Doctor Love

Chapter 16

I must’ve looked like I’d been punched in the face.

Because the moment I stumbled back, clutching Kate’s file like it had burned me, Rita narrowed her eyes and tilted her head in that smug little way she always did when she smelled drama.

“Oh my God,” she said, loud enough to draw a few curious looks. “Is she pregnant?”

“What?” I blinked, disoriented.

“Well, you look like someone just got a surprise ultrasound,” she said with a smirk. “You’re pale and shaking. She’s in the hospital. Thought maybe you knocked her up. Out of wedlock, of course.”

“Shut up, Rita.” My voice came out sharper than I expected.

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“I said shut up.”

For a second, she just stood there blinking, like I’d spoken another language.

Then her gaze dropped to the folder in my hands. “Let me see it.”

I turned slightly, instinctively angling it away. “No.”

“Why not? She’s our colleague.”

“She’s not a colleague right now. She’s a patient. That file is confidential.”

Rita crossed her arms, shifting her weight onto one hip. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I do when you’re trying to violate someone’s privacy just because you’re bored.”

“You’ve got some nerve suddenly playing her protector. Didn’t you spend the past few days calling her charity case of the year?”

I clenched my jaw. “Yeah. And now I’m spending the rest of the year hating myself for it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Enjoy your dramatic spiral.”

And then she walked away, heels clicking obnoxiously down the hallway like a punctuation mark to her ego.

I turned toward the room again, my heart racing. I didn’t knock. I just walked in.

Kate was sitting up in bed, hair a little messy, eyes still tired but alert. She looked better. Less ghostly than she had in the emergency room. But the moment she saw me, her expression changed.

“Oh. Great,” she said flatly. “You here to laugh now or later?”

I swallowed, shook my head. “No. That’s not—God, Kate. I’m not here for that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So what then? Came to tell me how unprofessional it is to collapse during a shift?”

“No.” I took a step closer. “I came because… you scared the hell out of me.”

She didn’t say anything. Just looked at me like she wasn’t sure what game I was playing.

“You could’ve told someone,” I said softly. “You could’ve told me.”

She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, yeah, because we’re besties. Right. You, me, and the whole rivalry fantasy. I’m sure you would’ve handled that with grace and warmth.”

“Kate—”

“No, really. Tell me more about how supportive you would've been. Maybe right after calling my school a joke or mocking me in front of the staff lounge?”

I felt every word like a punch to the gut. I deserved it.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “I never would’ve—” I trailed off and silence settled between us like dust.

Then I moved. I don’t know why. I didn’t think it through. I just crossed the room, leaned forward, and pulled her into a hug.

At first, she didn’t move. Her body stiffened against mine, her arms pinned between us. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, only that I needed her to know I wasn’t playing games. I wasn’t mocking her. I wasn’t there out of guilt.

I was there because the thought of losing her had ripped something open inside me. But she pushed me away.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp and clear. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You think this is some sob story and now you want to play the hero. Well, don’t.”

“I’m not here to be your hero. I’m just—”

“Then leave.”

She pointed toward the door. Her hand was shaking slightly, but not from weakness. From fury.

I turned toward the door, throat tight, chest heavier than before. I was halfway there when I heard her voice again.

She was staring straight ahead now, not looking at me.

“I’ve known since I was twenty. You know how most people panic about turning thirty because they don’t want wrinkles or gray hair? I panic because I might not make it to thirty.”

I didn’t move.

“I kept it a secret because I wanted to be treated like everyone else. Not like someone dying. Not like some broken porcelain doll people are afraid to touch.”

My hands clenched at my sides.

“But you know what?” she said, voice quieter now. “You’re not the person I want beside me when I die.”

I felt like the air had been punched from my lungs. I stared at her, trying to breathe, trying to speak.

But nothing came out.

She finally looked at me, and there was something fierce in her eyes. “So I don’t need pity. I need space. What I want right now is for you to leave, David.”

I didn’t listen.

I walked back into the room, one step at a time, slow and steady like she might bolt if I moved too fast.

She watched me warily. “What are you—”

I didn’t give her a chance to finish. I sat on the edge of her bed, leaned down, and kissed her.