All of Me Page 7

  “Actually, there was one thing.”

  If it were at all possible, Galen seemed to slide closer to her. “Shoot.”

  “With the pedicled tram flap, isn’t the risk of tissue ischemia from revascularization higher?” Rowan already knew the answer, of course. In spite of being all but consumed by the thought of Galen’s officemate, she had managed to read everything she could find on the case. But she was enjoying the way Galen’s face fell when she realized Rowan didn’t intend to acknowledge just how much time she’d spent obsessing over who Galen slept with.

  “Look it up.” Galen stood and placed her hand on Rowan’s shoulder, letting her fingers just drift to the back of Rowan’s neck, sending shivers as powerful as hurricane winds down her arm. “See you in there.”

  Chapter Eight

  OR 6, which was usually nothing short of a meat locker, was burning up like the inner circles of hell. Sweat trickled down Galen’s forehead and under her surgical mask. She could taste a salty bead as it passed her lips and settled under her tongue. Her hands remained steady though, delicately sewing the subcutaneous tissue of what used to be this patient’s breasts, reminding herself that Mrs. Hopkins, a fifty-two-year-old mother of three who had the misfortune of being faced with stage III metastatic breast cancer, would have to live with these scars for the rest of her life.

  “Nicely done, Galen. Your sutures are strong and will hold up well. What’s the single most important thing to think about cosmetically?” Dr. Sarah Levine, the attending plastic surgeon, had a calming, soft demeanor that distracted Galen temporarily from the fire pit she was operating in. Galen couldn’t help but notice her stomach rattle a little bit and a wave of nausea sweep up from the bellows of her abdomen.

  “Reduce the tension. If you can put in good, deep sutures, you’ll reduce the tension of the superficial layer, minimizing the railroad-track appearance as much as possible. Also, is it really hot in here?”

  Dr. Levine looked at Rowan, who was standing to Galen’s left, and then at the scrub nurse and the surgical nurse. Everyone shook their head. “Not really, no. I’m quite comfortable actually.”

  Galen tried her hardest to focus on the depth of her needle and the alignment of the skin. But sweat was now pouring off her face in rivulets, threatening to fall onto Mrs. Hopkins’s sterile field if the scrub nurse hadn’t been nearly constantly patting her down with a dry towel. The rumbling in her intestines was now a full-blown cascade of explosives, and her vision was tunneling ever so slightly. Finally, she threw her last stitch.

  “Looks like you’re all set here. Nice work, Galen.” Dr. Levine left the room.

  “Rowan, do you mind finishing up? Just cover these with some ABD pads and Koban and see her off to the PACU.” Galen offered no further explanation, and Rowan nodded compliantly.

  Galen managed to make it to the bathroom just outside the OR doors before vomiting up an entire venti iced coffee.

  * * *

  It was beyond unusual for Galen to leave a case before it was finished. She even took the simplest appendectomies to the Post-Anesthesia Care Unit, making sure to check on them again once more after they came out of their medication-induced haze. Never once had Rowan seen her walk out before dressings were placed and the patient was extubated and ready to be wheeled out. Something was definitely wrong. Rowan hoped it had nothing to do with her and then silently scolded herself for being so self-involved. Of course it had nothing to do with her. Galen probably hadn’t given her a second thought since their kiss the other week.

  As soon as Rowan had wheeled Mrs. Hopkins out of the OR and made sure she was settled with the nurses, she hurried to the elevators and took one to the fifth floor. Whatever was going on with Galen, Rowan wasn’t altogether sure she wanted Rowan’s help. But something told her she had to check on her anyway. The office door was closed for the second time this week, and for a moment, Rowan hesitated, wondering if Galen had rushed off to find herself in the company of whoever had graced her presence the other night. But she thought better of it. Galen would never leave an OR to hook up.

  A low, guttural moan came from behind the office door—one altogether different from the night before. This was not someone in the throes of passion.

  “Galen?” She tapped lightly on the wood molding but heard no answer, so she nudged the door open. Galen was hovering over a trash barrel. Not the throes of passion—just the throws.

