She looked up at me, her expression reminiscent with the memory of her accident. Thoughtful, but not tortured. “My big brother, Patrick—he’s a doctor, and I was already considering medicine for myself because of him, but all the surgery and time in the hospital convinced me. I had a surgeon who used to run through all my x-ray images with me and explain everything in detail, and even though it was scary because it was me, I couldn’t stop looking and asking questions. I just knew.”
She straightened her leg out, turning the petite limb this way and that as the scars flashed in the dim light of my bedside lamp. “I had to miss the rest of my freshman year of college for surgery and recovery and everything, so that’s why I’m twenty-three and still an undergrad. But I’m finishing up after next semester, and then—"
I leaned over and kissed her knee, right on top of a rippled little scar. “And then it’s paging Dr. Walsh,” I said playfully. “I like it. And that explains a lot of why you study so much.” I glanced over at my bedside clock. Still fairly early, but I remembered her earlier drowsiness, the way she drooped over her laptop and study materials. “Do you ever worry about burning out?”
Josie frowned as she settled back into the pillows and pulled the sheet up over her breasts, a few inches of space between us as she shifted to her side to face me. “You mean from the workload?”
I chose my next words carefully. “Maybe. I’ve never been a medical student or a doctor, so I don’t know how it really goes, but I found you asleep at my table after—what, five hours of studying? And however many hours yesterday? And working, too. Is that really sustainable?”
“It’s just for now,” she said quietly. “Things will get easier after the MCAT.” She trailed off, and I wondered if that was a well-worn phrase for her, something she said every time anyone expressed concern. And as if in answer to my question, she added, “Patrick says the same thing, though. That I need to pace myself.”
“And do you agree?”
Josie bit her lip. “I’m burning the candle at both ends right now,” she said carefully. “He’s right about that. But the MCAT is—it’s do or die for me, honestly. I need to get a good score on this test or else…” She trailed off.
“Or else what?” I asked. I reached out and took her hand in mind, twining our fingers together. “What would happen if you didn’t do very well on the MCAT and didn’t get into medical school? Or maybe totally biffed a chemistry final or something. Or—I don’t know, got to medical school and hated it?” She shot me a look, and I just brought our joined hands to my lips to kiss her dainty fingers. “As a hypothetical, what’s your plan B if being a doctor doesn’t work out for some reason?”
I felt Josie’s fingers stiffen and flex in mine and saw her nostrils flare slightly, but I just ran my thumb along her knuckles. “Like I said, it’s just a what-if. I believe in you, Josie, I really do. But I also think it’s always good to have something else in your back pocket.”
She huffed another breath. I could tell that she disliked the question. “There’s nothing else. I’m going to be a doctor.” Her lips thinned. It was more than just an uncomfortable question, I realized—the idea that nothing, including her big plan, was a sure thing—it rattled her, and I wondered how often her own family looked, really looked, past the brains and the grades, to the vulnerable person underneath.
I pulled her in close, rubbing a hand along her back until her tense muscles relaxed and she snuggled against me, nose pressed against my chest as her fingertip traced the whorl of one of my larger tattoos.
“It’s just a dipshit question,” I said softly into her wild hair. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I really do think you’ll become a doctor, for the record.”
“I know,” she said, and pressed her warm cheek to my chest. “Being smart and good at tests and school and studying—it’s my thing, you know? I practically want to barf every time I get less than a solid A.”
I reached over to my nightstand and switched off the lamp before I turned back to Josie to curl my big body around her much smaller one and pull the comforter over both of us. She sighed as she settled into me, warm and safe in the shelter of my arms.
“You’re going to walk all over the MCAT,” I told her. “But just so you know, I like you no matter what your grade point average or MCAT score is. Really like you. And if medical school doesn’t work out, you can come work with me and be my sexy assistant.”
In the silvery moonlight that streamed through my tall windows, I saw her smile flash in the darkness.
“You wish,” she whispered.