Brain Games

19. Jealousy

Jack, Brad and I follow behind Dr. Allen as we make our way through rounds, checking in on patients before surgery. The three of us are scheduled to observe Dr. Allen all day in the OR with some pretty interesting cases that I'm excited about, even if it means sitting in the gallery all day learning instead of being more hands on. But beggars can't be choosers.

Walking back to the neurosurgery department, Dr. Allen leads confidently, his game face on, ready to start prepping for surgery. Rounding a corner, us still trailing behind him, he nearly collides with someone twice his size. Someone very familiar.

"Whoa," Dr. Larson utters, a little less than annoyed. His large, intimidating frame is adorned in scrubs, a surgical cap on his head. His game face is also on, but his hard, determined eyes soften a fraction once he realizes it's his colleague he nearly plowed over. He gives him a firm nod in greeting. "Dr. Allen."

"Dr. Larson," Dr. Allen replies just as cool and professional.

Dr. Larson's eyes gaze past Dr. Allen and land on the three of us, as if just noticing we are accompanying Dr. Allen. A shiver runs down my spine at knowing the Dr. Larson—best neurosurgeon in the country, possibly the world—knows I exist. I straighten my posture, trying to seem as presentable as possible. But his eyes don't stay on me for long.

His deep brown eyes lock on Brad, eyeing him up and down, sizing him up. My stomach drops, remembering that they already have a fairly established relationship after Dr. Allen introduced them at EBS after the first day. When Brad saved that girl's life, and I'm sure Dr. Larson heard all about it. I'm also sure Dr. Allen has been feeding him progress reports on the three of us, and I can't help but wonder where I measure up in his mind.

"Dr. Gallow," Dr. Larson acknowledges him, a small spark of interest in his demeanor.

Brad stiffens beside me, and I can only imagine the freak out he's probably having in his head at Dr. Larson addressing him directly. Hell, I'm freaking out and the guy hardly knows I exist, since his attention seems to be solely on Brad. If he said my name I'd probably faint faster than a hardcore fan girl that just met Harry Styles.

Jack reaches across my back to secretly, yet not-so-secretly, pinch Brad's tricep, jolting him back to reality.

Brad jumps slightly, clearing his throat. "Dr. Larson."

Dr. Larson's eyes sparkle with slight amusement. "I'm doing a hemispherectomy today and would love for you to observe."

I feel my heart literally drop to my ass. Did he just ask Brad—Bradly Gallow—to observe in his OR? When he's doing a hemispherectomy no less.

My eyes snap to Brad, watching his mouth open and close, trying to form words. I guess I can't blame him. I'd probably go into cardiac arrest if Dr. Larson asked me such a question.

"Dr. Gallow?" Dr. Larson presses.

Brad's eyes snap to Dr. Allen, desperately searching for an answer. Dr. Allen feeds him no sort of answer, face impassive as ever.

"Dr. Larson, you are an absolute legend," Jack chimes in, filling in the strained gap of silence to shoot his shot. "If there's room, I would absolutely love to observe you in your OR."

Kiss ass. Although, I guess I have to give him props. Maybe if my mouth wasn't as functional as Brad's right now I'd be jumping at the chance as well.

Dr. Larson hums noncommittally in response, eyes still locked on Brad, waiting for an answer. Brad continues to stand like a deer in the headlights, and when Brad doesn't answer fast enough Dr. Larson let's out the tiniest sigh of impatience.