As soon as I stepped through the automatic doors of Shands Hospital, the temperature dropped and the scent of antiseptic hit like a wave. My breath caught a little as I tried to calm my nerves, but I adjusted my badge and tried to match the confident stride of Dr. Lindstrom ahead of me.

My Hokas squeaked against the polished floors as we turned into the pediatric wing. I'd been here once before, as a volunteer, but shadowing was different. No small talk or wiping down toys.

Dr. Lindstrom barely glanced back. "Keep up," she said, her voice brisk and authoritative.

We entered a room with a young boy curled up in the hospital bed, seven or maybe eight years old. His mother held his hand, her eyes immediately snapping up to look at Dr. Lindstrom. I stayed back, silent, near the monitor that blinked green, yellow, and blue. My job was to disappear, to listen.

Dr. Lindstrom leaned in, her voice now soft and gentle. "Hey, Benji. Feeling any better today?"

The boy slowly nodded. His mom didn't speak, but it was clear that she was waiting, for what I wasn't sure.

I took mental note of everything. The way Dr. Lindstrom's tone changes, how she stood at eye level instead of looming over him, how she asked questions that Benji could understand. She palpated his abdomen and checked his reflexes, all without breaking her kind smile.

We stepped out afterward, and I followed as she made quick notes on a tablet. "Appendicitis. Probably surgery later today. Did you notice how he flinched on the right side when I pressed in? McBurney's point."

I nodded. "Yes, I saw. It was subtle."

That earned me a quick glance from Dr. Lindstrom, maybe even an impressed eyebrow raise. It was too quick to judge. "Good eye. Don't just shadow the medicine, shadow the people. Half of being a doctor is what you do with your hands. The other half is knowing how not to make people afraid of them."

I counted my lucky stars that I'd gotten Dr. Lindstrom.

By lunch, I'd watched four exams, listened to a crash call over the intercom that made my pulse spike, and had made my peace with standing awkwardly in corners. My legs ached, my stomach grumbled, and I'd never felt surer that this is what I wanted.

All of it.

~*~

I fell into bed with a groan, my body aching after spending the entire day at Shands.

My phone buzzed next to me, a phone call from Bryce. Which was unusual, as he was due to be at practice.

"What's wrong?" I asked, answering my phone.

"Everything's fine," he said, his voice a bit deeper than usual. "Practice let out early."

Oh.

"I'm calling to ask for a big favor."

I should've known. "And what would that be?"

"Can you take Dawson to the dog park for me?"

Every day after practice, Bryce took Dawson down to the community dog park, letting him run off the day's energy.

"Of course I can," I said. "Is everything okay?"

"I've got this killer headache," he groaned. "I've had it all day, haven't been able to shake it."

I stood up, my body aching as I searched for a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt for the dog park. "Come on home. I'll take care of you."

"I'm headed home now. I love you."

"I love you too."

And then the line clicked dead.

I changed and slipped back on my Hokas, clipping the leash onto a very excited Dawson, who knew the daily routine by now.

As Dawson ran around the dog park, I wasn't able to shake the worry that had buried in the put of my stomach.

Bryce hardly ever got sick, and when he did, he wasn't one to complain. The fact that he even told me about his headache meant it must've been really bothering him.

I picked up my phone, shooting a quick text to Clayton to see if he'd noticed anything off about Bryce.

CLAYTON

Ask him yourself.

I should've known that'd be a dead end.

Brad and Amy were sprawled together on the couch when I got back, watching Big Brother.

"Girl, you missed the craziest drama," Amy said, without looking away. "Sydney is out here being hella messy."

Brad held out his hand toward Dawson, beckoning him closer for some head scratches. "You going to check in on Bryce?"

I nodded. "How'd he hold up during practice?"

"Fine. Didn't even say anything until we got home."

Figures.

I went back to the bedroom, where Bryce was stretched out across the bed, the lights dimmed. The TV was, of course, playing Hairspray.

