Chapter 3: Behind the Curtain, Again

In the break room, I ran into a nurse getting water. I remembered something and called her, “Mariah, give me the athlete physical records for this morning. I’ll come by the nurse station.”

Mariah flashed me a smile, handed over the stack of forms. The hospital felt a little less overwhelming with her around.

The records are sorted alphabetically. I flipped to the last few pages and reminded myself not to snoop—only look up what I’d be responsible for today.

Soon I found Logan Carter’s name.

Born in 1996, a full six years younger than me.

I set down my coffee, eyes scanning Logan Carter’s record—24 years old, height 6’7”, weight 203 lbs, hometown Flagstaff, Arizona. With a wingspan like his, I guessed power forward—and then I stopped myself. Enough. Don’t dig farther than you need to.

Flagstaff, Arizona?

That city name hit me like a gust of mountain air. Suddenly, the office walls seemed to fade, replaced by memories. Four years ago—Flagstaff, AZ.

I paused, distant memories trickling back like sand through an hourglass.

That was one of my rare indulgences.

I’m not ice cold. I’ve been with men before.

In Flagstaff.

It’s just that no one ever mentioned it.

My thoughts snapped back. I closed the file and handed it to Mariah. “Thanks, it’s almost time—let’s get ready for work.” I also told myself that after this station I’d ask a colleague to handle any follow-up—personal history and professional duty do not mix.

Mariah squeezed my arm, whispered, “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

People came for physicals at different times. When I had downtime, I flipped through medical books in the EKG room. At that moment, the curtain was pulled open again. I closed the book, didn’t look at the patient, just said, “Lie down, give me your physical form. What’s your name?”

The person was silent for a long time, didn’t respond. I turned to look at him—and froze.

That night four years ago, even though the lights were dim, I still remember the face of the young man who brought me happiness. I never asked his name—it was just one night, no need to know more.

Now he’s shed his youth and become a man.

He looked straight at me, eyes uncertain, lips pressed together. I felt my heartbeat in my ears.

I cursed inwardly—this is bad.

But on the surface, my voice was steady. I suppressed my emotions and looked down at the form. The bold letters “Logan Carter” made my eyes ache.

“Logan Carter?”

“Yes.”

Same voice.

He said it quietly, but with that hint of recognition. I almost dropped the clipboard.

Judging by his look, he probably recognized me too.

Whatever, I don’t care. Such an awkward, dramatic scene—I’m not admitting anything. I spent two thousand two hundred on Amazon last night, I’m not wasting it.

I calmly lifted my chin. “Lie down.”

“Okay.”

He lifted his shirt. My mind buzzed. Yesterday, I checked so many fit athletes and felt nothing, but when Logan Carter lifted his shirt and showed his abs, I knew I couldn’t look at this body like a doctor looks at a patient.

His abs were even tighter and more defined than before.

A bead of sweat ran down my spine. This was not good for professional boundaries.

The electrode sticker at his lower rib kept lifting off his skin—he was too tense, a little sweaty—so I prepped the area with an alcohol swab and pressed the adhesive down again.

My brow twitched. After a moment, I said, “Can you relax? The sticker won’t adhere.”

He seemed to adjust his breathing. After a few seconds, his muscles softened and the device attached. Those few seconds made my head spin.

I blinked twice, trying to snap out of it. Time to be a doctor, not a lovesick idiot.

Logan Carter didn’t say anything else. I signed the form, handed it back, and told him he could go to the next station.

Logan Carter hesitated, then came back to ask, “Do you know Doctor Autumn Brooks?” He must’ve recognized my voice—or my too-neat signature on the form.

I was speechless, instinctively glanced at his form—my flamboyant signature. No way he’d recognize it.

I didn’t look at him, just said calmly, “Oh, she’s busy. If you need something, wait until she’s off work.”

“Thank you.”

Logan Carter left, closing the door behind him.