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“Shame.” Eric tapped a finger on the counter. “I wanted to nab Marcus for myself. I’d be eating that man’s banana bread for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Twenty-four seven .”

That finally had her lifting her gaze, a small smirk gracing her lips. “I can’t tell if you’re being weirdly sexual or talking about his actual baked goods.”

Eric grinned, pleased he finally had her attention. “I feel weirdly sexual about his baked goods; I can tell you that.”

“Stop trying to poach my husband,” she ordered with mock severity.

“I’ll stop trying to poach him when he stops looking so damn fine.”

She cocked a brow at him, pursing her lips. “I know what you’re doing.”

Eric straightened his spine, not at all chastised but aware his time was up. “Fine. Bay twelve, you said?”

“That’s the one. We’re thinking septic shock. Blood cultures were positive, and his pressures tanked the minute he walked through the door.”

“You already got the drips started?”

“Well, duh. He hasn’t coded yet, has he?”

“Intubated?” Technically, he should be in the patient’s chart or hounding the ER doctor for these details, but he knew Chloe would have the same answers. Woman ran a tight ship.

“No. But you’d know that if you just…you know, actually went in there yourself.”

Eric gave her a salute, just because. “You’re the best. You can keep your husband. For now.”

She gave him an ironic nod of thanks, already back to typing away.

“I’ll put in the transfer orders so you can get him to the ICU, free up a bed for the next one.”

“Oh, joy.”

He walked away from the desk, his mood just a touch brighter than it had been five minutes ago.

Chloe was one of the few people who actually liked Eric at this hospital, at least as far has he could tell.

Not just as a doctor but as a person. That was probably due to the fact that she’d already been married when he started there, and he’d thus never tried to hit on her with any real intention.

He knew better now , after a thoroughly painful education, than to sleep with the people he worked with. But when he’d just moved to Hyde Park?

Well…he’d been lonely, okay?

Eric had just finished assessing his new patient—surprisingly alert for the four different blood pressure medications going through his IV—when his phone went off again.

“Monroe.”

“Room ten’s family wants an update.” The voice on the other end—he recognized the caller as Carol, one of the ICU nurses, even though she didn’t give her name—was brusque.

Fatigue made Eric stupid. “You haven’t updated them already?”

“I have,” she answered fiercely, clearly irritated with the question. “They want to talk to the doctor . That’s you.”

Fuck, Eric hated this part. The very reason he preferred his night shift rotations, even if they fucked up his sleep schedule something mighty. Fewer family members, fewer uncomfortable updates, fewer tearful conversations about realistic expectations.

It was always fine, in the end. If he walked into a room wearing his white coat, everybody acted like he was God.

But that was…worse, somehow. It always made him feel like a fraud.

Like one day he was going to slip up and say what was always lurking underneath: I don’t care.

I don’t fucking care. I don’t want to talk to you; I don’t want to reassure you.

I just want to do my job well, and fingers crossed your family member doesn’t die. I know I should care more, but I don’t.

Or that one day, they’d just…see it. He wouldn’t even have to say anything at all.

They’d just see he wasn’t any good, not really.

Not on the inside. They’d ask for another doctor, someone like…

.King. A man who was golden without even trying—who was surly just as often as he was charming, but no one ever seemed to mind.

Eric was never surly with anyone. He covered up his failings with an open gregariousness he always hoped would keep people happy and off his case. He always had a smile or a joke ready. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes people just seemed to hate him anyway.

But the reckoning didn’t come today. Today the family members listened respectfully and thanked him profusely, one of them even grabbing his hand to shake it, grateful tears in their eyes.

He didn’t take a full, proper breath until he was back in the dictation room, going over patient charts alone. This part he liked okay. Running through the labs and vital signs, figuring out what was out of whack with his patients and why.

It wasn’t like he was a bad doctor. Not really. He knew that much.

He was just maybe a bad person.

When he got home, more exhausted than he had any right to be, tempted to sleep away his next three days off, there was another rose on his doorstep.

Eric looked over his shoulder, at the street behind him, just as he’d done the first time. At this point, he was beginning to think it was a prank.

But it didn’t really matter, did it?

He picked up the flower and took it in with him. He found a small, clear glass in the kitchen and filled it with water. He placed the rose inside. He put the whole thing on his bedside table.

Because he could pretend, just this once. Pretend there was someone out there, wanting to make him feel special. He could pretend he had a person out there, just for him.

What could be the harm in that?