458-460

Chapter 458: Adam's Follower 

Medical Center 

“What’s up with her?” Adam asked, trailing Christina out of the locker room with a curious tilt of his head. 

“You mean Meredith?” Christina shook her head. “Dr. Shepherd dumped her, and this time it’s for good.” 

“No way, really?” Adam raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. 

“He didn’t sign the divorce papers,” Christina explained, her voice dripping with disdain. “He told Meredith that Dr. Montgomery’s his wife—so how could he possibly divorce her? What a shameless jerk! When he first met Meredith, why didn’t he just say that? Why not drop that bomb right when they had it out? Instead, he let Meredith swallow her pride and beg him to pick her, only to hit her with that casual line—like she’s the one wrecking his family and he’s some saint.” 

“How dare you!” Adam said with a smirk, his tone teasing. 

“Huh?” Christina shot him a puzzled look. 

“I mean, imagine if Dr. Shepherd had tacked on a ‘how dare you’ at the end,” Adam grinned playfully. “It’d be next-level dramatic.” 

“You know what?” Christina paused, mulling it over, then nodded. “Yeah, throwing that in would make it even more absurdly hilarious.” 

Emergency Room 

“…all that media brainwashing, cramming kids’ heads with garbage like ‘I love you, you love me, we’re one big happy family’—just filthy, laughable nonsense…” Adam caught the familiar rant as he stepped in. 

Glancing over, he spotted an African-American guy who could’ve been Earl from 2 Broke Girls—decked out in a hospital gown, spitting and raving in that signature rap cadence, saliva flying everywhere. 

If Joey, the actor who swore clear diction meant spraying spit, were here, he’d shout, “Pro move!” 

“What’s going on?” Adam asked, intrigued. 

“It’s—” A young nurse started, but a guy in a white coat cut her off. 

“Mr. Rack’s got uremia,” the guy said in one breath, holding up a coffee tray with a suck-up smile aimed at Adam. “Needs dialysis, but his mouth’s pissed off half the staff in New York hospitals. No one’ll take him, so he’s been hopping from place to place. Dr. Lewis felt sorry for him and let him in. Dr. Duncan, want a latte?” 

“Kiss-ass!” the nurse snapped, glaring at the interrupter. 

“And you are?” Adam asked, grinning at the eager guy. 

“John Carter, sir. Fourth-year at NYU School of Medicine, interning in the ER,” he replied, flashing his best polished smile. 

“Thanks, Carter.” Adam took the latte, gave a nod, then handed it to the nurse. 

“Thank you, Dr. Duncan!” Her face lit up like she’d won the lottery. 

Carter’s smile froze. 

“Carter,” Adam said, clapping him on the shoulder with a chuckle, “you’re a med intern, so here’s your first lesson from me, a resident intern: don’t ever piss off the nurses.” 

In hospitals, interns might be the lowest rung of real doctors—still earning a “Dr.” title—but med students like Carter, stuck as “Mr.” or “Ms.,” had zero clout with patients. Unless, of course, they were some rare prodigy. The pecking order was crystal clear: attendings mentored residents, residents guided interns, and interns babysat med students. Carter pegging Adam as his ticket up showed he had sharp instincts. 

“Thank you, Dr. Duncan!” Carter bounced back fast, grinning. “Please keep teaching me!” 

“Heh.” Adam gave a vague smile and headed toward Susan Lewis. 

“You’re not much to look at, but you’ve got big dreams,” the nurse snorted at Carter. “Wanna tag along with Dr. Duncan? Join the line.” 

“Line?” Carter froze mid-step, nerves kicking in. “Wait, are other med interns after Dr. Duncan too?” 

“I wasn’t even counting you med interns,” she shot back, puffing out her chest. “Plenty of actual interns are cozying up to Dr. Duncan, hoping to soak up some wisdom. Haven’t you seen his open lectures? The guy’s a genius—trades words with legends! Rumor has it he’s an attending hiding in intern scrubs. You, a measly med student fresh off the boat, think you can skip two levels and shadow an ‘attending’? Keep dreaming!” 

With that, she grabbed the latte Adam had passed her, sipping it like it was liquid gold, savoring every drop. 

Carter stood there, deflated. 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t overthink it,” the nurse said, tossing him a glance. “Start with the basics—don’t screw up the simple stuff. Dr. Duncan’s not here to babysit you through that. Ask the old-timer nurses; they’ve seen it all. Once you’re sharp enough to call them out, then you can dream about earning Dr. Duncan’s nod and shadowing him for the good stuff.” 

