Anatomy of Us
Автор
B. E. Harmel
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83,7K
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38
Chapter 1
ANNA
The elevator doors close with a soft click, and it’s the kind of sound that makes my stomach drop before my brain even knows why.
I watch the glowing numbers above the door as we start moving down. My reflection stares back at me in the shiny metal—pale, too still, like I’m waiting for something bad to happen.
Occupational exam.
The words feel heavy in my chest.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake it off, but the elevator suddenly feels smaller. The hum under my feet travels up my legs, settling in my bones. I flex my fingers, once, twice.
Breathe, Anna.
It’s just routine. Mandatory. Hospital rules.
That’s what they always say.
But my heart still beats faster.
The lights above flicker—just for a second—and my throat tightens. I look up, tracking the movement like it’s a warning.
Too bright.
Too white.
Too clean.
I pull in a slow breath through my nose, counting. One. Two. Three. The grounding exercise is automatic now, more muscle memory than thought.
You’re here. You’re safe. This is now.
The elevator keeps going, not caring that my palms are sweaty and my jaw aches from clenching.
I’ve done this before.
That’s the problem.
When the doors open on the main floor, I step out fast, like I need to get away before the walls close in. The hospital stretches out in front of me—shiny floors, quiet voices, that constant buzz of urgency that never really goes away.
Usually, this is where I feel steady. Capable. Like myself.
Today, my skin feels too thin.
I check my watch.
Still have time.
Enough time to do something normal.
Without thinking, I turn and head for the café across from the hospital. My feet know the way. Coffee first. Coffee always helps. Or at least it gives my hands something to do.
The smell of fresh coffee hits me as soon as I walk into the café. Warm air wraps around me, and for a second, I can breathe.
This is my last chance to relax before my shift starts, and I need it. My annual exam is in a few hours, and even though it’s supposed to be no big deal, I can’t shake the nerves.
I let out a slow breath. Just coffee, a few minutes of quiet, then back to the chaos.
The café is alive with soft voices, the hiss of the espresso machine, cups clinking. It’s normal. Familiar.
And then I feel it.
Someone watching me.
My skin tingles, like a warning.
I don’t look right away, I’ve learned not to. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It's sharp and electric, until I finally glance to my left. Turning my head, my breath catches.
He’s sitting by the window, one hand around his coffee, the other resting on his jaw. Dark hair. Blue eyes that don’t look away.
He’s watching me, not even trying to hide it. There’s something about the way he does it—confident, like he already knows I’ll look back.
I should look away. I don’t.
His lips twitch, almost a smile, and my heart stutters.
I meet his eyes for one second.
Then I turn away.
I don’t flirt with strangers.
I don’t invite trouble.
Not before a shift. Not ever.
I move up in line, forcing myself to breathe, but I can still feel his eyes on me.
“Next.”
I step forward. “Medium black coffee.”
The barista nods, tapping on the screen.
Behind me, I hear him move. He stops beside me, close enough that I catch his scent—clean, warm, a little bit dangerous.
“You order like someone who doesn’t need a menu,” he says.
I keep my eyes forward. “I don’t waste time pretending.”
He laughs, low and easy. “Fair enough. You come here often?”
“Often enough to know what I want,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
If he’s bothered, he doesn’t show it.
“I’m Adam McCarter,” he says, like he’s handing me something important.
I glance at him—quick, careful—and finally give him a piece of myself.
“Anna.”
His eyebrows lift, like that’s all he needs.
“Anna, you don’t seem like someone who enjoys small talk,” he says.
“I don’t,” I admit, not even trying to hide it.
He pauses, but it’s not awkward. It’s like he’s actually thinking about what I said.
“I like that,” he says, his smile turning softer. “Most people pretend.”
“Most people have time for pretending,” I say, and I mean it.
His smile lingers, slower now—curious, not cocky.
Suddenly, the espresso machine lets out a horrible screech. Steam bursts out, wild and angry. A barista screams, dropping to the floor, clutching her arm. Red is already spreading across her skin.
Something inside me clicks into place.
“Move,” I say, my voice sharper than I expect.
I push past the man next to me, barely noticing how solid he is as I drop to my knees in front of the barista.
“I need cold water. Now,” I say, my hands already moving. “Don’t touch the skin. Don’t peel anything.”
Someone hesitates.
I look up. “Now.”
That gets them moving.
The world shrinks down—just burned skin, shaky breaths.
And then—
The floor tilts under me.
My vision goes fuzzy at the edges. The lights overhead are too bright, too white. The sound of the espresso machine twists into something else—metal crunching, glass breaking, a scream stuck in my own throat—
No.
I force myself to breathe. Cold tile under my knees. A pulse under my fingers. Stay here. Stay now.
Hands steady. Voice calm.
“You’re okay,” I tell the barista, even though my stomach is flipping. “You’re going to be okay.”
Strong arms appear beside me, handing me napkins, ice, water—whatever I need.
When I finally look up, he’s crouched next to me. His blue eyes are darker now, filled with something new.
Respect.
Concern.
Suddenly, the café feels way too small.
Sirens wail, getting closer.
Paramedics rush in and take over, lifting the barista gently. My legs feel shaky as I stand, brushing my hands on my jeans.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod. “Yeah.”