"I said it was just a headache," Bryce said, offering up a smile as I crawled into the bed next to him. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in close. "Kiss me."

I wriggled my way out of his grip, brushing my fingers across his forehead.

He did feel a bit warm.

"Did you put some ice on your forehead?"

"Yes, Doctor Allen."

I rolled my eyes. "Any Advil or-"

"No," Bryce declined, before I could finish my sentence.

"Did you think about it?"

"No."

"If your headache gets worse?"

"No."

I straddled his abdomen, bending down and planting a kiss on his lips.

Bryce pressed his lips to my ear. "You look very sexy today. Tell me about Shands."

With Hairspray playing in the background, I recounted my day trailing Dr. Lindstrom, my voice picking up with each patient encounter.

"I love when you're passionate," Bryce said, with an easygoing smile. "You're perfect, you know that? You're going to kick ass as Dr. Allen."

I rested my head on his shoulder, the two of us falling into silence as Bryce's all-time favorite movie played out in front of us. As John Travolta sang about not being ready to leave her house, I turned to see Bryce asleep next to me.

I wasted no time in turning the lights off, as well as the movie, which could all be done from my position in the bed.

I couldn't name the last time Bryce fell asleep around me, and I was afraid to jostle the bed because I didn't want to accidentally wake him up.

I slowly inched my way toward the door, watching Bryce's face the entire time. But he didn't stir, and I managed to shimmy my way out of his bed and out to the living room.

"High-five dude," I whispered, bending down to Dawson's level.

The black lab just stared at me.

"Good try," I said, patting him on the head. "Do me a favor and let him sleep?"

Dawson hopped up on the couch, and I kissed the top of his head before settling in with a textbook and my iPad, as the sounds of Big Brother played behind me with Brad and Amy's commentary.

~*~

Hours passed. It felt like days.

My shoulders were sore from hunching over. My eyes were dry and strained, my glasses perched on the the of my nose.

And then there was a bottle of water in my hand.

I glanced up to see Kylie standing over me. "You haven't answered the group chat in hours."

"How did you even get in here?"

"Back door was open. Dawson didn't even bark. Is he supposed to be a guard dog?"

I glanced over to see Dawson sleeping on the floor, Brad sprawled out on the couch.

"You look like you've been hit by a truck," Kylie said, her eyes running over me.

That I had to laugh at, as I took the bottle of water, cracking it open to take a sip. "I feel like someone ran me over. And then backed up. Then ran me over again."

"Tough day?"

"Tough month."

She sat down at the counter next to me, swiveling in the barstool to face me. "Want to talk about it? Or do you need to talk about the latest MCU drop. Is it oversaturation or just the perfect amount of TV show drama?"

I closed my textbook, pressing the water bottle to my forehead. "I don't even know where to start."

"Try anyways."

I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "I love medicine. I do. But the more I learn, the more I feel like I don't know anything. Like I'm just ... falling behind."

Kylie stayed quiet, listening.

"I'm at the hospital for hours, trying to pretend like I know exactly what's going on at all times. Then I come home and have five chapters of neuroanatomy waiting for me, and flashcards, and quizzes. And somehow I'm supposed to be a functioning girlfriend, and a roommate, and a decent human being in between."

"You've always exceled at the top level," Kylie said. "But even for you, that's a lot."

"Bryce is in a funk, which I'm trying to also balance. Everyone always comes to me for something, which is totally fine, I love being the Mom friend. But I can't even remember to eat lunch most days and I'm crying over a C on a quiz. I'm drowning."

Kylie reached out, interlocking her fingers with mine. "Talk to us, babe. We're here."

"I just-" I paused, the lump in my throat growing as I tried to swallow it back. "I don't want to fail."

"You're not going to."

"But what if I do?"

"Then you'll figure it out. You always do." Kylie nudged my knee with her own. "You're allowed to be overwhelmed, Sophie. It doesn't mean you're not good enough. It means you're human."

