ays and loud conversations, but at their small table in

uld reduce the risk of paravalvular leak," Dr. Conley Lynn explained, his voi

r the first time in weeks, she felt like

ne smile touching her lips. "The flui

of orange juice toward her. "You look

ing a grateful sip. The sweetne

he said carefully. "That the cardiothoracic service is... demanding. Have yo

m on a dedicated training track. Sign

oint research fellowship, for instance. It would get

it made her throat tighten. Som

open with enough force to

air out of the room. His eyes, cold and sharp as shards of

ession. He saw the glass of juice Conley had pushed to

harp, angry sounds on the linoleum floor. The noise

able, looming over th

s voice dangerously low.

atch. "I still have te

e aortic dissection in the ER. If you have time to sit around

aortic dissection was a career

ation. "Barrett, this is my fault. I was p

on Conley. "Stay in your lane,

ghtened, but he

quickly gathered her notes. "I'm on my way, sir," she

earch papers in her hand, Conley's name print

practically jog to keep up with his long, angry strides.

him," she finally said, her voic

her. He backed her up against the cool plast

m hers. "Or opportunistic? What's his a

ugh, a short, sharp, angry sound. "You thin

e growled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that she

face. It was the ugliest, most p

hrough her. She raised her hand t

nd her pulse point. He held her there, his chest rising and falli

as a living thing, a high-

la

rse was standing in the doorway of her

mom! She

Barrett's grasp, the confrontation forgotten, the anger di

stunned second. Then, his own face

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