Deadly Betrayal On My Surgical Table

I was the golden girl of Manhattan General, a thoracic surgeon with hands insured for millions and a reputation that spanned the East Coast.

Then came the fall. Accidental exposure to HIV. A source that couldn't be traced. The board fired me to save face, and the whispers followed me homemy own family looking at me with thinly veiled disgust, convinced my "lifestyle" was to blame.

Through it all, Bennett Cole played the saint. My childhood sweetheart, the man who walked out of the light to stand by my side. We lived a life of polite, distant civility until the virus finally took me.

It wasn't until my soul was hovering over my own funeral that the truth shattered me.

I watched Kylie Winters, Bennetts tearful junior protg, collapse into his arms by my grave.

"Bennett, it's all my fault," she sobbed, clutching his lapels. "If I hadn't hidden that patient's HIV status... Jordan wouldn't be dead."

"I just wanted him to be saved," she wailed, playing the martyr. "If everyone knew he was positive, no one would have operated on him."

Bennett didnt push her away. He stroked her hair, his voice sickeningly tender. "You have too much heart, Kylie. Ive already atoned for you. You dont need to blame yourself anymore."

A jagged, white-hot pain tore through my consciousness.

I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was blinded by the harsh, sterile glare of hospital fluorescents, tears streaming down my face.

I wasn't dead. I was back.

I had returned to the day of the exposure. The day of the surgery.

"Dr. Calloway? Still napping?"

The voice was chirpy, grating. Kylie Winters walked toward me, a blue medical file in her hand.

Bennett and I were the power couple of Manhattan Generals surgical wing. Kylie was his shadowa junior resident hed brought in three months ago to assist with anesthesia in General Surgery.

Looking at her now, a wave of nausea rolled through me. The image of her face buried in Bennetts coat at my funeral was burned into my retinas.

I took the file she offered. My voice came out colder than the AC venting above us.

"This patient. Any hidden history? Did we run the full preoperative viral panel?"

Kylies eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. "Dr. Calloway, of course. We always screen. The report is right there in your hand. Why are you asking?"

I remembered this moment. I remembered the fake report sitting in my drawer in that other life. A hollow laugh bubbled in my throat.

"I seem to have misplaced that specific lab report," I lied, my gaze locking onto hers. "Have him tested again. Stat. Just in case."

The color drained from Kylies face. Her voice pitched up, trembling with defensive energy. "Dr. Calloway, are you serious? The OR is booked. Were close to the incision time. Running a new panel now will delay everything!"

My patience for incompetenceand treacheryhad evaporated.

"Its a routine cholecystectomy, Kylie. A gallbladder removal. A few hours won't kill him. Are you the attending surgeon, or am I? Why are you so nervous?"

In my past life, I had just come off an eight-hour marathon surgery. My herniated disc was screaming. I was exhausted, defenses down. I had powered through this surgery on autopilot. When the blood splattered into my eye, it was already too late. I had checked the report afterward, just to be safe, but it was a forgery.

It made me miss the window for PEPpost-exposure prophylaxis.

Now, Kylie stood frozen in the center of the office, vibrating with anxiety.

"Why are you still standing there?" I snapped. "Go. You said the surgery was urgent, didn't you? The sooner you get the blood draw, the sooner we cut."

Kylie dropped her head, big, performative tears splashing onto the linoleum.

Before I could dress her down, Bennett walked in, fresh from rounds.

"Whats going on? Kylie, why are you crying?"

His tone was sharp, his eyes landing on me with a familiar, weary judgment.

"Dr. Cole... Dr. Calloway wants to delay the surgery to run labs we already did," Kylie whimpered. "How am I supposed to explain this to the family?"

Bennett wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. The tenderness in his eyes was nauseating.

In my last life, I thought they were just close colleagues. I thought my unrequited love for Bennett was a tragic romance.

It was a farce.

I expected Bennett to defend her. Instead, he surprised me. He sided with the protocol.

"Its fine, Kylie. The surgery isn't life-threatening. If Jordan wants to be safe, let her be safe. Go tell the lab."

I was stunned. Did he not know? Was I the only one who remembered the future?

Less than an hour later, Bennett returned. He handed me a report.

I scanned it, and my blood ran cold.

Negative.

The report said the patient was clean. No HIV.

I gripped the paper until it crinkled. Impossible. My memory was vividthe diagnosis, the decline, the funeral. Was it a hallucination? A nightmare?

No. The pain in my lower back was too real. The hatred in my gut was too solid.

"Jordan, are you happy now? Can we operate?" Bennetts voice was laced with impatience. "The patient is waiting. Show some professional ethics. I know you get paranoid, but this is a job."

I looked up at him. I saw the annoyance in his brow, the slight curl of his lip. I took a deep breath, centering myself.

"Actually, my back is seizing up. My disc is flaring badly," I said, testing the waters. "Why don't you take this one, Bennett? You don't have a slot this afternoon, right, Mr. Vice-Chief?"

I threw his title at him like a dart.

