Amber Mckenzie - After One Forbidden Night...

“That’s not saying much,” she replied, still having to work to keep her eyes open.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Kate asked tentatively.

She hadn’t thought about much in the last twenty-four hours, but what she had thought about, other than Tate and the loss of their baby, was what was she going to tell Kate?

Kate—her best friend, the person she had been closest with during the past decade. She couldn’t lie, but how much of the truth was too much? Especially when the explanation for how she had gotten to this day was unexplainable even to herself.

“I had an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured.” Nothing had prepared her for what she saw in Kate’s face. She wasn’t even sure she had been that surprised.

“I didn’t realize you were in a relationship,” was all Kate managed after minutes of silence.

Beyond the words she could see the hurt in her friend’s eyes. The thought that Chloe had been keeping something from her was painful for Kate.

“I’m not, Kate.” Truer words were never spoken.

“Oh.”

She knew that Kate was not going to ask her more, but felt she owed her friend more of an explanation. “I slept with someone a few weeks ago. It was a mistake. It didn’t work out.”

Kate didn’t respond immediately. She seemed to be processing the information until her look of surprise was replaced by one of understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” And she was. A lifetime spent thinking about the man you loved who’d got away would have been better than the crash-and-burn drama that had unfolded with Tate.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to help bust me out of here?” she asked faint-heartedly, realizing that she likely couldn’t even make it as far as the elevator right now.

“No, sorry. No chance of that happening. Try again.”

“I would love my own clothes and stuff to take a shower.”

“That I can do. So you’ll be wanting your make-up and finest lingerie, then?”

Kate winked at her and Chloe was grateful for the lightening of their conversation.

“Definitely. Goes great with these disposable mesh underwear I am ashamed to admit are surprisingly comfortable.”

“Is it hard being a patient?”

“Yes, but I haven’t figured out what is worse: feeling helpless or being a patient where I work.”

It was the truth. She was so used to doing , to being active, multi-tasking, and now she couldn’t perform the simplest of tasks for herself and was dependent on people she was used to impressing with her abilities. It was hard to be this vulnerable.

“It is a big change, but the first couple of days are the worst. By tomorrow you’ll be moving around a bit more and you will be home in a few days.”

“Not soon enough.” She waited for a while, trying to decide if she really wanted to know the answer to her next question. “Does everyone know?”

“No. The story around the emergency department and amongst some of the other services is that you had a hemorrhagic ovarian cyst. I think the residents in your program are planning on sending flowers. All your shifts have been covered for the next eight weeks so that you don’t have to work before the board exam.”

“Eight weeks seems like such a short and a long time all at once.”

“It’s not too long, Chloe. You need to focus on yourself for once. If you had a patient who had just gone through the same experience you would counsel her the exact same way.”

“I agree completely.”

A new voice came from behind the curtain before it was opened to reveal Ryan Callum.

“Hi,” Chloe greeted him, embarrassed again at her lack of knowledge about that night, but knowing Ryan had to have been there.

Kate rose and stared at Ryan, then at her. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be back later this afternoon with your stuff.” Kate gave her one final look and then left, pulling the curtain and the door shut behind her.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ryan responded, taking Kate’s now vacated chair.

“You’re not.”

“How are you feeling?”

She could see the clinician in him assessing her and did her best to reassure him.

“I’m okay, and Kate assures me that every day is going to be a little better.” She was counting on that in more ways than one. “Did you take care of me the other night?”

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay. I also wanted to make sure you knew that no one in the department other than me saw the results of your beta-HCG that night.”

She felt a flush of embarrassment pass through her, but also a sense of relief at what Ryan was telling her. No one else had seen the positive pregnancy test, which explained why they all believed she had had a ruptured cyst. Having managed to maintain her privacy was a small relief.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

“Don’t thank me. I don’t want anything standing between you and your future staff position here at Boston General—which, by the way, will be waiting for you whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you,” she said again, this time struggling to keep tears from her eyes.

“You’re worth it, Chloe. Please remember that.”

She could tell he was holding something back, which was far from normal. “Why do I feel like there is something you are not saying?”

“Because there is. But I don’t think this is the time or any of my business.”

“Since when did you hold back your praise or your criticism, Ryan?” she goaded him, not wanting anything to change in her life more than it already had.

“Tate Reed.”

Her heart stopped and she briefly looked around to ensure Tate, or anyone else for that matter, had not come into her room. What else did Ryan know? What else had happened that night?

“What about Tate?”

“I want you to be careful, Chloe.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” she responded, understanding that somehow Ryan knew about her involvement with Tate.

“Just be careful. I don’t know Tate well, but I know his type. And if the hospital administration was ever forced to choose between their prized vascular surgeon and you, you wouldn’t win.”

“Tate would never …” she started, and then stopped herself. She didn’t know what Tate would or wouldn’t do. “Thank you, Ryan—for everything.”

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