Page 77 of Dr. Stone
“Oh, yeah?” I laughed. “In that case, I suppose I could trust you with our lives. If Archibald Willoughby VI and Little Preston Vanderbilt envied you, you must’ve been the best.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know Archibald?” he teased my made-up little rich boy names as I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fair enough. But seriously, you also know your shit when it comes to sailing, don’t you?”
“I guess you’ll just have to take out me, Brandon,and Duketomorrow to find out, won’t you?”
“Spoken like a true Willoughby,” he taunted as I nudged his side and laughed. “Well, okay, we’re going to get to the bottom of this once and for all tomorrow because I’ll throw that bitch yapping hoe over the side if he doesn’t find his place around my ass.”
“Bitch yapping hoe, is it now?” I arched my eyebrow playfully.
“Jake nicknamed him that after he had a similar run-in with the little asshole when they watched him for you,” he laughed. “The official name we call him now isbitch yapper.”
“Jesus Christ,” I shouldered my purse. “You know that giving the poor dog a rapper name only makes him more of a thug, right?”
“If that’s arappername, it’s the worst of all time. Regardless, there’s no way he gets to hold on to John Wayne’s name while acting like the little cockblocker he is.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, handsome,” I said, knowing he needed to prep for his next patient. Truthfully, I just needed to get out of there before I ripped that medical coat off him and did all the things women fantasize about with hot doctors behind closed office doors.
His gaze raked me once, slow and hot, like he was already undressing me in his head. “Tomorrow,” he said, voice low, a promise more than a word.
Truth was, I needed to leave before I ripped that coat off him.
Tomorrow, on his boat. After seeing him here—in his world of glass and steel, command and precision—I couldn’t wait to see him in another. Wind in his hair, water at his back, his hands on the wheel… and maybe on me.
For the first time in a long time, it didn’t just feel like the start of something.
It felt like the start ofeverything.
THIRTY-FIVE
Jace
Jakeand I had done everything for our patient, Thomas Whitaker. Every damn compression, every stitch, every call…and we still lost him. The eighty-one-year-old retired literature professor had handwritten letters to his wife every Sunday since they first met, and he continued to do so even after she passed away from a stroke a few years back. Men like him no longer existed in real life; they belonged in Nicholas Sparks novels. At least, that’s how I felt about the sweet man.
To make matters even more heartbreaking, his daughter had flown in from Boston just to sit beside him after surgery. Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to die—not on our goddamn watch.
Jake leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the edge of the sink in the scrub room, his jaw tight, head bowed. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice low and frayed. “I swear to God, I thought we had him.”
“So did I, Chief,” I said, but the words felt empty.
The truth was, I knew we were losing him the moment the rhythm on the monitor slipped for the second time. I’d felt it; it was like the tide pulling away from the shore.
Jake took losses hard; he always had. He carried them like a debt he couldn’t repay. I held mine more quietly, burying the emotions deep inside. But somehow, they always found a way to surface later, either in the middle of the night or just before sleep, when my subconscious let down its guard.
Jake didn’t say anything else as we changed. He just gave me a short nod and walked out, still haunted. I wasn’t far behind him. I was trying to get out of this place as quickly as I could so I could clear my head.
“Stone,” I heard Collin Brooks holler, walking toward the main hospital entrance as I exited.
“Hey, man,” I said, forcing a smile. “Coming on shift?”
“My favorite thing in the world,” he smiled, a protein bar in one hand, coffee in the other. “Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”
I exhaled. “I’ll be fine. Jake and I just lost one,” I shook my head. “Our first surgery was flawless,” I tightened my lips, “but Death had no intention of leaving without this gentleman today.”
Collin took a long sip of his coffee, then nodded. “I’m sorry to hear it. Sometimes that’s just how the fucking reaper operates. The thing no one prepares us for in medical school is that doing everything right doesn’t always mean you get the ending you want. How’s Jake holding up?”
“You know how he handles this shit,” I answered.
“Yeah, he handles it about as well as someone spending a full day at the DMV—dying inside but never admitting it,” he said, knowing his best friend too well. “I’ll give him a call. The poor bastard is probably already on the road, stuck in traffic and bitching to himself about it.”
