Page 8 of Rescuing Dr. Marian (Made Marian Legacy #1)

“Dr. Marian, you’re needed in Curtain 4—Code Gray. Combative psych hold.”

“Seriously,” I said, half laughing, half groaning. “It’s a freaking circus today.”

“Circus has better snacks,” one of the residents said as he jogged past, waving an empty vending machine wrapper.

“And better hours,” I muttered under my breath, though no one was close enough to hear.

I forced myself to breathe as the paramedics rolled in the biker, his shoulder a raw mess of blood and gravel. The sight should have triggered my usual surge of professional focus, but instead, I felt oddly detached, like I was watching someone else’s life play out in front of me.

I made eye contact with Marcy so she could get someone else on the psych patient and followed the biker into Trauma 2.

“Vitals are tanking,” the medic shouted over the controlled chaos. “Pressure’s 80 over 40 and dropping. Lost consciousness twice en route.”

I stepped up, forcing my mind to engage despite my bone-deep exhaustion. “Let’s get two large-bore IVs and hang O-neg, now. Somebody page trauma surgery. And where the hell is radiology?” My hands moved automatically—checking pupils, palpating for injuries, calling out orders.

This was what I was good at, what I’d trained for years to perfect.

But even as I worked to save this man’s life, part of me was thinking about Foster Blake’s hands on my skin six months ago, about the way he’d tasted like mountain air when we’d kissed on that beach. It was a thought that had popped up more often, not less, as the months went by.

I caught my reflection in the stainless-steel cabinet—wild eyes, bloody gloves, stubble I hadn’t had time to shave in two days over skin so pale I looked damned near anemic. When had I started looking like a ghost haunting my own life?

My uncle Teddy’s teasing voice from a recent video call rang in my memory. “Maybe you need to get outside and touch some grass, Nimrod,” he’d said, his teasing tone and use of the old nickname he’d bestowed on me not hiding the worry in his gaze.

Six months ago, I would have agreed with him.

Would have made plans to head out of the city on my next day off and hike a bit of the Appalachian Trail up at Bear Mountain.

But now? Now, I was lucky to get a day off once a month, let alone time to actually leave the city.

All the free time I’d anticipated having to figure my shit out hadn’t materialized. In fact, I’d barely had time to think.

Not long after the aborted trip to Hawaii, my boss had assigned me to a “patient flow taskforce committee,” which demanded additional long hours and reporting duties that now took up almost every spare minute of my time.

The assignment had been presented as an honor, recognition of my dedication and clinical skills.

It had taken me six weeks to learn that the assignment “recommendation” had come from above, from the hospital CMO, who just so happened to be in the same social club as Kari’s mother, my former anesthesiology mentor.

The guilt had kept me from complaining initially, but it hadn’t kept me from researching other job opportunities. It was time to get away from this toxic environment and onto the next stage in my life. Preferably somewhere closer to my family and farther away from Kari and hers.

“Pressure’s stabilizing,” I called out as the trauma surgeon finally arrived to take over. “Good peripheral pulses, pupils are reactive. He’s got a chance.”

I stripped off my gloves and gown, already mentally moving to the next crisis. That was the thing about emergency medicine—there was always a next crisis.

“Dibs on new guy,” one of the female nurses whispered to Marcy as she hustled past. I looked up and noticed a new nurse standing nearby, checking out the board. He was tall and jacked and also clearly confused.

“Hey, you need help?” I called. “Marcy doesn’t bite, I promise.”

I glanced at Marcy, expecting a chuckle or eyeball, but all I saw was the ivory skin of her cheeks turn dark with a blush as she stared at the guy. I took another look at the new hire and back to Marcy, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, man,” the guy said. “I’m just waiting for Kendra to get back from the ladies room. I’m shadowing her today.”

I nodded and turned back to Marcy before lowering my voice. “Do we like him, like like him, like him?” I teased.

She swatted at my arm. “You wouldn’t understand. But that man is entirely beddable. Like, fifteen on a scale of one to Pedro Pascal beddable.”

After a moment of trying to act cool, I glanced again. Yes, he was objectively attractive. But bed him? Meh. But then again, I wasn’t into g…

Jesus.

I was, though. I was clearly into guys. Somehow, I’d made it thirty-two fucking years without knowing it, but for the past five months, I’d been pretty much only into guys.

Well, guy , singular.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture it with the new guy. Hot nurse holding the back of my head. Kissing me. Pressing me tightly against him with those biceps. Everything in me rejected the idea, not because he was a guy but because he wasn’t my guy .

My eyes flew open as I shook my head. Not my guy, of course. I didn’t have a guy. But a guy. A specific?—

“Your sister’s trying to get a hold of you,” Marcy said, interrupting my strange, bi-sexual confusion. “Said to give her a call on your next break.”

