Page 3 of Broken Dream (Steel Legends #3)

Chapter Two

Jason

There’s one in every class—a student who thinks he or she is going to save the world from the current mental health crisis.

A worthy goal, for sure.

But an impossible one.

I’m living proof of that.

And of course for this lab, she has to be the most beautiful woman in the room. She’s tall, slender, with a gorgeous head of dark hair pulled into a ponytail, beautiful brown eyes, and full pink lips.

I listen with one ear as the rest of the students introduce themselves.

Once everyone is done, I move back to the front of the room. “Are you all ready?”

I get several resounding yeses .

Nothing from Angie Simpson, though. She looks like she’s about ready to lose her breakfast.

I take a steadying breath and look around the room, making sure every student is focused and ready—or as close to ready as they can be. This first encounter is a memory they’ll carry long after they’ve left this lab. I still remember the day I saw my first cadaver.

I knew then I’d be a surgeon.

I just didn’t know how short my time as a surgeon would turn out to be.

“Let’s begin.” I move to another table in front. I can’t be so close to Angie Simpson. Something about her makes me feel things I’ve long forgotten.

The cadaver at the next table lies covered in a heavy sheet. “We’ll start by uncovering just the thoracic area, the upper chest,” I say. “This way, you’ll see just a section of the body, not the whole, which helps keep our focus and eases us into this process.”

I reach down and slowly lift the top of the sheet, just enough to reveal the shoulders and upper chest.

The room is silent, filled only with the soft sound of fabric moving.

“This is the thoracic cavity,” I say. “In here, we have the heart, the lungs, and vessels that carry life to every part of our bodies.”

I pause and look around the room. Some students’ eyes widen, others look deeply thoughtful.

“Now, reach out, place your gloved hand gently on the sternum here, at the center.” I demonstrate, pressing lightly.

“This is the core of the chest. From here, we’ll feel the ribs, the borders of the thoracic cavity.

Take your time, feel the shape, imagine the movement that once filled these lungs with breath. ”

I walk around the room. From some students I sense curiosity. From others, astonishment. From a few, boredom. All normal.

Then I lock eyes with Angie Simpson. No boredom there. Definitely no curiosity. Maybe a little astonishment.

Mostly she seems to be giving off a mix of dread and determination. Her hands are as white as the sheet covering the body in front of her. She looks like she’s holding her breath, as if the weight of the moment might overwhelm her.

Her lab partner has uncovered the chest and is probing it with her gloved hand.

But Angie hasn’t touched anything yet. She’s only now snapping on her gloves.

“You doing okay?” I ask.

She clears her throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re pale as a ghost,” I say.

Her cheeks redden, and my God, she’s beautiful. She’s the most gorgeous woman in the room. Her lab partner is pretty as well, and on any other day, I might say she was the prettiest girl in the room. But she’s girl-next-door pretty, while Angie…

Wow.

Just wow.

“I’m fine. I assure you.” Angie drops her gaze to the floor.

“We’re not going to cut today,” I tell her.

Angie’s lab partner lets out a disappointed huff.

“Of course I know that,” Angie says. “I mean… You wouldn’t let us cut right away.”

She won’t meet my gaze, and she’s stumbling over her words.

It’s adorably cute.

I return to the front of the room. “Open your anatomy books to page seventy-five and take a look at the thoracic area in the diagram.”

I wait while they shuffle their textbooks open.

“See how everything has a proper place?”

Murmurs of agreement.

“Don’t expect everything to look like that when you cut into these cadavers. What looks perfect in a textbook looks very different in a live body.”

“Don’t you mean dead body?” a guy says from the back.

I let out a chuckle. “Touché. What you’ll see in these cadavers are organs that have been preserved.

No blood flows through them. But don’t expect all the organs to be in a tight little group the way it looks in your textbooks.

Every human being is different, and while most humans have their organs in roughly the same area, it doesn’t look the same as the diagram. ”

“So when do we get to cut?” the same wise guy from the back demands.