My eyes burned, and I blinked back the tears. "Don't make me cry. I still have to finish my flashcards."

She grinned. "Then I better make you tea. And you're not allowed to study until you eat something that isn't cookie dough."

"Don't you dare slander cookie dough."

"It's not slander. It's survival," she said, hopping off the counter. "Now come on, Dr. Allen. Let's get you some carbs before you combust."

As the pasta boiled, Bryce appeared in the hallway, yawning as he wiped his eyes. "What time is it?"

"11:13 PM!" Kylie called out. "You just missed the chance to make a wish."

"How're you feeling?" I asked.

Dawson lifted his head, noticing Bryce, and immediately jumped to his feet, tail wagging.

"My head is pounding," he muttered.

"You haven't slept in my days, my love," I said, gesturing toward the empty seat next to me. "Come, sit. I'll rub your neck."

"Want some pasta?" Kylie asked, holding up the box of penne.

"No, I'm not hungry."

I didn't bother to mention that he hadn't eaten dinner, instead just working through the knots in his neck as he slumped over onto me.

"It'll be okay," I whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "I love you."

"And I, you."

~*~

I woke up to the sunlight streaming through the smallest crack of the blackout curtains.

And for once, Bryce was still asleep next to me. His arms pulled tightly around a pillow, his eyebrows furrowed even in his sleep.

I ran my fingers across his forehead before lightly kissing his temple. "I'd love to let you sleep, but class is calling your name."

He groaned, throwing his arm across his face like a Victorian widow.

"Dramatic much?" I teased.

"I live to entertain." His voice was thick with sleep as he cracked an eye open, immediately closing it again.

"How's your head?"

"Still there," he mumbled. "Unfortunately."

"Still hurting?"

"It's a bit too early to tell. But I can feel that nagging already starting."

"Any other symptoms?"

"Calm down, Dr. Allen. Just slight nausea, nothing some toast and Gatorade can't fix."

"Bryce."

He peeked one eye open. "Okay, fine. Maybe I feel a little off."

I studied him. His skin was clammy, his posture curled inward. "Bryce, you've had a headache for three days. You're nauseous. And yesterday you said your arm felt weird."

"It was just a tingly thing. Like pins and needles. Probably from falling asleep on it. Or swinging too hard at practice."

I frowned. "That's not nothing."

He groaned and pulled a pillow over his face. "Please don't Dr. Allen me right now. I swear I'm fine. Just tired."

"Then why haven't you been sleeping?"

"I don't know. My brain's annoying? My insomnia is kicking my ass?"

I tried to bite back the sigh rising in my chest. "You need to talk to your therapist. Or your doctor."

He slid the pillow down just far enough to look at me. "I already said I'd bring it up tomorrow."

"You said that yesterday."

"Okay, tomorrow tomorrow," he said, with a weak grin. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"No, but I'm incredibly trustworthy."

leaned down and kissed his forehead, then immediately pulled back. "You're warm."

"That's because you're hot," he muttered, closing his eyes again.

"You're deflecting."

"I'm flirting."

I rolled my eyes and pulled the blanket over him. "If you spike a fever or get dizzy, I'm taking you in."

"Deal."

"You're not just saying that to get me to stop talking?"

"Maybe a little."

I brushed his hair back gently, letting my fingers linger. He caught my wrist and held it there, his hand warm in mine.

"I really am okay," he whispered. "Just off my game lately."

"I know," I whispered back. "That's what worries me."

I love writing Dawson, he's one of my favorites. I never get to write dogs into my stories, but Bryce feels like he needs one. Dawson is the perfect match. How're we feeling after this chapter? Thoughts, vibes? Let me know!

Is anyone else anxiously awaiting Thunderbolts* to come to streaming? I just wanna rewatch my comfort characters do comfort character things.

Teaser: Bryce volunteers Sophie to help Clayton out, which neither one of them are too thrilled about.

This book will update again on Monday.