Page 8 of The Bad Brother

“ H EY, SLOANE—DR. RAGNAR WANTS TO see you.”

When I hear it, I feel my gut clench and my spine stiffen in response, even though I knew it was coming.

Sooner or later, I was going to have to answer for what happened and with Ragnar, you can always pretty much count on it being sooner.

“Okay.” I give the second-year resident who played messenger a brief head bob and a bland smile without looking up from the chart I’m staring at. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Making a final notation in the chart, I wait for the resident to walk away before I flip it closed and hand it back to the nurse waiting on my orders. “Everything looks good.” I give Rita—the most seasoned RN we have—a satisfied nod. “You can start her transfer paperwork,. Are her parents here?”

Her is a seventeen-year-old unaccompanied minor who was traveling from Dallas to Shreveport to spend a long weekend with her father when the bus crash shattered her femur in three places.

I had to put in steel rods to replace the bone and do a complete knee replacement.

She was a cheerleader and captain of her high school’s varsity volleyball team.

She’ll be lucky if she re-learns how to walk by next year’s graduation.

It’s been a week since the crash and now that she’s stable, I’ve made arrangements for her to be transported to our sister hospital in Dallas.

“Her mother’s here,” Ruth confirms while taking the chart. “She’s going to ride in the ambulance with her.”

“Perfect.” Backing away from the nurses’ station, I jam my hands into the pocket of my lab coat. “Let me know when the paperwork is ready—I’d like to be the one to deliver the good news.”

“Will do.” Ruth gives me a small nod. “Anything else?” “No, that’s it.

” Giving her the same bland smile I gave Ragnar’s messenger, I turn away from the nursing station to make my way to the elevator, catching more than a few stares and whispers along the way.

Everyone knows what happened and everyone is talking about it behind my back.

Unfortunately, that’s not all they’re talking about.

I heard her fiancé dumped her for the best friend.

One of the orderlies said she’s been sleeping in her car and showering here. No wonder she’s been pulling back-to-back shifts.

Her parents are so rich. I don’t know why she doesn’t just move back in with them.

The last one is easy.

Because I’ve been avoiding my mother ever since Amy and Ethan sent me that disgusting video and I can’t effectively do that if I show up on her doorstep with my suitcase in hand, begging for a bed to sleep in.

She knows. I’m sure she knows. By this time, everyone in Clearwater and Barrett knows that Ethan called off the wedding—and in true Celeste Barclay fashion, she’s decided that what happened is entirely my fault.

What did you expect, Sloane? A man can only take so much neglect before he starts to stray. If you spent as much time tending to his needs as you do at that ridiculous hospital, it never would’ve happened.

That was the gist of the last voicemail she left me. My cellphone’s voicemail is full of them. So full that she can’t leave me anymore.

Stepping off the elevator, I move down the hall of the administration floor, on my way to my mystery ass-chewing, reveling in the calm before the storm. Dr. Ragnar is our chief of staff and rules with an iron fist. She wouldn’t waste her time or mine, calling me into her office, for anything less.

Stopping in front of her closed door, I take a moment to get myself together before I knock. On the other side, I can hear the murmur of voices—female—the tone of one, in particular, sending my heart rocketing into my throat.

Oh god.

Can this week get any shittier?

Reaching into my coat pocket, I dig out a preemptive Atomic Warhead, unwrapping it and popping it into my mouth, before squaring my shoulders and knocking on the door in front of me.

“Come in.”

Stay calm, Sloane—you got this .

Grabbing the knob, I give it a turn, pushing the door open on a sight that nearly leads me to swallowing the sour candy in my mouth.

Dr. Ragnar, my mentor, boss, and omnipotent god of the trauma surgery department, is waiting for me.

With my mother.

“See?” My mother lifts a hand and jabs it at me as if my mere existence proves her point in some unknown argument. “Just look at what working here has done to her. She might as well?—”

“ Mother .” The word comes out harder than I intend and out of the corner of my eye, I see Dr. Ragnar’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline. “What are you doing here?”

My mother opens her mouth but before she can start in, Dr. Ragnar answers for her.

“Mrs. Barclay has been downstairs, in the hospital’s lobby, demanding to see you for the last forty-five minutes, while alluding to the fact that we’ve been holding you here against your will.

” Lifting a hand from her desk, she flips it at my mother. “She even called the Sheriff.”

