My heart is still pounding when I walk into the breakroom. Did Shane really mean those things that he said? Or was it really the effects of the anesthesia?

A feeling of warmth floods through my body as I pull out my cellphone and sit in a chair by myself. It certainly felt real.

My lips start tingling with thoughts of the kiss as I google his name for the millionth time. The breakroom is empty, so I’m free to watch his videos with the sound on. They’re much better with the sexy timbre of his deep voice mixed with the carnal sound of his motorcycle engine revving.

“How do you get into the mindset of being able to rocket your body off of a fifteen-foot tall ramp?” the reporter asks.

My breath quickens as the camera cuts to Shane’s gorgeous face. He’s wearing a black baseball cap with an energy drink logo on it and a black polo shirt. The sleeves are tightly gripping his round tattooed biceps in the exact position I want my hands to be in. Is it weird to be jealous of sleeves?

“I don’t think about it,” Shane says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “I don’t think about the consequences. You can’t think like that in motocross, or in life. If there’s a ramp in front of you, you gotta say fuck it and just run over that motherfucker, and trust in yourself that you’ll land safely on the other side.”

I pause the video and take a deep breath, staring at his frozen face. Maybe I should be more like Shane and not think of the consequences. I want to be with him. I want to be his girlfriend like he said, but I’m terrified of the consequences. I’ve crashed before, and I don’t want to go through that again.

I keep going back and forth. A part of me wants to stick to my rules. My rules are safe. My rules will keep me out of trouble and my heart intact. That’s why I set them in the first place.

But there’s a bigger part of me, a part of me that’s growing with every smirk, every sexy look, every forbidden touch, that wants to throw myself at that ramp and ignore the consequences.

Maybe watching some more will help me think.

I hit play and smile as I watch the rest of the video. The second it’s over, I hit another one, grinning as I see him flying around the track, his back tire kicking up dirt as he elbows another rider who tries to cut him off.

“Mr. Motorcycle has really got your engine revving, doesn’t he?” Shondra asks, making me jump up in my seat. I was too engrossed in the video that I didn’t hear her come in.

I quickly turn off the phone and guiltily shove it in my pocket as my cheeks get hot. She’s grinning at me as she walks over to the fridge and grabs a brown paper bag inside.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, feigning ignorance.

“Sure,” she says with a laugh. “I’m sure you don’t.”

I didn’t turn off the phone properly, and the sound of a dirt bike engine is blaring from my pocket. Shondra looks at me and we both burst out laughing.

“Fine,” I admit as I pull it back out and turn it off. “Maybe a little bit.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she says as she pulls out her sandwich. “It’s nice to see you opening yourself up to a patient for once. You’re a really good doctor, but you’ll never be great until you stop seeing everyone as patients and start seeing them as people.”

“What do you mean?” I answer, furrowing my brow as I listen. Shondra has been in this hospital for two decades and has seen a lot of doctors operate. She knows what makes a good one.

“The best doctors get to know their patients,” she says. “You’re not just a pill pusher. You’re a healer. There’s more to people than just the meat and bones of their body. They have thoughts and worries and fears and problems. Sometimes you can’t heal one without the other. Sometimes you have to go beyond the medicine and see the pain of the person inside that’s causing the pain on the outside. Love will always heal better than medicine.”

I take a deep breath as her words sink in. Maybe I have been too cold with my patients. I don’t want to be like Dr. Cialdini—seeing them as a product or as merchandise. But I don’t want to get hurt either.

“It’s hard, though,” I say, feeling the heaviness in my chest that I always feel when I think back to my time in New York. “It’s hard to see them as people when sometimes those people die.”

Shondra nods her head in understanding. “That’s always hard,” she says softly. “I’ve been here a long time, and seen a lot of good people go, and it never gets easier. But I always take comfort in knowing that my care helped them be a bit more comfortable and feel a bit more loved in their last days, and that’s what helps get me through.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. I have been too cold, too distant, and it’s my patients who are the ones that suffer because of it.

“Look at the care you’ve given Shane,” she says with a smile. “You’ve opened up to him and you’ve done things that you would never have done with another patient.”

I turn my head, looking at her curiously. “I haven’t done anything differently.”