  “What are you doing here, Duncan?” Her voice was gruff without being angry.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. You should go. I don’t want you to see this.”

  “Shut up.” Rowan moved to Galen’s side, wondering if she was out of line. But the pallor of Galen’s face and the dark smudges under her eyes made her look so vulnerable and helpless she didn’t care.

  “I’m serious. I’ll be fine. I just ate some bad tuna or something.”

  “Will you please just be quiet for once? Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Galen was either too weak or too stunned to argue, and Rowan left the office. Ten minutes later, she returned, her backpack teetering on her shoulders.

  “What’s all this?” Galen had managed to pick her head up off the desk just long enough to look at Rowan, who had begun unpacking the bag.

  “IV fluids, Zofran, a warm blanket…You know, the basics.”

  “It’s just a little food poisoning.”

  “You have a stomach flu, Galen.” She touched Galen’s wrist. “And you’re burning up.”

  “I have a case in an hour. It’s a rhinoplasty.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “I have to be there. I’ve never done one before, and this is my only plastics rotation.”

  Rowan had known Galen would be a difficult patient. “At least let me start the fluids.”

  Galen paused, then reluctantly nodded. “Can I have one of those Zofran too?”

  Rowan handed her the pill, and Galen tossed it into her mouth. “Here. Put your feet up on the desk and lie back.” Galen had seemingly resigned herself to Rowan’s caretaking and did as she was told. Rowan wrapped the hospital-issue blanket around her shoulders.

  “Thanks, Ro.” It was the first time Galen had ever called her by her oft-used nickname, and a shiver of warmth passed over her.

  “Don’t mention it. Little poke here, okay?” Rowan uncapped the IV catheter in her hand, and Galen chuckled.

  “I think I can handle it.”

  Rowan advanced the needle.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry.” She smiled.

  “Remind me we need to work on your IV skills, Dr. Duncan.”

  “Or maybe you just need to toughen up, Dr. Burgess.”

  Rowan was enjoying the friendly banter between them but couldn’t help but notice the shift from boss and subordinate to colleagues, or maybe even more.

  * * *

  A GI bug? Galen couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t been sick since her intern year. And here she was, ready to hurl all over the OR. And to make matters worse, Rowan had found herself taking care of her. Couldn’t it have been Teddy? Or even Makayla or one of the other interns who found her at death’s door? Of all the surgeons in the hospital…

  Still, Galen had to admit it was kind of nice having Rowan there. When she first arrived with her care package of antiemetics and IV fluids, Galen had been skeptical. After all, basically nothing was less sexy than seeing someone’s own stomach revolt against them. Not that any of that should have mattered to Galen. But the illness had worn her reserves down, and she was tired of trying to stop being attracted to Rowan. Attraction was natural. And, as Galen had reminded herself several times over the course of the day, often couldn’t be helped. So she was back to being embarrassed about Rowan catching her so weak and defenseless—a feeling that altogether contradicted the enjoyment she got out of being cared for.

  “I’ve got to go for a little while. I need to see a couple of patients in clinic.” Rowan
softly rubbed Galen’s back. “I’ll be back though.”

  Galen had decided to take Rowan’s advice and skip out on her afternoon rhinoplasty. Only one thing was worse than being known as the chief resident who got sick, and that was being known as the chief resident who got sick in front of a patient. Without thinking, she took Rowan’s hand and squeezed it. “Hurry up, okay?” Her sudden complete loss of candor and near-desperate need to have Rowan stay unsettled her. But she chalked it up to the fever.

  “Are you sure you don’t just want to go home?”

  “I have a million and one things to do tonight. I’ll just stay here until it passes and I can get back to work.” There. Now she was sounding like herself again.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours.”

  * * *

  It was already seven pm by the time Rowan finished with her last clinic patient and made her way back to Galen’s office. The door was still partially open, just as she’d left it, but before she could knock, the ringing of her cell phone in her lab coat pocket interrupted her. Brian was calling to Skype with her.

