up against if he'd truly hurt Sophia. But the fact that he was desperate enough to ask me—practically a stranger—for advice… sigh.
