Page 3 of Broken Dream

He pauses a moment. Is he going to ask if we have questions? He doesn’t. He simply clears his throat and continues.

He gestures to the sheet-covered cadavers. “These are not just bodies. They are people who made the thoughtful decision to donate themselves so that you could learn. They’ve given you one final gift—one of knowledge. Every time you approach these tables, remember that you’re not just studying anatomy. You’re honoring a life.”

Another pause.

What’s with all the pausing?

“Over the course of this semester, we’ll be covering different regions of the body, moving from the thorax to the limbs, and eventually to more delicate areas. Each lab will build on the last to give you a complete view of how interconnected our bodies truly are. For many of you, this will be the most hands-on learning you’ve ever experienced. It will be challenging and at times uncomfortable, but also incredibly rewarding.”

He takes a few steps closer to the nearest table—which happens to be Tabitha’s and mine—and places a hand on the edge.

He’s so close.

So close that I can smell his scent over the chemical aromas of the lab.

He smells like the outdoors—crisp pine and the faint smokiness of a fire that’s long since burned out. It’s rugged and raw, as if he’s part of the wilderness itself, untamed and irresistible.

“Remember, this is a privilege, and we are here to learn—not only from books but also from these individuals. They teach us the complexities of human life, health, and disease in a way no lecture can. Each scar, each variation you’ll see, tells a story.”

A few students exchange glances.

“Let’s also be mindful of each other,” Dr. Lansing adds. “Some of you may feel overwhelmed today or in the coming weeks, and that’s perfectly okay. We’re in this together, and I encourage you to support each other, to ask questions, and to take breaks when needed. This lab is a safe place for learning and growth.”

With those last words, he’s talking directly to me. At least I feel like he is. I seem to be the only apprehensive person in the room.

“Before we begin,” he says, “I want to go around the room and have each of you introduce yourselves. You’ve been in school together for a few months now, and if you’re like most new medical students, you’ve been spending all your free time hitting the books, and you haven’t gotten to know each other.” He crosses his arms. “But medicine is a collaborative practice. For the rest of your careers, you’ll be working with other physicians and depending on them as they will depend on you. We’ll start with you two.” He meets my gaze, his hand still resting on Tabitha’s and my table.

I swallow as I try to breathe.

When I finally open my mouth?—

Tabitha beats me to the punch. “I’m Tabitha Haynes,” she says, “and I’m from Denver. My undergrad degree is in microbiology, and I’m hoping to become a surgeon.”

“Good to have you here, Tabitha,” Dr. Lansing says.

He deepens his gaze at me.

God, those eyes.

Like a bright-green flame.

I feel like he’s melting the clothes off my body.

I clear my throat. “I’m Angela Simpson. Call me Angie. I’m from Snow Creek on the Western Slope. My undergrad degree is in biology and psychology, and I’m interested in psychiatry.”

Jason’s lips tremble a bit.

Seriously? Is he trying not to laugh at me?

No. I’m reading far too much into it. He’s our instructor, and all medical specialties are valid. He knows this as well as I do.

“I see, Angie.” He presses his lips together. “Any particular reason for choosing psychiatry this early in the game?”

No way. He didn’t interrogate Tabitha about her choice.

“My aunt is a renowned psychiatrist, and I truly respect what she’s been able to do during her career. Psychiatry is my calling.”

He slowly nods. “I’m sure your aunt is very proud of you.”