We had grown up together, attended the same med school. I was the natural talent, the one our mentor, Dr. Keane, handpicked. Bennett was the luggagebrought along because Dr. Keane had a soft spot for me.

Everyone called us the "Golden Pair." I believed it.

When the hospital board was deciding on the Vice-Chief position, Bennett had looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes in the stairwell.

"Jordan," hed said, looking defeated. "I feel like Im always running behind you. Im just your shadow. If you take this promotion... Ill be the joke of the department again. Do you think Im useless, too?"

I had been a fool. I told him he was the hardest worker I knew. I stepped aside. I let him have the title.

Now, hearing me ask him to take the surgery, Bennetts face turned an ugly shade of gray.

"Jordan, are you joking? Youre handing your patient to me?"

His reaction confirmed it. He knew. He absolutely knew the patient was HIV positive.

Bennett was a competent surgeon. For a minor procedure like this, stepping in for a colleague was standard. He used to volunteer to take my shifts to look like a hero.

"I seem to recall you begging to take my cases before," I said coolly. "Was that just talk?"

"I... I..." He stammered, unable to form a coherent excuse.

Kylie jumped in, the loyal attack dog.

"Jordan, that is too much! Where are your ethics? Why should Dr. Cole clean up your mess? You can't just bully him because you grew up together!"

"If something goes wrong, what happens to Dr. Cole?" She was shouting now, unaware she was tipping her hand.

I raised an eyebrow. "Dr. Cole has done hundreds of cholecystectomies. What could possibly go wrong?"

Kylie realized her slip and pivoted. "If you don't scrub in right now, Im reporting you to the Chief and the family!"

Bennett stepped in front of her, shielding her. "Jordan, stop being unreasonable. The family is furious. The patient has been NPOfastingfor six hours, and youve wasted another hour on this wild goose chase. Do you want to destroy the hospitals reputation?"

A crowd of nurses and patients had gathered in the hallway. The spectacle was public now. I had to do the surgery. And honestly, I wasn't going to let anyone else touch it.

I couldn't legally refuse treatment. And if I didn't catch them in the act, how would I ever nail these two to the wall?

"Fine. Ill do it," I said, my voice cutting through the noise. "But on one condition. Kylie is my first assist."

"No!" Bennett barked immediately. Behind him, Kylie actually trembled.

"Why not?" I asked, feigning innocence. "You brought her into this department to learn from me, didn't you? Shes been a glorified anesthesia tech for months. Time to get her hands dirty."

Bennett had dumped her on me initially, claiming he was too busy to mentor her. It was a brilliant movehe looked generous, got free time, and I did the work.

"Shes not experienced enough. You..." Bennett started.

"Shes my assistant. My OR, my rules," I interrupted. "We all learned by doing. Unless her degree is just a piece of paper?" I hardened my gaze. "If she doesn't scrub in today, she doesn't scrub in ever. I won't sign off on her residency."

It was her final month. Without my signature, she was finished.

Kylies eyes hardened. She grit her teeth. "I'll do it."

"But..." Bennett tried again.

"No 'buts', Bennett. Don't worry about me," Kylie said, putting on a brave face. "Dr. Calloway is the star of the department, right? She says its a routine surgery. Im sure shes right."

Bennett looked at her, then at me. His eyes held a look I recognized but had never understood until this lifetime.

Insecurity. Deep, rotting insecurity.

I was Jordan Calloway. Prodigy. Success story. Insecurity was a language I didn't speak.

In the locker room, I suited up for war. Double gloves, face shield, protective eyewear, waterproof gown. Full barrier precautions.

When I walked out, I locked eyes with Kylie, who was also wrapped up like she was entering a biohazard zone.

"Why the hazmat suit, Kylie?" I asked. "Youre just assisting. Heavy gear will slow your reflexes."

Dani, my usual anesthesiologist and actual friend, frowned at Kylie. "Yeah, whats with the getup?"

Dani had insisted on being in the room, despite me trying to keep her out of the line of fire. She didn't trust Kylie.

I heard Kylie mutter under her breath as she adjusted her mask. "Who knows what kind of dirty diseases people have."

I almost laughed. The irony was rich. Not the time for your savior complex now, is it?

The surgery began. The tension was palpable. Every time Kylie handed me an instrument, she recoiled, standing as far back as physically possible.

"Who hired this girl?" a scrub nurse whispered. "Did she skip the sterile field training?"

"Bennetts pet project," another murmured. "I heard she barely graduated. Flunked half her classes."

I tuned them out. Without the verified blood test, only I knew the truth: the blood inside this man was a loaded gun. One slip, and I was dead. Again.

"Retractor," I ordered.

Nothing happened.

"Retractor! Wake up!"

Kylie jumped, realizing the whispers were about her. She grabbed the retractor with visible resentment and jammed it into the incision site. She pulled back hardtoo hard, too fast.

Blood spurted.

Several drops hit my face shield, right over my eyes.

I froze for a microsecond, staring at the red smear on the plastic. Thank God for the goggles.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Then, Dani screamed from the head of the table.