Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Hadley’s eyes darted to me as I led her down the hallway, curiosity and mild surprise evident in her expressive face, but she didn’t comment.
It obviously hadn’t escaped her notice that I didn’t stop for paperwork or to explain myself. But she didn’t know that it wasn't something anyone expected of me. It was about efficiency instead of arrogance, though. I’d worked here long enough that everyone knew my focus was always on the patient. And I was given the ability to do that because I’d earned it, long before I’d started working in Crossbend.
I was one of the best and most highly skilled trauma surgeons in the world. My extensive experience in emergency medicine enabled me to operate under extreme pressure with speed and precision. My diagnostic instincts were strong and finely honed, often picking up on details others might miss. Years of working in high-risk environments gave me steady nerves and excellent situational awareness. I had a deep understanding of how the human body functioned and how to repair it.
And when the MC deemed it necessary, how to break it.
But I wasn’t a narcissistic asshole. I hadn’t coasted on my reputation and expected everyone to fall all over themselves in gratitude over my choice to work here. I’d put in the time, done the grunt work no one expected of me, and earned the respect that gave me the benefit of the doubt with my colleagues. And though I didn’t ask for it, they often took the bullshit part of the job off my shoulders so I could put every bit of my concentration on the patient and their treatment.
Exam room two was small and sterile. I closed the door behind us with a quiet click, shutting out the noise and chaos of the emergency room, narrowing the world to just the two of us.
“Sit,” I instructed, nodding toward the exam table. My unyielding tone was not harsh, the low timbre resonating through the room.
Hadley complied silently, easing herself onto the paper-covered seat with a slight wince. Her breathing was steady, but I caught the subtle tension around her mouth, evidence of the pain she was still trying to minimize.
A nurse bustled in behind us and gave Hadley a warm smile as she introduced herself. “I’m Gidget. I’m just going to work on your intake paperwork while Dr. Duvall examines you.”
I grabbed a mobile, floor-stand exam light and pulled it over to her as I stepped in close. “You can answer her questions but stay still for me.”
My fingers found their way to the delicate skin at her temple once more. This time, my examination was more thorough, though I already knew exactly what I was looking at. Her wound had stopped actively bleeding, the blood now drying into a stark contrast against her tan skin. My touch was firm as I tilted her head slightly, but softer when I brushed her hair back, giving me a clearer view beneath the spotlight.
Then my gaze shifted, lingering on the other scar, now sharply defined under the high-intensity light. The uneven tension of the skin was more pronounced than I’d initially realized, an indentation deeper than a routine childhood surgery should leave. The scar tissue was jagged and angry, a carelessly repaired wound that had been hurried and amateurish. I again noticed the faded, irregular pigmentation that marked the skin beneath her hairline, shadows of something that had once been there. It had to have been intentionally removed.
I suspected it might be some kind of birthmark. I would have assumed it was a vanity thing—Hadley choosing to remove a blight to her image. But just from the small amount of time I’d known her, I couldn’t see her caring about a birthmark. And she’d clearly been given a bullshit story to appease her own curiosity. On top of that, I was now convinced it had been done when she was a baby.
The procedure certainly hadn’t been done to heal her—there was no evidence that a gash or cut had been repaired. And it had been done almost recklessly, clearly by someone who either lacked the skill or simply didn’t care enough to do it properly. Probably a little of both.
All the signs were there, but cosmetic surgery wasn’t my specialty. I knew I needed to get the opinion of someone who really knew what they were looking at. But not just anyone. It had to be someone I trusted who would keep their mouth shut.
Hadley blinked up at me, uncertainty and curiosity flashing through those captivating green eyes. “Is it worse than you thought?”
I quickly steadied my expression, not letting a hint of suspicion or unease break through. She didn’t need questions until I had real answers.
“No, baby.” My voice didn’t betray any of the fierce protectiveness surging through me. “I’m pretty sure it’s nothing major, but I want to take a closer look and get you fixed up properly.”