I catch movement in the corner of my eye and turn to see Sheriff Montgomery at the back of the room, leaning against a row of filing cabinets with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance.

Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“No one is holding me here against my will,” I say it to him directly before I look at my mother again. “ I’m working .”

My mother sniffs at me like I just scolded her. “I’ve been calling you, practically nonstop, for almost a week now, and you haven’t answered?— ”

“Because I’m working.”

“—and your voicemail box is full?—”

“Because you’ve filled it with messages.”

“—so I got worried and decided to see for myself that you were okay.”

She didn’t get worried. She got mad because I wouldn’t answer my phone and allow her to belittle and blame me for what happened with Ethan, in real time. This isn’t a display of maternal concern. This is a full-blown tantrum thrown by a spoiled child.

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” I tell her, acutely aware that both my boss and Barrett County’s sheriff are listening and watching. “Like I said, I’ve been working.”

“You’ve been working since last Friday night. It’s Thursday .” she says like I might not know what day it is. “You ran out of your own?—”

“There was an accident—a horrible accident,” I remind her in a hard tone. “People died. Other people were dying who needed my help. I’m a surgeon, Mother. I can’t just decide that I don’t want to do my job because I’d rather stay at some party.”

And considering what was happening at that engagement party, I wish I’d left sooner. Matter of fact, I wish I’d seen Ethan for who he really is months ago and called off the wedding myself.

Or better yet—never let my mother set me up with him when I moved back to Clearwater, in the first place.

“Let’s be realistic, Sloane,” my mother says, her mouth set in a thin, mutinous line while she smooths her fingertips over the hem of her Chanel skirt. “I strongly doubt your presence here made that much of a difference. ”

Stiffening my neck so I don’t physically jerk back when she says it, I open my mouth, but like before, Dr. Ragnar speaks before I can get a word out.

“Actually, Dr. Merrick is one of the most talented and dedicated trauma surgeons I’ve ever had the privilege of working with,” she says, her tone calm and professional while she regards my mother with a frosty glare.

“Her contributions to this department and the community it serves have been immeasurable.”

Sniffing again, my mother turns away from Dr. Ragnar and completely ignores the praise she just gave me. “We need to talk,” she says, looking up at me from her perch on one of the office’s guest chairs. “About what happened and how to fix it.”

Fix it?

Ethan took a video of my best friend blowing him during our engagement party and sent it to me—and then he stole my fucking condo. I’m homeless because of him. There is no fixing it. Instead of saying all of that and embarrassing myself, I give my mother a nod like I agree with her.

“Okay, you’re right.” Rolling the candy in my mouth into the pocket of my cheek, I suck on it to revive some of its sour in hopes that it’ll keep me from screaming at her. “I’ll call you after my shift.”

“No, you won’t.” Somehow, she manages to look down on me, even though she’s sitting and I’m standing. “You’re just saying that to get me to leave.”

Even though she’s right, I shake my head, suddenly desperate to get her out of here before she says or does something that will get me into more trouble than I already am.

“I’ll call—I promise.” Shifting from one foot to the other, I give her a nod that I’m hoping reads more as earnest instead of impatient.

“We can meet at the club and have lunch.”

Like she’s sure I’m setting a trap, my mother narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You want to have lunch—at the club. With me?”

“No.” Knowing better than to lie, I answer her honestly. “I don’t want to have lunch at the club.” Ethan golfs there. Amy plays tennis. “But I will—for you.”

When I say it, my mother’s face softens as much as the Botox will allow before she stands, gathering her Berkin bag with a sigh. Settling its strap on her shoulder, she turns to look at me. “I just want what’s best for you, Sloane.”

“I know, Mom.” Tilting my cheek, I allow her to press hers against it, in one of her fake kisses. “I’ll call you.”

Some unknown signal must’ve passed between Dr. Ragnar and the sheriff because he pushes himself out of his lean and gives my mother a polite smile. “I’ll walk you to your car, Mrs. Barclay.”

Clearly not finished, my mother shakes her head. “But I’m?—”

“Dr. Merrick and I have some confidential hospital matters to discuss,” my boss says from behind her desk. “I’m sure you understand.”

From the look on her face, it’s obvious my mother doesn’t understand, almost as much as she doesn’t appreciate being dismissed. “If you don’t call, I’ll just have to?—”

“I’ll call,” I promise her, not wanting to hear the rest of her threat.

