Brain Games

33. Assumptions

All week I've been mentally preparing to observe Dr. Larson in his OR, but come Friday morning I still don't think I'm ready—even after having two extra days to prepare. I was originally supposed to observe him on Wednesday but he canceled on me last minute, claiming there was an emergency case that rolled in. Surprisingly, I was as relieved as I was bummed.

As much as I admire and look up to Dr. Larson as a surgeon, the man intimidates me. There's something about him—besides his tall stature and typical overinflated surgeon ego—that makes me uneasy. I know going into this all I have to do is just stand there and watch him, but I'm still nervous as hell.

On top of the stress of being confined in the same room as Dr. Larson for a long period of time, I've also been stressing about Brad. About telling him how I feel.

It's not that I want a big romance movie moment or to make a grand gesture of any sorts, but I do want the moment to be a little special when I tell Brad I have feelings for him. I almost blurted it out a hand full of times this week—less than one week since I've had the revelation about my feelings for him while dress shopping with Olivia; who has called me at least three times since leaving on Sunday to see if I told him yet, by the way. But every time I was on the verge of telling him I chickened out. Just like I want to chicken out on observing Dr. Larson today.

A large, warm hand reaches across the center console, landing on my thigh.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" Brad muses, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Nothing." Except the fact that I'm falling for you.

He gives me a dubious look. "Listen, there's no need to be nervous." I wish there wasn't. "All you have to do is stand there and watch," he says, referring to observing Dr. Larson.

Oh, right.

I turn in my seat, facing him. "What's it like in Dr. Larson's OR?"

I've asked him this question before, and he gave Dr. Larson less than a glowing review. I guess I'm just hoping he changed his mind after working with him more frequently with the laser, but something tells me his review will remain the same. But I cling to hope.

Brad's jaw hardens, as does his one handed grip on the steering wheel. "Frigid as the Arctic," he mutters under his breath. "Just... don't go in there with high expectations."

I frown at his weary expression, causing him to sigh.

"He's a great surgeon, I'll give him that, but other than that he's not this... god everyone paints him out to be." That tight set of his jaw returns. "He's..." he shakes his head, not bothering to continue his thought. "Just go in there, observe, and get out."

Brad's words wipe away any remaining excitement I have left about working with the best neurosurgeon in the world. Especially when he's acting like a drill sergeant sending me over enemy lines.

Something on my face must make him realize the harshness of his words.

He lets out a slow breath, removing his hand from my thigh to rake it through his dark hair. "It's just... It's not like working with Dr. Allen," he says, his voice much softer. "I know how bad you want to observe him, and how great of an experience you're probably painting it out to be in your head. I just don't want your dream to be crushed at the end of this when it doesn't measure up to what you were expecting it to be." His hand takes perch on my thigh again, giving it a gentle squeeze.

I trace the shape his thumb with the pad of my finger. "I guess a part of me knows that. I've been dreaming of standing in his OR for years, and now that the time is here... I'm not as excited as I thought I would be."