  An intractable groan escaped her mouth, and she stared at the phone for a long time. Brian’s picture had popped up, as it always did when he called—his big, goofy grin and curly hair that went in just about any direction it pleased. She expected to warm at the sight. She expected to miss him. That was normal, right? That was what people felt when they were 1,900 miles apart. But all she felt was irritated. She hadn’t taken his calls in two days, only answering an occasional text to appease him, reminding him that she was extremely busy with work.

  She pressed the green accept button, and a staticky video feed of Brian appeared on the screen.

  “She’s alive!” Brian’s voice was familiar but didn’t provide the sense of comfort she was expecting or hoping for.

  “Indeed I am. I’m sorry I’ve been MIA. It’s been crazy here.”

  “It’s okay. I sort of expected that when I signed up for this.” He smiled again, and a new feeling of guilt overwhelmed her. Brian was a decent man. He loved the hell out of her. And she was seriously neglecting him.

  “No. I can do better. I should do better.”

  After a brief, comfortable silence, he said, “I miss you, Ro.”

  “I miss you too.” She was still standing just outside Galen’s office. “But look, I have to go. I have…patients. We’ll talk soon though, okay, Bry? I promise.”

  “I know. I love you.”

  Rowan pretended not to hear him and hit the end button in a panic. She took a deep breath and collapsed to the floor, squatting on the ground just outside of what was likely Galen’s view. What was wrong with her?

  “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’ve got it too.” Apparently, she was not as out of Galen’s view as she thought.

  “No. I just had something to take care of. How are you feeling?” Rowan stood and moved toward Galen, coaxing her to sit back down.

  “Much, much better.”

  Rowan eyed her skeptically, taking in her still-colorless face and sunken eyes. “Great. So we can PO challenge you then.” She slid one of the unopened packets of crackers across Galen’s desk,

  “No problem. I’m starving.” Galen’s throat contracted as she swallowed hard.

  “Starving, huh? Why don’t I order something then? I’m thinking Indian. Maybe some nice spinach paneer. All of that creamy, ground-up spinach and cheese…”

  “Sounds—” Galen didn’t get another word out before covering her mouth and turning to the trash can in the corner. Rowan came to her side and rubbed up and down Galen’s back, her blue scrub top now faintly damp.

  “I’m sorry. I just didn’t buy the tough-guy act this time. You need to go home, Galen.”

  “That was really mean, you know that? I didn’t think you had that in you.” Galen managed a faint smile.

  “I’m a Southern girl, remember? We seem sweet on the surface, but don’t cross us, or we’ll bite.” At the appearance of Galen’s coy grin, she instantly regretted her choice of words. Even at death’s door she was a skirt-chaser.

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Just…go home, will you? It’s almost eight. That’s well past the time normal people leave work.”

  “Are you saying I’m not normal?”

  Rowan erupted in laughter. “Oh dear. Yes.” Tears were now welling up in her eyes. “You are so far from normal.”

  “Whatever. Normal’s for boring people.”

  “Agreed. I like you being less-than-normal.” Instinctively, she reached over for Galen’s hand and held it for just a second. She blamed the maternal feelings that had been boiling up inside her as she approached thirty but couldn’t deny how much she liked the strength and definition of Galen’s large, boxy palms and dense fingers. They were the hands of someone who took control—someone with resilience and ferocity and power. An alpha. She thought of Brian, his soft, quiet passivity, and couldn’t help but note the extreme dichotomy.

  “Fine. I’ll go home.” Galen scanned the room. She was like a poker player, counting her chips, quietly assessing the risk of a gamble. What was she thinking? But like most instances with Galen, she didn’t have to wonder long. “I’ll go home, if you’ll come with me.”

  The entire room flashed over, Rowan’s chest suddenly burning and her heart rate quickening. “You just don’t have an off switch, do you?”

  “Not really, no.” Galen flicked her strong brow, but her face was still the color of eggshells. “But that wasn’t what I meant. This may come as a shock to you, but I’m a terrible patient.”

