Chapter 75
I woke up with the crack of dawn, buzzing with excitement. Max had mentioned a surgery for me to observe, and I knew these chances were few and far between.
As usual, I grabbed a piece of toast, barely giving the milk in the fridge a second glance. It had been days; it was definitely past its prime.
Just as I was about to take the milk downstairs to the trash, I bumped into Max stepping out of his apartment. The last thing I wanted was for him to see the expired milk – especially since it was a gift from him. I feared it might seem disrespectful, risking a poor evaluation at work or during our practical exams.
But his sharp eyes caught sight of it anyway. “It’s gone bad. Get a new one,” he said, his words always sparing but his actions generous, handing me a fresh bottle.
The sight of the new milk bottle puzzled me even more. If he wasn’t part of the Hilton family, how did he always have a fresh supply?
“And did Claude give you this milk again?” I questioned, my curiosity piqued.
He coughed lightly. “Hmm,” was his delayed reply.
I put on a weak smile. He could lie without a flinch.
“Because Claude claims he doesn’t know a Max p>
Another cough escaped him. “Used a pseudonym for Mr. Hart’s business,” he confessed, hardly making eye contact.
Before I could delve deeper, the elevator arrived. He stepped in first, hitting the button for the basement, while I pressed for the ground floor.
He didn’t offer a ride, and I didn’t ask. Our relationship wasn’t there yet.
As I stepped out of the elevator, his parting words were, “Have a good breakfast p>
I waved the milk bottle at him, a silent acknowledgement, and headed for the bus stop, leaving the luxury of an elevator ride behind.
At the bus stop, I handed the new milk bottle to an elderly man begging nearby, then boarded the bus.
The milk, like my feelings about Claude and Kate, was just a nuisance, better off handed off to someone else.
I caught a glimpse of Max’s car driving past the bus. I hope he didn’t see me give away the milk.
Upon reaching the hospital, Max
was already geared up for surgery. I quickly scrubbed in, joining him in the operating room where he was ready, scalpel in hand.
He didn’t glance up, his voice cold, “Come and assist p>
The sympathetic looks from the nurses made me even more nervous; this was my first hands-on experience with such a surgery.
Thankfully had reviewed the
Ses and images Max ha
sent the night before. I had a rough understanding of the patient’s condition.
Four hours into the surgery, Max hadn’t moved at all. Now I understood why he insisted I have a hearty breakfast.
Feeling faint and sweating bullets, I realized the single piece of toast I had eaten just wasn’t going to cut it.
But with everyone so focused, I clenched my teeth and persevered.
“We’re just left with suturing. You can step out now,” Max finally said, his voice not loud but unmistakable.
I saw the pity in the nurses’ eyes. I must have been the first Max had ever asked to leave the OR.
“I can keep going,” I insisted, my
pride not allowing me to step down, but without even a glance, he took the suture from my hand, commanding, “Out p>
Reluctantly, I left, not straying far, leaning against the wall outside the OR, waiting for Max and the others to finish.
Throughout my time as his assistant, I hadn’t made any noticeable mistakes. Why had Max asked me to leave?