She laughs. “Risking the wrath of Dr. Cialdini,” she says with her eyebrows raised. “You wouldn’t have fought so hard to get him into surgery if you weren’t so close.”

I’d like to think that I would have done that for any of my other patients, but I know that I would have probably followed the standard procedure.

“I think you’re right,” I say. “I don’t like it, but I think you’re right.”

Shondra laughs. “Try opening yourself up to some of your other patients. You might start to like it. Your job will be much more rewarding, I know that much for sure.”

I thank her for the talk and head out into the hall. I should stop punishing my current patients for the actions of my old ones. Not everyone will be as cruel as Gavin and his family. It’s time to put that incident behind me and hit each ramp in front of me without fear of the consequences.

“Hi, Walter,” I say as I step into my patient’s room. He jerks his head back, looking at me in shock since I called him by his first name instead of his usual Mr. Thatcher.

“Hello, Dr. Mendes,” he says in a stuttering voice. His skin has a yellowish-brown tint to it, and his hands are shaking more than they were before.

“Call me Madison,” I say as I sit on the side of his bed. I’ve tried every medical test that I can think of to diagnose this man, but I’ve come up blank on every one. It’s time to take Shondra’s advice and open up a little. It can’t hurt to try.

I take the picture frame off the table beside him and look at the picture of the beautiful girl inside. I’ve seen her around, but I’ve avoided talking to her about anything but updates on her father’s condition.

“Your daughter is getting married?” I ask, smiling at the photo.

He nods as his face breaks into a wide grin. “Bella,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “She’s getting married next Saturday. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding. We even have some family flying in from Scotland to attend.”

He won’t be able to attend unless I can get him out of this bed. His spleen is enlarged, and unless I can get it back down to its normal size, he’s going to have to have surgery to remove it. I still don’t know what’s causing it though.

Walter tells me all about the wedding and how much he loves the guy who Bella is marrying. I find out that Walter is divorced, and his daughter seems to be the real light in his life. He’s so sweet the way he talks about her. The reception is taking place in his backyard, and he tells me all about the huge archway that he’s building for them with the same special stain that was used on the arch that his parents were married under.

“The stain is fifty years old,” he says proudly. “I found it in my parents’ garage after they died.”

“And it still works?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “They made things to last back then. Bella is going to love it when she sees it… if I get out of here in time to finish it.”

The old me would have closed up and walked away, not wanting the added pressure and guilt in case he does miss the wedding.

Instead, I stay for him. I take his shaky hand in mine and stay a little longer, listening to all of the wedding plans for next weekend.

And it makes us both feel a little better.

* * *

Dr. Cialdini held up his end of the bargain when he operated on Shane, and now it’s my turn.

I gulp as the phone rings. I know my friend, and she’s not going to like this.

“Oh, my God,” she says when she answers. Anabelle has never once answered a phone call from me with a hello. “Why did I get into public relations when I hate people?”

“Because of the money?” I ask.

She laughs. “No amount of money is worth taking shit from rich spoiled babies.”

“You should marry rich,” I say, trying to warm her up to the idea of going on another date with a doctor.

“That would be nice,” she says. “But all of the rich people I know are rich spoiled babies. Haven’t you been listening?”

I sit down on the stack of folded sheets in my usual supply closet where I come to make phone calls.

“You need a responsible rich guy,” I say, cringing at how fabricated this sounds. “I know just the one.”

“Mm-hm,” she grunts. “No way. I’ve seen what you have to offer, and I’m going to pass.”

“Mitchell was a mistake,” I say, starting to panic.

“You got that right. He sent me two dozen Frangipanis.”

“Frangi-what now?”

“It’s a flower from Thailand. He flew over flowers all the way from Thailand,” she says.

“That’s romantic,” I say with a cringe.

“That’s psychotic. I’m done with any guys that you have.”

I close my eyes and just spit it out. “I got you a date.”

She laughs so hard that I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

“It’s with a well-renowned surgeon,” I say quickly. “He’s hot and rich.” I leave the part of him being a bit of an asshole out. “You wanted a George Clooney type doctor, and your friend Madison delivered.”

“George Clooney?” she mutters. I grin. I got her now!

“Oh, yeah,” I say, nodding even though she can’t see me. “Big time. He’s gorgeous.”

There’s silence on the other end.

