Madison had had only one scolding in her entire life. The one and only time was from her father. Madison had gone to stay with her father’s sister while he was away at an overnight event in Washington, DC. She’d begged him to go, promising she’d be on her best behavior. The General had been unmoved by her pleas, and Madison had been shipped off to Aunt Bess.
Aunt Bess was a tyrant who wouldn’t let Madison do anything but sit still and keep quiet. When Madison decided she’d had enough of Aunt Bess’s hospitality—which had been all of two hours into her stay—she decided she’d walk home. Over fifteen miles away. At the age of seven.
She’d been found three miles from Aunt Bess’s, walking on the side of the road. When her father had found out, he had been quiet at first. But after he had his daughter safe in her bedroom, he yelled so loud that the ceiling fan spun around even though the power switch was off.
Madison had sat quietly through the tirade. Though she’d been scared of her father’s anger, she didn’t budge from her belief that she’d been right in running away. Aunt Bess was the Wicked Witch come to life, and no child should be subjected to that. She’d never gone to spend the night again.
Madison sat in Chief Pena’s office now. The man who had been her teacher, her mentor, and was now her boss sat quietly in his wingback chair. He was not even looking at her. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. A red mark formed there from where his glasses sat all day. He took them off now and looked at her.
“Madison, you got an A on ethics,” he began. “Though I wasn’t your teacher, I know that to be true because you never got anything less than an A.”
That wasn’t true. There had been that B in Art History. She just couldn’t bring herself to take Jackson Pollock seriously.
“There’s nothing romantic going on between me and Major Hanson,” said Madison.
The lie burned on Madison’s tongue. Just a few moments ago, Madison had had the burning desire to press her lips against Paul’s. There was absolutely no medical reason for her to do that.
“Romantic?” Chief Pena put his glasses back on. “I didn’t say there was.”
Madison pressed her back against the chair. Her chair didn’t have a winged back, so there was no support for her shoulders. She wasn’t sure which way this conversation was going? Part of her back was up because she thought she was being accused of inappropriate behavior with a patient, which there might be a smidge of truth to. The other part of her back was up because the chief hadn’t seen anything romantic when he’d walked into the room.
Paul had wanted to kiss her. She was sure of it. He’d been staring at her lips all through the game. That’s how he lost the first time. She had no idea how he’d won the second game. Or how they’d come to a stalemate in the third. What she did know was that she wanted a rematch. Not so much because she wanted to beat him. She just needed to know where she stood with him.
“I know that you know better than to get attached to your patients,” the chief was saying. “You’ve never had that trouble before.”
He was right. Madison had always looked at her patients as symptoms on a chart, a puzzle that she was going to solve. That’s all Paul Hanson was. He was a scattered puzzle of symptoms. All of which were clues to help her to arrive at the right diagnosis and win this game.
“But you’re clearly trying to one-up Doug so that you can get the Chief of Orthopedic Surgery position.”
The position? Is that what he thought this was about?
Well, wasn’t it about that?
Madison wanted the position. It’s why she’d uprooted her whole life and moved out to the middle of nowhere. She wanted to help veterans like Paul. She wanted to solve their problems. The important problems of the women and men who gave so much to this country but often got the poorest health care.
“It looks like Major Hanson has agreed to do the surgery,” said the chief.
He had? When? She’d only left him twenty minutes ago.
“I’ll be the one deciding who is doing his surgery,” said the chief.
Madison wanted to argue that point. She had more surgeries under her belt than Doug. But only by a handful of operations.
Doug hadn’t believed Paul even needed the surgery. He certainly wouldn’t give Paul the care and detail to attention that she would. Madison would go in and find every little issue and solve it. She wouldn’t cut corners like Doug had a tendency to do.
“No more trying to get Major Hanson to pick you to do the surgery,” said the chief.
Madison pursed her lips together. She nodded. But she only agreed with the chief because Paul had agreed to the surgery only because of Madison. He’d been the one to pick her. Surely he would insist on Madison being his doctor. Just as he’d insisted on taking her out on a date after he was well. Just as he’d asked her to marry him more than once now. Madison realized she hadn’t said no to either proposal.
She thought back to the time in the MRI room when he’d stood towering over her. She’d liked the feeling of him standing over her. She’d wanted to step into his broad chest, rest her head against his heart, and let all of her worries fall away.
She’d felt the same draw when they’d tied in Connect Four. Madison hated losing. Hated unclear outcomes even more. She wanted to go back to Paul’s room and strike up another game. It didn’t matter if she won or loss. She just wanted to play the game again. Or any game. With him.
Uh oh. This was bad.
Madison left the chief’s office. She walked past the patient wing of the hospital. She itched to go back inside Paul’s room. Not to talk about his back or her nerves. She didn’t want to talk at all. She just wanted to kick her feet up on the bed and sit quietly beside him. She’d never had that feeling before. It was the opposite of non-attached. It was a feeling she couldn’t afford.
Like when she was a child, Madison couldn’t sit still or be quiet any longer. She had to get out of there. Running away was the only answer. And so she left the hospital to head back to her hotel room. This time, no one came after her with a scolding.