Practicing Partners (Maiden’s Bay #2)

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

THE THROWING OF keys on the table jolted Bran Jackson awake. Such a grating sound, the metallic jingle. One that didn’t go well with the remnants of his hangover, despite having slept most of it off during the day.

“You’re still here.” The woman with long blonde hair smiled, hand on hip. Sarah was it? No, Samantha? The name would come to him as the fog lifted in his alertness.

He clicked his fingers. “Sharon.”

“Yes?” Sharon, the nurse who had been giving him the sexy glances weeks ago during his shifts, waited for his answer. In what must be her apartment.

That’s right. It was coming back. The bar last night. Followed by closing out the club. Then, her place.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long.” It’s not like he had work to attend to. Ever since the probation on his residency took effect, his days turned into nights and nights into days. “We had a great time last night, didn’t we?” He waited with bated breath. The last thing he needed was another coworker with a grudge against him.

She let out an exasperated sigh, as if he was such a difficult guy to deal with. If anything, he made relationships easy. No commitment, no complications. Two consensual adults having fun. Nothing serious. Unless she wanted more. Wanting more brought about the difficulties.

“Well, I just finished my shift. I could use something to eat.”

Bran flashed his knee-weakening smile. Oh, he knew it all too well how handsome he was. At least, that’s how the ladies made him feel. Maybe it was all about his confidence. Was that all a man needed?

He checked his phone for messages, of which there were none. At the moment, he only cared about hearing from Dr. Oliver Fredericks, the Head of Trauma Surgery at Seattle University Hospital. He hadn’t given Bran an update since the probation took effect.

What did get his heart racing was the time. A quarter past two.

He threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. He slipped on his jeans over his boxers. As he wrestled with his sweater and popped his head through the collar, Sharon furled her eyebrows in confusion.

“You in a rush to eat?”

The underlying skepticism didn’t escape Bran. “I’m so sorry. I’m supposed to be at my grandfather’s birthday party tonight.”

“Tonight? Then, you have some time.”

“It’s in Maiden’s Bay. A three hour drive. And I wanted to speak with him before the party.”

He rushed to the bathroom and threw water on his face. His clothes clung to the smell of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. What was worse, showing up like this or arriving too late to speak in private with his grandfather?

He fled the bathroom as quickly as he had entered it and stopped in front of Sharon. “I should be back in a day. Two, tops. Maybe do dinner then?”

“I guess—”

Bran kissed Sharon on the cheek and dashed out of the apartment.

That uneasiness in the pit of his stomach returned. He knew the feeling. The one that hit him when he spewed niceties to make people feel better. There was always that hint of sincere intention behind everything—that he intended to do the right thing. Intended to see her again. Intended to keep his word. That maybe this time would be different. His track record said otherwise. The follow-through was the problem. As in, it never occurred.

But right now, he had to focus on cleaning up.

It took Bran twenty minutes of running to reach his apartment, in a nicer part of town just north of downtown Seattle. He didn’t mind it made him sweaty amid the pre-autumn air. In fact, it helped burn off the hangover quicker than anything else.

He quickly showered, put on clean clothes—slacks, sweater, a look between dressed up and casual—and hurried to his car in the parking garage. The black Audi A6 was a recent purchase, a good deal on a barely-used car. It wasn’t the Porsche he had dreamed of owning since he was a kid, but that came with time, as did the career as a trauma surgeon. He still had half of his residency left, which may or may not happen with the recent events.

He shook off the thought and pulled out onto the street, maneuvering through downtown as little as possible. Luckily, he had missed the start of rush hour traffic—which really should’ve been called rush three-hour traffic with its ever-increasing time window—by the time he passed Tacoma. The rest of the drive was fairly easy going, hooking west then southwest to the area known as The Crescent Coast.

It really was a surprise more people didn’t head that direction. Urban sprawl was definitely a real phenomenon, but Maiden’s Bay didn’t have a “mother” city. It was on its own, albeit with the other Crescent Coast communities dotting a strip of the western shore of Washington.

Approaching from the north placed him on Pearl Avenue, one of the last of the spokes in the alphabetical streets converging on downtown. The difference was that Pearl also acted as the main north-south street in Maiden’s Bay.

He headed south toward Doc Bernie’s office. It was after five, but there was a chance he’d still be at his practice. Hopefully, Bran’s practice soon. It was the perfect solution to the ordeal he found himself in—a way to benefit Seattle University Hospital and end his probation. All he needed was Doc Bernie to sign it over.

As he drove by searching for the first open spot, he caught the darkness of the office. The hanging sign on the glass door was turned around to Closed. Despite having the hours listed on the door, the assistant Edith insisted on having the sign, as if Doc operated a hardware store or bistro. To her credit, Doc tended to work beyond the stated hours.

Not today, though. He’d have to intercept Doc Bernie at his house.

The name of his grandfather hadn’t struck him as unusual growing up. His grandfather was a doctor, and his name was Bernie. It wasn’t until fellow high schoolers laughed at him that he got the sense it was unusual for him and his brother to call their grandfather something other than a form of Grandpa.

Bran’s thoughts flashed to his younger brother, Nathaniel, and for a second he got excited. Nathaniel attended a community college, but it was only forty-five minutes away—short enough to make the trip for holidays and events, long enough to choose when to stay away. Bran hadn’t seen Nathaniel since residency began three years ago. Way too long. But he’d be there tonight.

His car eased up the mountainside, L Street not as steep as the latter alphabetic streets, but still a jaunt. Doc Bernie had lived in the same house since Bran could remember, a split ranch with a walkout basement on a quiet cross street in south Maiden’s Bay. He parked on the street in front of the deep brown house with cream shutters.

