Page 26 of Broken Dream (Steel Legends #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Angie

The scalpel feels heavier than it should, like it’s mocking me.

Tabitha is doing fine, her focus locked on the pale line of her incision, her movements confident and precise.

I should be grateful she’s not pressuring me to take over, but her calm competence only makes me feel worse.

My chest tightens as I stare at the cadaver, and I can’t bring myself to make another cut.

Across the room, Jason is with another group, his voice steady as he gives instructions.

I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying, but his tone carries that same calm authority, that quiet encouragement that somehow makes you feel like you can’t fail as long as he’s there.

I steal a glance at him, watching the way he leans slightly toward one of the students, his hands moving confidently as he demonstrates the proper grip on a scalpel. He makes it look so easy, so natural.

I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s disappointed in me.

I shake my head, trying to shove the thoughts away.

This isn’t about him—it can’t be about him.

I’m here to learn, to focus, but my brain doesn’t seem to care.

Every time I hear his voice, every time he moves into my line of sight, my stomach twists into a knot.

It’s not just that he’s good at what he does, though he is.

It’s the way he carries himself, the way he seems to command the room without trying.

The way his green eyes flicker with an intensity that makes me feel seen, even when I’m trying my hardest to disappear.

“Angie,” Tabitha says softly, jolting me out of my thoughts. She’s still focused on the cadaver, her voice quiet but steady. “Do you want to take the next layer?”

My throat tightens. “Uh…no, you go ahead.” I pretend to adjust my gloves.

Tabitha doesn’t push. Why would she? If I choose not to cut, she gets to do it more, and she wants to do it.

She nods and continues working, and I hate myself for feeling both relieved and ashamed.

I glance toward Jason again—he’s with Jennifer and Tobias now, correcting Tobias’s grip on the scalpel.

He’s patient, focused. A perfect teacher, and as I watch him, I can imagine what a perfect and precise surgeon he was before his hand injury.

“Angie,” Tabitha cuts through my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

I nod quickly, too quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But I know I’m not fine. Not even close.

I glance at Jason again, my pulse quickening.

He’s helping Jennifer and Tobias, leaning over the table to guide Tobias’s hand with a calm, steady presence.

His voice is low, clear, and even though he’s too far away for me to hear what he’s saying, I can almost feel the warmth of it curling in the pit of my stomach.

It’s been a week. Just seven days, and I still can’t stop thinking about him.

About the way he showed up at my door unannounced, a bottle of wine in one hand and that hesitant grin on his face.

He said he wanted to celebrate—some good news from a specialist about a possible surgery that might fix the nerve damage in his hand.

I poured the wine, trying to act casual, but I felt the tension simmering between us. The next minute we were fucking in my kitchen.

“Angie,” he’d murmured, his voice low and rough, his forehead resting against mine. “This can’t happen…”

But it already had.

And neither of us stopped it.

Now, standing in the bright and sterile lab, the memory of that night feels like a secret I’m carrying around, too heavy and too precious all at once.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, especially not here, not while I’m supposed to be focused on my first dissection.

But every time I hear his voice or catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, the memory crashes over me again—his hands in my hair, the way he pulled me close, the quiet way he said my name like it meant something more.

“Angie.” Tabitha’s voice jolts me back to the present. She’s watching me, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t made another cut yet.”

I nod, gripping the scalpel tighter. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumble.

Tabitha glances toward Jason. “Do you want me to ask him to come help us?”

“No!” I say too sharply, too fast.

Tabitha’s eyebrows shoot up.

I scramble to recover. “I mean, no, it’s fine. I can figure it out.”

The last thing I need is Jason standing next to me, close enough to catch his scent, close enough for him to see the flush rising in my cheeks, the way my hands won’t stop shaking. I’m already unraveling, and having him near would only make it worse.

Across the room, he looks up briefly. For a split second, our gazes meet, and my breath catches. His expression doesn’t change—calm, professional—but there’s something in his eyes, something flickering behind that composed exterior, that makes me wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

I drop my gaze back to the cadaver, my cheeks burning. My hand trembles as I position the scalpel.

It’s been a week, and I thought I could push it aside, bury it beneath work and focus and sheer willpower. But Jason is here, and so am I. And no matter how much I try to pretend nothing happened, I can’t stop remembering how it felt to cross that line—and how much I want to do it again.

I force the thought out of my mind and make a cut.

“Good,” Tabitha says softly, her voice steady and encouraging. “You’ve got it. Just follow the line.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and focus on deepening the incision, layer by layer.

My hands are steadier now, but my thoughts are anything but.

Jason’s presence is still like a current in the room, tugging at me even when I’m not looking at him.

I can feel him moving from table to table, his voice calm, his attention focused on everyone else.

Everyone but me.

Which is exactly how it should be. Exactly how I need it to be.

But when I glance up, just for a moment, my resolve wavers.

He’s at the far end of the room now, his hand resting lightly on the edge of a table as he speaks to Eli and Ralph.

He looks so composed, so in control, like nothing could ever shake him.

Like the Jason who was in my townhome, his hands gripping my waist, his mouth on mine, was a different man entirely.

I drop my gaze again, my pulse quickening. I focus on the cadaver, on the precise line I’m carving into its surface. This is what matters. This is why I’m here. Not Jason. Not the memory of his hands, his voice, his kiss.

Forget that this used to be a living human. It’s merely a shell now. A tool of science.

“Angie,” Tabitha says. “That’s great. Just keep going. You’re doing fine.”

I nod again, muttering a quiet “Thanks.”

But as I finish the cut, I feel the weight of someone’s gaze. My stomach twists, and I know before I look that it’s him.

Jason is watching me from across the room, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes tell a different story.

They linger on me for just a second too long before he turns back to his students, resuming his explanation as though nothing happened.

As though the look wasn’t loaded with the same tension I’ve been trying to bury all week.

I exhale and grip the scalpel tighter as I move to the next layer of tissue.

I can’t afford to think about Jason. Not here, not now. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t ignore the way my body reacts to his presence, the way my heart races every time I catch him looking at me.

This is dangerous, and I know it.

But even as I force myself to make the next cut, I can’t help but wonder how much longer we can keep pretending nothing happened before the tension between us becomes impossible to hide.