“And he’s on TV,” I say, laying it on thicker. “He’s been on a bunch of magazine covers too. He’s a real catch.”

“Send me a picture of him, and I’ll think about it.”

Yes! She’ll definitely say yes once she sees how hot Dr. Cialdini is.

We say our goodbyes, and I’m about to send her a photo when the door swings open and Dr. Mitchell Clark’s stern face is staring down at me.

Damn.

“Is that Anabelle?” he asks, looking at my phone.

“No—”

“Anabelle!” he shouts. “Hi, Anabelle, it’s me! Mitchell!”

“It’s not Anabelle,” I say, showing him the homepage of my iPhone. “Geez.”

He frowns when he sees it. “My office,” he barks. “Now.”

I sigh as he turns and charges away, leaving the door to close in my face.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Clark?” I ask when I’m seated in his office a few minutes later.

“Mr. Winters,” he says, folding his hands on his desk as he glares at me. “You had him walking around, gallivanting around the hospital before he was ready, and as a result, a blood clot formed.”

“That is not what happened,” I say, narrowing my eyes on him. “And you know it.”

“What I know is that this hospital can’t afford another lawsuit,” he says, staring me down through his thick glasses. “And it appears like you are determined to give us one.”

I roll my eyes as I turn away from him. My mouth drops open when I see an open bottle of oxycodone on the table behind him next to his old cup of coffee.

“Are you taking those?” I ask, pointing to the bottle. It has another person’s name on it, and surprise, surprise, it’s prescribed by Dr. Mitchell Clark.

His eyes widen as he turns. “No, I’m most certainly not,” he says, snatching the bottle off the table and throwing it into a drawer in his desk.

“And might I remind you,” he says as he looks everywhere but at my eyes, “that accusing your superior of drug abuse is highly inappropriate.”

“Not as inappropriate as having an open bottle of opiates in your office,” I say, staring him down. He’s even more broken up about Anabelle than I thought. I didn’t think he was so hurt that he had to take oxycodone to dull the pain.

Last week, I would have doubled the dose to get him off my back, but Shondra’s words are still fresh in my mind, and I start to wonder if I can help him another way.

“Mitchell,” I say, softening my voice. “Are you okay?”

His eyes finally meet mine, and they’re heavy with pain and sadness. He just shakes his head as his lip quivers.

“What’s the matter,” I ask him, keeping my voice low and steady. “Is it Anabelle?”

He nods. “It was my only chance at love, and I blew it,” he says, starting to get choked up. “I’m going to spend the last half of my life like the first half: sad and alone.”

“Just because it didn’t work with Anabelle, doesn’t mean it’s over for you,” I say. “There’s a ton of women out there.” Not too many with a love of Alf and a fetish for comb-overs, but I don’t have to tell him that part.

“Women don’t like me,” he says, looking so heartbroken that he’s going to crumple in on himself. “I’m not even upset over Anabelle. I didn’t even know her. I just haven’t met anyone in so long, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever meet anyone again. I’m just so sick of being lonely all of the time.”

He drops his head and makes a sniveling noise that sounds like a dying yak.

“I have no one,” he says as tears start streaming down his cheeks. “I have no love in my life. Nobody to love and nobody to love me.”

I reach out and touch his hairy hand. He squeezes my hand back as he sobs.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him, offering what comfort I can give him. “But taking pills is just going to make it worse. Give them to me.”

I hold my open hand out and take a sigh of relief when he pulls the bottle out of his desk and puts it into my hand.

He starts to look a lot better as we talk through his feelings and worries. Sometimes a little warmth and care can do more to mend a broken heart than pills.

He’s not so mean and scary anymore after our talk. The poor guy is just lonely and is afraid of growing old without having anyone to share it with.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been so hard on you,” he says as he wipes his eyes. “You’re a good doctor, Madison. And a good friend. I was just hurting so much, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

“It’s okay,” I say, feeling better too. “Let’s just try to start over.”

He smiles at me. “I’d like that.”

I take a breath of relief when I finally leave the office and toss the oxycodone pills into the garbage. Dr. Clark will be off my back, and Anabelle will be happy to know that he’ll be off hers too.

A smile hits my lips when I think of something that will really make him feel better. Something that will give him some of the love he so desperately needs.

I just have to find my resident-in-training Ralph.