Page 37 of Silver Fox's Twin Surprise

The nurses’ station buzzed with activity as I walked in, but it didn’t take long for someone to notice me. Kiki gave me a tight smile. “Hey, Dr. Hastings. Good to see you back.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to respond. My head felt like it was underwater. My chest felt hollow, and the only reason I showed up today was to see if I could bump into Rose, the way we bumped into each other when we first met.

"It's good to be back." The lie rolled off my tongue easily. "Have you seen Rose Williams?" I hated that I felt so needy that the first question out of my mouth was about her. I was weak.

"Oh, you didn't hear? Of course… You've been out for weeks now. Rose quit. She said she was moving back in with her mom or something. Not sure why." Kiki shrugged one shoulder and sighed. "I have to get back. Good to see you."

She sauntered off as if she hadn't just destroyed my motivation, and I stared at her blankly for a while. Rose left? She just quit and vanished without saying a thing to me?

I walked to my office and sat behind my desk, staring at the paperwork piled in front of me. It wasn’t just paperwork, though. It was a mountain of responsibility, every form a reminder of the life I was supposed to be living—the surgeon, the fixer, the guy who had it all together. My hands trembled as I picked up a pen, the slight shake making the simple act of writing my name feel like a chore.

The treatment was supposed to help. That’s what they’d told me when I’d agreed to the deep brain stimulation. It wasn’t a guarantee, of course—nothing in medicine ever was—but I’d let myself believe it would work, that the tremors would calm, that I’d get my hands back, my life back. But so far? Nothing. In fact, maybe it was worse now. The doctors had warned me it could take months, maybe even a year, to see any real improvement.

And even then, there were no promises.

I should’ve told Rose. I should’ve told someone, anyone. But how could I? How could I admit to the people who looked up to me that I couldn’t control my own body? That I wasn’t sure if I’d ever step into an OR with confidence again? The thought keptme silent, burying the truth under layers of excuses and half-truths. I didn’t want her to worry. I didn’t want anyone to see how far I’d fallen.

But now, sitting here, the weight of my decisions weighed down on me harder than ever. Rose had quit, and I couldn’t help but think it was my fault. If I’d just been honest with her—if I’d told her what I was going through, what I was trying to fix—maybe she wouldn’t have felt so alone. Maybe she’d still be here. Instead, I’d pushed her away without even realizing it, too caught up in my own mess to see what was happening.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see one of the surgical coordinators standing there, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Hastings, there’s an emergency case. OR Three. They’re asking for you.”

My stomach sank. My first instinct was to say yes, to stand up and scrub in, to do what I’d spent my whole life training for. But my hands betrayed me, trembling at my sides as if to remind me of why I couldn’t. I wanted to. Believe me, it was my deepest heart's desire. But I felt panic as I stood and followed the coordinator into the hallway.

"What's the situation?" I asked, and the coordinator rattled off some stats. “Dr. Hastings, we have a pregnant woman in distress in the ER. Possible placental abruption. They think she’ll need an emergency C-section for twins. You’re the only surgeon available right now.”

My stomach clenched. A C-section. The procedure was straightforward—one I’d done countless times before—but this wasn’t a training simulation or a calm, planned operation. This was an emergency. Lives were on the line, and the tremor in my hands hadn’t magically disappeared in the last two minutes.

“Can Patel assist?” I asked, grasping at anything to avoid saying no outright. No one knew, but I knew I had to tell them. I knew it was going to cost me my job and I had no backup plan, but I couldn't risk people's lives.

“She’s tied up in a liver case,” the coordinator replied, her tone edging toward desperation. “There’s no one else.”

I stared at her, my pulse pounding. If I said no, what would happen to that mother and her babies?

My heart was already pounding, but a call for my name over the PA system made it worse. The possibility of a placental abruption at twenty-four weeks was dire. Every second mattered. I tried to steady my hands by clenching them into fists as I walked, but the faint tremor persisted, a cruel reminder of how little control I had.

When I reached the ER, it was chaos. Nurses buzzed around the trauma bay, equipment beeped, and voices layered over one another in hurried medical jargon. The patient was partially obscured by the flurry of activity, but I caught sight of her dark hair and pale face. My entire body felt the slap of shock.

It was Rose. She was lying in that bed and I wasn't sure what to think.

My legs locked, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. My vision tunneled, narrowing on her face, pinched in pain, her hands protectively cradling her belly.

“What—” My voice cracked as I approached. “What’s going on? Rose?”

Her eyes snapped to mine, and the look she gave me was nothing short of furious. “Why are you here?” she whined, her voice tightbut loud enough for everyone to hear. “Aren’t you supposed to be hiding from your problems?” The pain in her tone wasn't just emotional. I could tell she was in distress. I scanned her body quickly and saw no other trauma. My doctor's brain tried to kick in, but I wasn't sure how to push past seeing her belly swollen with pregnancy, a pregnancy she'd hidden from me so well I never even noticed.

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit, too. I ignored the nurses who were suddenly very interested in the monitors and avoided the knowing looks of the surgical coordinator, who hovered nearby. “I’m the only available surgeon,” I said stiffly, trying to keep my composure. “What’s happening?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she winced through a contraction. One of the nurses stepped in to explain, “Suspected placental abruption. Heart tones are borderline. She’s only twenty-four weeks, Dr. Hastings. We need a decision.”

I looked at Rose, panic blooming in my chest. My hands twitched at my sides, the tremor suddenly impossible to hide. I saw her eyes flicker down to them, her jaw tightening.

“You can’t,” she said flatly, her voice cutting through the noise. “You can’t operate like this. Look at you.”

My face flushed. “Rose, this isn’t about me?—”

“You’re damn right it isn’t!” she shouted, her voice rising over the hum of the machines. “This is about these babies. Our babies. And me, Cole. Me! Stop thinking about yourself for once and start being the man you should be." She started sobbing just as a woman who looked just like her but older walked into the room with a bottle of water. She tiptoed around me and offered Rose the water.

The room went silent. Every head turned, every set of eyes on me as the words hung in the air. My chest tightened, shame and anger warring for control. She was right, but hearing it, hearing her say that in front of everyone, hurt.

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