A New Beginning [POV: Nate]
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon greeted me as I stepped into the dining room. The morning light streamed through the blinds, casting golden lines across the polished wooden table, where a neatly plated breakfast sat waiting. My eyes landed on the small folded note propped against the coffee mug, the handwriting familiar, loopy, rushed.
“Too tired from the club last night, but I prepared you breakfast. –H.”
I exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck.
Hannah.
She was still asleep in our bedroom, curled up in a mess of sheets, exhausted from another long shift at the club. We had an understanding—she could keep dancing, keep performing, but there were boundaries. No private rooms. No going beyond the performance. No sleeping with other men.
At least, that’s what I let myself believe.
I settled into the chair, running a hand through my hair before picking up the fork. The eggs were slightly overcooked, the toast a little too crisp, but I ate it anyway. Not because I was starving, but because of what it meant.
Hannah didn’t cook.
This was her version of trying.
And hell, maybe I was trying too.
After finishing breakfast, I rinsed my plate, grabbed my coat, and checked my watch. First day at the new hospital. A fresh start. That was the goal.
I stopped by the bedroom, watching her for a second—the slow rise and fall of her breath, the faint smudge of last night’s makeup still clinging to her lashes. I leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
I took that as my cue to leave.
***
The new hospital was impressive—tall glass windows, sleek marble floors, and an atmosphere that hummed with efficiency. It was a different beast compared to my last workplace.
I navigated my way through the main corridors, dodging clusters of residents in scrubs, nurses moving with precision, and attendings engaged in hushed conversations about patient cases.
Then, I saw her.
A woman stood near the nurses’ station, her arms crossed, clipboard tucked beneath her elbow. She was petite, but her presence filled the space effortlessly. There was a sharpness in the way she held herself—shoulders squared, chin lifted, eyes scanning the floor like a commander surveying her troops.
She wasn’t just waiting.
She was assessing.
Me, specifically.
I approached, keeping my expression neutral, professional.
She turned her gaze on me, one brow arching slightly.
“Dr. Nate Wood, I presume?”
“That’s me.” I extended a hand.
She didn’t hesitate, but her grip was firm, practiced. Not just a greeting—an unspoken test.
“Dr. Erica Sloan,” she introduced herself, her voice clipped, precise. “And you are my replacement.”
There was something about the way she said replacement
“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Sloan,” I replied smoothly.
“Likewise,” she said, already turning on her heel. “Follow me. We have a lot to cover.”
I fell into step beside her as she dove straight into the briefing—expectations, department protocols, a breakdown of surgical cases, and the inner politics that ran the place. She didn’t waste words. Everything was factual, concise, like she had a timeline in her head and she refused to deviate from it.
“You have one month to transition into the role,” she continued. “After that, I’m gone.”
“And where are you going?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything.
For the first time, she hesitated. It was brief, but I caught it—the slight shift in her posture, the flicker of something almost unguarded in her eyes.
“I fell in love,” she said, her tone softer but resolute. “And I’m moving across the globe to marry my fiancé.”
That made me pause.
I let out a short chuckle, shaking my head.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You think that’s ridiculous?”
“No,” I answered honestly, meeting her gaze. “I find it inspiring. Very rare to find something like that these days.”
She studied me for a beat, like she was trying to decide whether or not to believe me. Then, the faintest smile tugged at the corner of her lips, barely there before it disappeared.
“Well,” she said, “I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.”
We reached the surgical board, where the day’s cases were listed. Before we could dive into the details, she turned back to me, her head tilting slightly.
“What about you?” she asked, tone casual, but there was something calculated in the way she phrased it. “Is the rumor true that you’re dating a stripper?”
I froze.
It was subtle, but she caught it.
I blinked, my mind scrambling. I had barely been here a day. How the hell did they already know?
Erica studied my reaction, then waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it. Just hospital gossip. You’ll learn fast that this place is a beehive for rumors.”
I exhaled through my nose, forcing a half-smile.
“Good to know.”
She gave me a knowing look before tapping the clipboard against her palm.
“Alright, let’s get to work. Surgical board’s waiting.”
