Page 19 of Accidental Doctor Daddy

My name was already on three cases. Two consults. One post-op check. The trauma board was a mess, the breakroom coffee was burnt, and someone had the audacity to use my favorite pen.

I powered through the first two hours on muscle memory. Consult, cut, close. Another wrist to set, another abdominal scan to read, another page from upstairs. It should’ve grounded me—usually it did. But my mind kept drifting.

Back to the island.

Back to her.

To the taste of salt on her skin. The sound she made when I slid inside her. The way she whisperedDomlike it meant something.

“Mortoli,” a voice snapped from behind.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Seth,” I said, glancing back.

There he stood—arms crossed, self-satisfied as ever. His white coat was spotless, his smirk polished. “Your name’s been off the trauma board too long. Thought maybe you forgot how to hold a scalpel.”

“I didn’t realize skill expired with vacation days,” I muttered.

He fell in beside me, his smugness practically leaving a slime trail. “Some of us stayed behind and saved lives. Admins noticed. Big case last week. Kid coded twice, I brought him back.”

“Great,” I said flatly. “Someone bake you a cake?”

He chuckled. “Just thought you’d want to keep up. Would hate for you to fall behind now. Especially with the admin role opening up.”

I shot him a look. “You mean the one I’m still leading for?”

His grin tightened. “Not for long.”

I walked away before I said something that’d get me written up.

The rest of the day bled by in a blur. Patients in, patients out. Bones snapped, sutures stitched. Nurses whispered behind clipboards. Another attending asked if I was okay—apparently, I wasn’t my usual self.

No shit.

Because behind every heartbeat, every diagnosis, every rush of adrenaline, one thought refused to leave me.

Ella.

Where the hell had she gone?

And why couldn’t I stop hoping I'd find her somehow.

New York City was unlike how the TV shows and films made it seem. People didn’t incidentally run into each other all the time. You might see the same people in a diner every day, or see the same people in your neighborhood, but in a city of nearly nine million people, you were highly unlikely to run into your holiday hookup.

And if I ran into her, what would I say? Long time no see? Why’d you leave without so much as a word to me? Would you like to get a cup of coffee sometime? When can I fuck you again? The possibilities were endless, and none of it mattered because I’d never get to ask my questions. Whatever was between us was only for that night.

After a long day, the fatigue of mental and physical demands weighed heavily on me. I wasn’t ready to be back at work and needed a release, a moment to disconnect. From myself as much as from the hospital.

I found my way to a familiar upscale bar, the kind where the clink of glasses punctuated sophisticated conversations. Stockbrokers and lawyers usually crammed the spot, but tonight, it was only half full for some reason.

Maybe today was a holiday and the world forgot to tell me. It was like that in the ED until holiday injuries started to pour in. I checked my phone to see if I’d missed another holiday. No—butit was one of the days the stock market was closed, so I assumed everyone else in here was a lawyer.

The bar was dimly lit, with plush leather seats and dark wood paneling, exuding an air of exclusivity. Ordering a Halekulani—the drink that Ella had introduced my shirt to—felt like a salute to her memory.

As I sipped the sweet, complex cocktail, I could almost taste the salty air of the tropics. I shouldn’t have ordered it. The drink only made me miss her more. But sometimes, a little pain made a memory bittersweet instead of just bitter.

A heavy perfume wafted over me, and a feminine voice said, “I couldn’t help but notice you seem all alone. Care to change that?”

---