It’s a lie. But it’s the one I always use.
There’s a pause between us—heavy, electric.
“I know this probably isn’t the moment,” he says, and for the first time, he sounds unsure. “But I’d regret not asking. You already gave me your name. Any chance you’d give me your number?”
I meet his eyes. “I don’t usually give my number to strangers.”
His mouth curves, just a little. “I don’t usually ask.”
I hesitate.
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me. Maybe it’s because I need a distraction before my shift. Maybe it’s just him—this easy confidence wrapped up in a body that should come with a warning label.
Against my better judgment, I pull out my phone and unlock it.
His smile grows, slow and satisfied.
He types, then hands my phone back. “I’ll behave,” he promises.
I snort. “Doubtful.”
“Probably,” he says, grinning.
I let out a breath I don’t know I was holding. My heart is still pounding as I grab my coffee and head out, my mind spinning with what the hell just happened.
Time to get back to reality.
By the time I reach the hospital, Samantha is waiting in the resident lounge, arms crossed, giving me that look.
“Why do you look like you just had an out-of-body experience?” she asks, instantly suspicious.
I drop into the chair across from her and shake my head. “I just gave my number to a guy I met in a coffee shop.”
Her eyes go wide. “You? Giving out your number? To a stranger? Why?”
I shrug, even though my heart is still racing. “I don’t know. It feels…different.”
Samantha leans in, eyes shining. “Different how?”
I press my lips together, thinking. “Like… I don’t know. Like he already knows I’ll say yes.”
Her eyebrows shoot up and she grins. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
I groan. “No. It’s nothing. Just a harmless exchange.”
Samantha hums, clearly not buying it. “Sure. And I’m Mother Teresa.”
I roll my eyes, but before I can say anything else, my pager goes off. Time to focus.
Except, as I stand up to start my shift, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
A new message.
Adam
Nice meeting you, Anna. Let’s talk soon. Hope your day is going well.
I bite my lip. Yeah. This is definitely not nothing.
I should be focusing on my shift.
I’m supposed to be focused on my shift.
Supposed to be.
But my phone buzzes again, and I can’t help it—I look.
Adam
So…coffee clearly wasn’t enough.
My heart does this weird little skip. I stare at the message, biting my lip, then type back.
Anna
Bold assumption.
The little typing dots pop up, disappear, then come back.
Adam
Then let me rephrase. I’d like to see you again—properly this time.
I actually forget to breathe for a second.
This is the part where I should probably shut it down.
But I don’t.
Anna
I don’t usually agree to dates with strangers.
Adam
Good. I don’t usually ask.
My cheeks are burning. I hesitate, then type:
Anna
One drink. After my shift.
Every time I get a second to breathe, my mind drifts back to the coffee shop. To him. The way he says my name, like it’s something he wants to taste. The way his eyes linger, like he’s memorizing me.
This is ridiculous. I barely know him.
But I can still feel the heat of his gaze, like it’s pressed into my skin.
“Earth to Anna,” Samantha sings, bumping my arm as we scrub in.
I blink, snapping back. “What?”
She grins, eyes flicking to my pocket. “Your phone just buzzed again.”
I hesitate, but she’s already leaning in, eyes wide. “Oh my god, is it him? Coffee shop guy?”
“Stop calling him that,” I mutter, but my stomach does this little flip as I sneak a look at my phone.
Adam
I’ll take it.
Suddenly my phone feels way too heavy.
This is officially dangerous.
I lock the screen before Samantha can grab it.
She just grins wider. “You’re already texting? Anna, this man has you in a chokehold.”
I roll my eyes, peeling off my gloves. “It’s one text.”
“One text,” she repeats, all smug. “You’re doomed.”
I shove my phone deep in my pocket and rescrub. “Can we focus? I actually have a job to do.”
Samantha winks. “Whatever you say, Dr. Wilson.”
Before I can answer, the hospital intercom crackles overhead.
“All interns and residents, please report to the main hall for an announcement.”
I glance at Samantha. “That’s weird.”
She shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”
By the time we get to the main hall, it’s already packed—interns, residents, nurses, attendings, all pressed against the walls. There’s this low buzz of curiosity, everyone whispering and guessing.
This never happens.
Then the crowd shifts, and Ursula Jones steps up to the little podium at the front.
She doesn’t even have to raise her voice. She’s just—commanding. Tall, silver hair in a perfect knot, eyes sharp enough to cut glass as she scans the room.
The noise dies instantly.
For a second, her gaze lands on me. There’s something warm there—just for a moment—then it’s gone.
“I know you’re all wondering why I called you here,” she says, her voice calm and steady. “Today, we’re welcoming a new addition to our surgical staff.”
I shift my weight, only half-interested. Probably just another attending.
“Someone who has trained at some of the most prestigious hospitals in Europe,” Ursula goes on. “A surgeon I trust to lead with excellence, discipline, and integrity—not because he is my nephew, but because he is excellent in everything he touches.”
My chest tightens. Not excitement—something else. Something sharp and uneasy.
Her nephew.
“I’d like you all to welcome our new general surgeon…”
She pauses, just long enough to make everyone hold their breath.
“…Dr. Adam McCarter.”