I faked a smile. “Did you tell her only lightweights need breaks?”

She grinned. “No, I told her I’d never heard that word before and wasn’t sure what it meant.”

I pulled out my phone and looked at my texts instead of asking Marcy which sister. Chances were, it wasn’t actually one of my sisters but my cousin Ella, who’d somehow convinced half my family to use her as their intermediary when they were worried about me.

Ella

Guess what? Trace has a job for you at SERA for the summer session!

And before you shake your head or roll your eyes, I also have inside info on a soon-to-be open position in the ER at Stanford. Call me.

I stared at the messages, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. SERA—Slingshot Emergency Rescue Academy in Legacy, Montana.

Even if my family hadn’t helped fund its establishment, and the owner, Trace Bishop, wasn’t a close family friend, I would’ve heard about it.

Everyone in wilderness medicine knew SERA.

It was the kind of place I’d dreamed about during residency, back when I’d thought I might specialize in emergency medicine with a focus on wilderness and disaster response.

Before Kari had suggested anesthesiology would be more stable.

Before I’d convinced myself that stability was what I wanted.

Before Hawaii had reminded me maybe I had no idea what I actually wanted anymore.

Before I could click to call Ella back, Marcy’s voice rang out again. “We’ve got a triple incoming—MVC on the BQE. Two pediatric, one ejected, one unconscious at the scene. ETA seven minutes!”

Six more hours passed in a blur of blood, adrenaline, and the controlled chaos that defined emergency medicine. By the time my shift ended, I was running on fumes and coffee, my hands shaking slightly from exhaustion and caffeine overload.

I finally managed to call Ella back when I began my walk home, dodging through pedestrian traffic as the summer heat brought out every smell in the city.

“Jesus, finally,” she said by way of greeting. “I was starting to think you’d disappeared.”

“Tell me about the SERA job,” I said, cutting straight to the point.

“Trace needs a medical director for the summer session. It’s eight weeks long, starts in a week?—”

“A week?” I nearly knocked into a woman as I stopped abruptly.

“Yup. It’s a last-minute opening since the previous guy left unexpectedly. Kismet, right? ”

The word brought back memories, and I shook my head slowly, though she couldn’t see me. “Ella, that’s impossible. I can’t just?—”

“Can’t what? Leave the job that’s slowly killing you? Escape the city that’s become a prison? Get the hell away from Kari’s family and their petty revenge schemes?”

When she put it like that…

“Tommy.” Her voice was gentle now, the teasing edge gone. “When’s the last time you were happy? Really, genuinely happy?”

The question hit me like a physical blow. I knew the answer immediately, though I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. Six months ago. On a beach in Hawaii, with Foster Blake’s hands in my hair and his mouth on mine.

“It’s complicated,” I said finally, resuming my walk home.

“It doesn’t have to be. Look, I’m not asking you to move out here permanently and give up your big career. I’m asking you to take a break that will help you fall in love with your work again… and spend the summer in Legacy near your very favorite cousin, while you’re at it.”

“I mean, it would be nice to see Alex again,” I teased.

“Asshole,” she said fondly. “Now say, ‘Thank you, Ella, that’s a brilliant idea,’ and maybe I’ll forgive you enough to tell you about the potential opening at Stanford.”

I stared up at the buildings around me, all glass and steel and artificial light.

Somewhere in the city, Kari was probably at another charity dinner, making connections and advancing her career.

Her mother was probably at her club, having drinks with influential doctors and administrators while discussing ways to make my life more difficult.

And here I was, standing in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, seriously considering throwing away everything I’d worked for to spend eight weeks in Montana teaching wilderness medicine to a bunch of adrenaline junkies.

It should have been an easy decision. My career was here, in a big city with the world’s best level one trauma centers, highly respected physicians, and the kind of recognition and upward mobility my high-achieving self demanded.

The smart decision was to stay, to weather the political storm, to keep building toward the kind of career that would make my parents proud and secure my financial future.

But smart decisions had led me to nearly marrying someone I didn’t love. Smart decisions had led me to a job that was slowly crushing my spirit.

Maybe it was time to make a decision with my heart instead of my head.

“Thank you, Ella, that’s a brilliant idea,” I repeated obediently. “And if you can help me figure out how to get out of here in only a week without screwing up my career…” I took a deep breath of the fetid air around me and let it out. “I’ll do it.”

By the time I hung up, my hands had stopped shaking, and something that felt dangerously like hope was unfurling in my chest.

Six hours later, I handed in my resignation.

And six days after that, I boarded a plane to Montana.