“It won’t be too long,” I say. “Remind me of your name again?”

“Garrett.” He flashes me a goofy smile. “Elijah Garrett.”

“Right, Elijah Garrett. You’re interested in cardiothoracic surgery, if I recall correctly.”

“I am.”

About half the students mentioned some kind of surgery as their focus. I hate to tell them that only about ten percent of them will make the cut. Not the time or place.

“I understand your excitement,” I say. “I remember when I sat in this same lab many years ago. I couldn’t wait to make my first incision.

It will be something you will never forget.

But if you continue in surgery, Elijah, wait until you make your first cut into an actual living person.

” My heartbeat quickens slightly. “That’s an addiction that will never go away. ”

Elijah smiles, nodding.

Yeah, that kid will be a surgeon. I see it in his eyes.

I couldn’t wait to sink a scalpel into flesh, even dead flesh. The thrill of discovery, the responsibility that weighs heavy in your hands, the sheer awe of unraveling the mysteries held within the human body… It isn’t for the fainthearted.

I glance back at Angie, who’s still looking kind of sickly. I think her lab partner—Tabitha, if I remember correctly—senses it too. She gives Angie a pat on her arm.

“All right, everyone.” I raise my voice to regain their attention. “Look at your gloves and observe how clean they are. That will change very soon.”

Laughter—some of it nervous—echoes throughout the lab.

“And when it does,” I continue, “you’ll realize that you’re not just here to learn about parts and pieces.

You’re here to learn about life and death, about beginnings and endings, about the delicate balance that keeps us breathing.

This is not just an anatomy class but a life lesson.

What we start today will shape you as individuals and as medical professionals. ”

Elijah raises his hand.

I nod to him. “Yes?”

“How will we be graded?”

I chuckle. “There’s always someone who asks that.

You can find all of that information on the school’s learning management site on the page for this class.

Copies of my syllabus as well as my grading rubric are readily available to you there.

” I move to the side and lean against my desk.

“Let’s take a break for ten minutes. Use this time to get yourself acclimated if you need to.

When we return, we’ll dive deeper into the thoracic cavity. ”

A collective exhale fills the room, followed by some hushed chatter and movement. Most of them make their way out of the lab, but a few remain behind, huddled in small groups or studying their textbooks.

Angie Simpson makes her way toward the door. I stop her.

“You seem troubled,” I say.

She inhales. “I’m fine.”

“Take a break. Join your classmates. You’ll feel better.”

“None of this matters,” she says. “I’ll never see the inside of an OR. Psychiatry is my calling.”

I tilt my head. “Are you sure about that?”

I want her to say she’s not sure at all. That psychiatry is nothing to her.

Because it sure as hell is nothing to me.

But she raises her chin slightly. “As sure as my name is Angela Daphne Simpson.”

Angela Daphne. A gorgeous name. Daphne was a beautiful nymph pursued by Apollo. She became a laurel tree to escape him. Angela, of course, comes from angel .

She indeed looks like an angel.

I rack my brain for a diplomatic way to get my thoughts across. “If you don’t like the lab portion of medical school, you could have pursued a doctorate in psychology. You don’t need an MD to practice.”

“Tabitha just said the same thing to me.” She rubs at her forehead. “Why doesn’t anyone get it? I want to be able to heal the physical as well as the mental. I want to?—”

“Then you need to be here, Angie,” I interrupt her. “You need to understand the physical in order to adequately address the mental. The mind and the body are naturally linked, and you can’t hope to heal one without understanding the other.”

My words surprise me.

I believe them wholeheartedly.

I just don’t believe psychiatry is the answer.

Angie stares at me for a moment before she nods. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “I’ll manage. It’s just… It’s a lot more real now than it was on paper.”

I smile, resisting the urge to give her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. And remember, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes. That’s part of being human.”

She gives me a small smile, turns, and leaves the room.

I turn toward the wall to discreetly adjust my groin.

Fuck.