The screen door was closed, with the front door open behind it. Bran rang the doorbell.

“Doc Bernie? It’s Bran.” He peered through the screen, a glimpse of the kitchen visible down the hallway. “Hello?”

He contemplated going in but then heard the old man’s voice.

“Out back! Come around.”

Bran walked the sidewalk that led to stepping stones along the side of the house. They were arranged like a staircase to aid in going down the hill, but a few had cracked or shifted, making for a dangerous descent if not careful. The walkout basement led to a deck spanning the entire backside of the house, where he found Doc Bernie sipping on a drink.

“Hey, Bran! I expected you at the party but didn’t know you’d swing by here.” He outstretched his arms, and Bran accepted the brisk hug, hand slapping on his shoulder.

“You don’t walk those stones down to here, do you?” He pictured Doc Bernie tripping, or worse, hurting himself in a fall with no one around to help him.

“Those old things? Only for visitors. I come out here from inside.”

Bran winced beneath a smile. He made a mental note to have someone out here to replace them.

“So, what is it you want?” Doc Bernie’s lips curled into a sly smile.

“I haven’t been back here in three years. Can’t I want some quality time with my grandfather?”

“Oh, we’ll get in quality time soon enough.” He walked over to a tray on wheels, housing an ice bucket and a bottle of Scotch. “Drink?”

“Maybe a small one.”

Doc Bernie filled a glass with ice and poured two fingers worth. He handed it to Bran, the ice rattling in the glass with his shaky hand. Was Doc nervous about something? Bran hadn’t known his grandfather to ever get flustered.

Bran accepted the glass and clinked it with Doc’s.

“Discovered your dad’s out of town?”

Bran raised his eyebrows. “Actually, no, I came straight here. What do you mean he’s out of town? He’s not going to your birthday party?”

“Had some business to take care of in Florida.”

Bran had no idea what business a property manager from Maiden’s Bay would have in Florida that was pressing enough to miss his own father’s seventieth birthday party. But that was Dad.

“Speaking of business… I don’t think it’ll take long to get the hang of things.” Bran took a sip and let it trickle down his throat slowly. They both knew what he was here for. The birthday party was simply the catalyst. It was time to get the details sorted.

“Maybe not.” Doc pulled a chair next to his before sitting down.

Bran took the hint.

“You know, primary care, it’s a bit different than trauma surgery. I have to admit I was surprised to hear you’d trade one for the other, especially having already committed three years of residency to it.”

Bran took another sip, this time keeping it in his mouth a little too long, resulting in a loud gulp. “It’s a family business, one you’ve built over decades. I can understand how important it is for you to keep it in the family.”

“Let me be clear.” He set down his glass, angled in a cup holder too small for it. “I want the best person for the practice, and the town, to take it over. Don’t get me wrong, it’d be great if that person were you, and it indeed stayed in the family.”

Bran let out a chuckle. “Well, it’s not like you have people knocking on the door to buy it, right? I mean, I’m the one here, aren’t I?”

Doc Bernie picked up the glass. “Not the only one.”

Bran turned to his grandfather. He swore the man said something into his glass, something that didn’t make sense. “What was that?”

Doc Bernie cleared his throat. “I said, you’re not the only one here. For the practice.”

Bran leaned his elbow on the armrest, staring the old man down. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that someone is here, that I invited, to learn the ropes of the practice to possibly take it over.”

Bran shook his head. “Then, why am I here if you already have someone else?” He tried to keep his irritation in check. This was supposed to be an easy transaction. Sure, what Bran had planned for the practice would hurt the guy in the short-term, but he’d get over it. Just what was his grandfather up to?

“You’ll meet her at the party tonight. Nice girl. Comes from Houston—no, wait, Dallas. I always get those mixed up, even though I know they’re miles and miles apart.”

“What does she know about primary care? Is that what she did in Dallas?”

“No.”

“So, you invited someone with no experience, who is not in the family, to take over your practice?”

“She’s a pediatric oncologist. One of the youngest and brightest in the country.”

“If that was the case, what’s she doing here? Why leave that?”

“Why leave the salary and excitement of trauma surgery?”

Bran opened his mouth to form some version of because you’re family, but it was hard to feign the moral high ground with Scotch in his system. A tiny part of him wanted that to be the truth. He wanted to want the job for such a noble reason. But Doc didn’t wait for the hollow answer.

“That’s a question for you to ask her,” Doc said. “Either when you meet her tonight, or when you two work together over the next few weeks.”

“Work together? Few weeks?” Bran stood and walked to the edge of the deck, placing his glass on the rail. The sun hung low over the water, the days getting noticeably shorter but nowhere near the early darkness of winter.

“Couldn’t put all my eggs in one basket, Bran. With your history….”

Bran nodded. It wasn’t a secret he wasn’t the most reliable member of the Jackson family. Most of his family was surprised he graduated from med school, let alone spent three years in one specialization.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t tell her about you, either.”

He turned around, back to the picturesque sunset, elbows leaning on the railing. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or makes me feel sorry for her.”

Doc chuckled, and Bran gave in, too.

Bran sighed, making his way back to the chair, sitting on the edge.

“I need you—no, I want you—to try your best for this, Bran. I really would like to see you here in Maiden’s Bay, helping out this town. But I can promise you this. She’ll be trying her best. If you don’t try your best, and maybe even if you do, I can’t guarantee she won’t win in the end.”

Bran absorbed the news. Of course Doc Bernie wasn’t going to make it easy for him. He never made anything easy. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for, right?”

“You got it.”

Bran sat back in the chair with another sigh. “Then, let’s bring on the fight.”