Brain Games

10. Fireworks

The muggy July air does nothing to help clear my lungs or my head as I lean against the slab of concrete providing as a railing on the hospital's rooftop, overlooking the city.

I watch as scarce fireworks burst across the skyline in the distance, fizzling into colorful little diamonds and extinguishing in the night air. I want to enjoy them, I really do, but all my mind can seem to grasp onto at the moment are negative thoughts. Like, how most of the fireworks going off right now, set off by civilians, are illegal in a place like New York due to the hazards they impose. But people don't care, they're all idiots, not caring or thinking of the consequences their actions can impose on themselves or others. And that's what lands them in the ED, leaving me to clean up their mess and even create problems of my own.

I hear the rooftop door squeak open and I don't bother to look to see who it is, knowing it has to be some other hospital employee taking a break or needing some air. So I let them be, not needing to stare. Until they make an intentional sound of clearing their throat.

I look over my shoulder to find Brad standing several feet behind me, looking at me expectantly. The look on my face must be lethal, because he raises both hands—each clutching a cup of coffee—in surrender.

"I know it's not much, and it doesn't fix what happened, but I brought a peace offering," he says, holding out one of the paper cups to me cautiously.

Unamused, I reject his offer by turning my gaze back to the skyline where the fireworks have momentarily stopped.

I hear him let out a disheartened sigh, slowly and cautiously approaching the edge of the roof to post up on the four and a half foot concrete wall, a few feet away. Out of my peripheral, I watch him set both cups on the ledge and plant his elbows, bowing his dark head and scrubbing his hands over his face. "Delilah," he says, my name muffled. He removes his hands from his face, his brown eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"That's because you don't have to," I say, my voice just above a whisper. "No one questions your authority, at least not like they do mine."

He tucks in his lips, nodding solemnly. "I guess I forget that sometimes, because I don't think that way. We took all the same classes, got the same degree. You've always been my biggest competition. Like Dr. Allen said, everyone here at Warner is more than qualified. They wouldn't have even offered us residency if we weren't."

Silence floats between us, except for the small pop of a lone firework in the distance.

"I know I'll never understand," he says, voice cutting through the silence. "But I've seen how the actions of people like Mr. Clark nearly destroy others." I watch his throat work on a swallow. "My mom... she would come home some days in tears over how some parents would treat her."

An image of Dr. Kalani Gallow—Brad nearly the spitting image of her—comes to mind, and to picture such an intelligent, beautiful woman showing any sign of weakness is almost hard for me to imagine.

I have to admit, after the Match Day ceremony I may have gone home and Googled both of his parents to find out that his mom is one of the best pediatricians on the east coast while his dad is a general surgeon. Both are very accomplished in their fields but Kalani seems to have exceptional reviews and a heap of awards for her work.

"So many men would question her, even some women, too, just because she's female. And it didn't help that her attending was a complete asshole, either," he continues, eyes turning dark in memory. "He would never stick up for her, only telling her to get out so he could take over the case himself. He never gave her a chance, didn't even teach her along the way, either. He basically shoved her to the side, like she was incompetent."