Page 13 of The Refiner

“What about your girlfriend?” He tips his chin to the business card on the small bedside table. “Do you think she’s moved on?”

I chuckle, snagging the card off the table and dropping it into the drawer where it will stay until I leave. “Dr. McKellan is not my girlfriend.”

“Could have fooled me with how you stare at that card for hours.”

He’s being dramatic. We only have time to stare at the bodies on the operating room table. “Dr. McKellan and I are friends and colleagues.”

Travis laughs. “So, you’re saying you’ll keep my business card on your bedside table too?”

Why couldn’t his wife have entertained him for a little longer? “Why don’t you get some sleep?” I try to redirect this line of questioning. “What’s it been, twenty-four hours since you’ve had a nap?”

“Thereabout.” Travis cocks a brow. “How long has it been for you?”

While it’s been fulfilling helping all the children in need, it hasn’t been easy or restful. There are more patients than doctors. “Going on thirty-six hours now, I think.” It could be forty. I think I lost count after twenty-four.

“You should rest.”

I chuckle. I should remind him I was trying to do just that when he had the meltdown about the nudes. “I plan to when I get home. Probably around the same time you’re spanking your wife.”

Travis belts out a laugh. “You should try it.”

“Spanking your wife?” Now it’s my turn to arch a brow.

“Hell no. You know what I mean. Spanking your girl.”

It’s been fun fucking with Travis. Being on a ship in international waters hasn’t been the most entertaining way to spend half a year, but Travis has kept it interesting with his non-stop chatter. “Afraid I’m forever a bachelor.” I can see the wheels turning behind Travis’s curious stare. He’s seen me flip Piper’s card through my fingers in thought, but he’s never seen me call a woman or mail a single letter since being on the ship. He’s confused, and rightfully so.

“Bullshit. You must have a girl. At least one for those lonely nights.” He waves his hand in my direction. “A top-notch surgeon doesn’t sleep alone.”

“I don’t sleep alone.” I don’t sleep, period—at least not for long.

“Thank goodness.” Travis whistles. “I was getting worried about you there for a minute. You’ve been out on this ship performing surgery after surgery, barely sleeping and eating as it is. Should I be your accountability partner for when you get home?”

“I’m not suicidal or depressed,” I clarify, just in case he’s serious.

“Then why did you come on this trip? You don’t need it for your resumé. You writing a piece for a medical journal?”

I laugh. “Can I not just want to help the kids?”

“Sure. Sure.” He waves me off. “But not for six months. Physicians of your stature don’t agree to such a long stint away from their practice unless….”

He leaves his words hanging between us.

And I get it.

He’s not wrong. Most surgeons, like myself, wouldn’t dare take six months off from their patients unless they were doing rehab or running from something. In my case, I’m avoiding. I’m distracting myself from thinking about my last conversation with Piper and the date we set.

She thinks I’m ready.

I think she’s insanely optimistic and more patient than a pre-k teacher.

“Fine, tell me one thing then.”

I close my eyes, hoping he’ll let all this go. “What’s that?”

“If you have nothing going on with business card lady, why did you rip up the letter she sent?”

The letter he’s referencing flashes in my mind.

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