  “You don’t say!” Rowan rolled her eyes. Even with severe dehydration Galen was sickeningly charming.

  “I promise, I won’t try anything. The other night…that was a one-time deal. I know that. I’m your chief. You’re a professional. And so am I. I don’t care about anything in this world more than I do being a surgeon. But more than that, you have Brian. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not one to break up a happy union.”

  Galen’s words sent a jolt of discomfort through Rowan that landed directly in her stomach. Everything she said was noble and sincere. But for some reason, she hated it. “Thank you. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

  “In that case, come over. Really. I just need someone to keep me company while I down Pedialyte and watch a House Hunters marathon.”

  Rowan smiled, contemplating the request. Her phone pinged from the desk in front of her, and she glanced at it. Brian’s name appeared on the screen.

  I’ll dream of you tonight and every night.

  She quickly hit the lock screen, sending the phone back into darkness.

  “I’ll have to check with my boss,” she finally answered. “She’s a real hard-ass.”

  Galen’s smile was so big it took up most of her face. “Something tells me she’ll be fine with it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rowan had no idea what she expected of Galen’s place, but when she got there, she wasn’t surprised. The apartment was on the second floor of an old brownstone in Back Bay—the most elite part of Boston where all of the old money lived. It was only a one-bedroom but spread out an impressive thousand square feet, with cathedral ceilings and walnut molding. Everything was meticulously decorated and tidy, which Rowan figured was either because Galen had a maid or Galen spent most of her waking and sleeping hours at the hospital. She knew the Burgess family had money. A lot of money. A million-dollar apartment didn’t surprise her. But the decor did. For some reason, Rowan realized she had pictured Galen’s surroundings like a man cave, with antique beer signs and cheesy black-and-white photos of naked women draped on sports cars. She wasn’t sure why she had this sense of Galen as a privileged, overgrown child, but she fully acknowledged she had been more than wrong.

  “Galen…This place. I mean, my God.” She realized she’d been gawking.

  “Thanks. I’ve put a lot of work into it.”

  On the dining-room wall be
hind Galen hung an enormous mural of a woman from the nineteen twenties, standing on a street corner with a long cigarette and a fur coat. Her silhouette was obscured in an impressionistic blur. Naked women on sports cars. Please.

  The sofa was a soft, buttery leather the color of bourbon, and an extremely expensive-looking Oriental rug adorned the floor. It was like a showroom at a high-end furniture store, the only signs of life being a couple of open surgical journals and a coffee cup on the mahogany coffee table.

  “You picked all this out?”

  “Yeah. Interior decorating is kind of a thing of mine.” For the first time all day, a little color returned to Galen’s cheeks.

  “It’s incredible.”

  “Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? I have coffee, whiskey…”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “I also have water. Lots of water. And I think you’ll find a box of Triscuits in the pantry that are only marginally stale.”

  Rowan chuckled. “I don’t need anything, Galen. I promise. Besides, you’re the patient. You sit.” Galen obeyed and took a seat on the couch. “Do you mind if I rummage through your kitchen?”

  “Of course not. Just don’t judge me too hard.” Galen pulled a blanket off the arm of the sofa and wrapped up in it. “Hey, Ro?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  As Galen had warned, Rowan really did find only a little in Galen’s kitchen. It was clear just how seldom she was home. Nonetheless, Rowan had returned to the living room ten minutes later with a cup of hot tea, some chicken broth, and a thousand milligrams of Tylenol. She found Galen still on the couch, minus her usual scrubs, her legs stretched out across the chaise, her feet covered by the throw blanket. She wore a thin, fraying Harvard Medicine T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that hung off her straight hips. Rowan had seen her in scrubs in the OR nearly every day for the last two months, but she’d somehow managed to never notice Galen’s arms. They were large—much larger than she expected for someone with Galen’s build. Her biceps were muscled, with a fine line marking her deltoids. They looked strong, like her hands. And all at once, Rowan found herself simultaneously turned on and completely freaked out.