“Very well.” She gives me a final sniff while she adjusts her purse before letting Sheriff Montgomery lead her out of the office and toward the elevator. As soon as the door shuts behind them, I feel my shoulders sag.

“I’m so sorry,” I say in hopes of cleaning up the mess my mother’s made. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yes it will,” Dr. Ragnar tells me in that cool, professional tone of hers. “She’s been harassing hospital staff for the last four days and she’ll keep harassing them because you don’t have the balls to simply call her back.”

Her blunt assessment stiffens the back of my neck. “I’ve been working,” I stammer it out while shaking my head. “Only three of my patients have been stable enough to transport after surgery and?—”

“Is that why it’s only Thursday and you’ve already clocked eighty-eight hours?” Dr. Ragnar inclines her head with a faint smile. “Or is it because you’re essentially living in this hospital.”

Oh shit.

I roll the candy tucked into my cheek between my teeth and bite down hard enough to crack it in two, releasing a flood of citric acid that stings my nose and makes my eyes water. “Dr. Ragnar?—”

“Save it.” She says in a dismissive tone that tells me she gives zero shits about my personal life.

“Your personal life is of little consequence to me—unless it effects your performance and disrupts this hospital.” Her tone makes it obvious that my personal life is a disruption she will no longer tolerate.

“I think your sleeping in your car in the parking garage and having your mother call the sheriff on me while harassing my staff fits the bill—don’t you? ”

I nod, agreeing with her because denying it would make me a liar and possibly cost me my job. “Yes. ”

“You will call your mother,” she tells me, her tone hardening slightly. “If she pulls another stunt like this, I’ll be forced to reevaluate your position here—understood?”

I nod again, the tears stinging the corners of my lids having nothing to do with the citric acid still burning my sinuses. I cannot get fired, not on top of everything else. I just can’t. “Understood.”

When I say it, Dr. Ragnar’s expression softens slightly. “I take it the place you were living with your fiancé belongs to him and that he asked you to leave when he broke off the engagement?”

No—the condo was mine until Ethan stole it.

It’s obvious that my personal life has been the subject of so much gossip that even she’s heard about my current state of crisis.

I contacted a lawyer in Dallas and after reviewing my case, he told me there was nothing I could do, aside from possibly suing Ethan for the down payment I made on the condo but that even then, I’d probably end up spending more money on the lawsuit than any possible judgment I’d be awarded.

My advice—let him have it. Walk away and start over, Dr. Merrick.

Because that’s more personal life than she cares to hear, I simply nod. “Yes.”

Giving me a quiet sigh, Dr. Ragnar opens the top drawer of her desk and pulls out a pen and pad.

“Here,” she says, scribbling out a telephone number. “This is the number for my realtor.” Offering me the slip of paper, she jostles it impatiently when I don’t move fast enough for her liking. “Call her, as soon as we’re finished, and make an appointment. She’ll help you find something suitable.”

Taking the offered number, I give her a numb nod while slipping it into my coat pocket. “I’ll call her,” I promise. “And I’ll call Sheriff Montgomery to apologize for?—”

“Sheriff Montgomery was already here when your mother called. He has an arrest warrant for the truck driver from last week’s accident,” she tells me. “He tested positive for both Oxycodone and methamphetamine.”

What little sympathy I had for the man who caused Friday night’s bus crash dries up in an instant. “I see,” I say, careful to temper my tone with as much compassion as I can muster. I’ll admit there isn’t much.

Dr. Ragnar makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. “Give me your pager.”

“What?” My hand flies to my waistband to cover the pager I have clipped there. “Why?”

“Because I’m taking you off the surgical rotation.” She lifts her hand to make an impatient gimme gesture in my direction.

“I have patients.” I give her a panicked headshake. “I can’t just?—”

She arches an eyebrow at me and cocks her head. “Are you suggesting that I’m not capable of attending to your patients, Dr. Merrick?”

“What?” Still shaking my head, I force my fingers to move, wrapping them around the pager that’s been in my possession since I started working here. “No—” Jerking it loose, I hold it out to her. “I just?—”

Taking my pager, Dr. Ragnar opens one of her desk drawers and drops it inside. “You have four days to get your shit together. Dr. Merrick—I suggest you use them wisely.”