Interns and nurses had a weird dance. At first, nurses dubbed the newbies “Bambi,” poking fun at their fumbles. But if those rookies ditched the “I’m a med school grad” ego, nurses would throw them a bone, helping them grow. It was the humblest stretch for doctors and the happiest for nurses—when the divide was thinnest. Usually lasted two or three months. After that, the nurses’ wisdom was tapped out, and the shift hit. A nurse might nudge a Bambi about a patient, but the half-seasoned rookies—armed with med school theory—would spot the flaws. Doctors owned the diagnosis gig, not nurses who’d grinded out experience. So, the interns started pushing back, demanding their calls be followed. That’s when nurses clocked the golden days were done, muttering a flat, “Yes, doctor.” From then on, it was doctors versus nurses—no more laughs, no shared lunches. Unless they hooked up, of course—then who’s boss didn’t matter. 

Eh, whatever works! No shame in it! Interns had it rough, but med students like Carter? They’d better bow low and soak up everything—or the veteran nurses would school them hard. 

“Thanks,” Carter said earnestly, locking in a quiet vow to nail the basics fast and snag a spot by Adam’s side. 

Chapter 459: The Kid’s Got Potential 

Medical Center. Emergency Room 

“Dr. Lewis!” 

“Adam, you’re here!”  

Susan flashed Adam a warm smile.  

“Anything I can help with?”  

As he spoke, Adam casually picked up Mr. Lark’s chart. The name read: Gator Lark. 

Hmm, definitely not Earl, he thought.  

“What are you staring at?” Mr. Lark snapped, shooting Adam a sideways glare.  

Adam paused, caught off guard by the guy’s sharpness, then chuckled. “Do you know Earl?”  

“Do you know Dick?” Mr. Lark fired back, his tone dripping with defiance.  

“Dr. Lewis, I’ll check over there,” Adam said, brushing him off. He nodded at Susan and walked away.  

“Why’d you stop talking?” Mr. Lark shouted after him. “All us Black folks look the same to you, huh? Well, you white folks all look the same to us too! Bunch of—”  

“Enough,” Susan cut in, frowning. “Mr. Lark, quiet down.”  

“Go piss off!” Mr. Lark barked, lashing out at anyone within earshot.  

“For someone with no kidneys, that’s a pretty ironic thing to say,” a nearby nurse muttered with a smirk.  

“You got a thing for that pretty-boy doctor? Already defending him?” Mr. Lark turned his venom on the nurse.  

“Dr. Lewis, there’s a patient over there who needs you,” the nurse said, giving Susan a look that screamed get me out of this.  

“Mr. Lark, can you calm down?” Susan asked, her brow creasing.  

“What, I don’t even have the right to speak now?” Mr. Lark sneered, his voice mocking.  

“You do,” Susan replied firmly. “But this is a hospital. You’re disrupting our ability to treat patients. You’re in end-stage renal failure and blacklisted from multiple hospitals. We’ll help you, but only if you pipe down. Otherwise, security’s escorting you out.”  

“You’re all a bunch of—” Mr. Lark grumbled under his breath but finally shut up.  

He was a real piece of work, but even he wasn’t dumb enough to push it too far. Before landing here, a dozen hospitals had already turned him away. If it weren’t for Susan’s kindness, he’d be out of luck—especially after getting blacklisted for insulting medical staff. With end-stage renal failure, he could keel over any day without treatment.  

“Get him ready for dialysis. I’ll grab the portable machine,” Susan told the nurse before heading off.  

Nurses’ Station 

“Adam, you okay?” Susan asked, her voice laced with concern.  

“I’m fine,” Adam said with a grin. “I’ve dealt with guys like him before. But Dr. Lewis, here’s the thing: pitiful people usually dig their own graves. Don’t get too attached, or you’ll be the one who burns out.”  

He genuinely didn’t care. If a dog barks at you, do you bark back? No way was he letting this jerk tarnish his spotless record. That said, if Mr. Lark crossed the line, Adam had the cash and clout to make him regret it.  

Susan sighed. “But we’re doctors, Adam. We have to help everyone, even if they’re difficult.”  

She knew why Adam felt that way. Not long ago, she’d taken pity on a homeless guy. After treating him, she slipped him ten bucks for food. His grateful look had warmed her heart. But the next day, he showed up again, asking for a hundred dollars “for an emergency.” When she said no, he dropped it to fifty, then twenty.  

You can help in a pinch, but not with endless problems, she’d realized. The guy flipped out, cussing her out and nearly getting physical before security hauled him off. It was a mess. For someone as big-hearted as Susan, it hit hard. She’d been down for a while but still couldn’t shake her drive to help—even total jerks.  

“Dr. Duncan!” a nurse called from across the room.  

“What’s up?”  

Adam shot Susan a quick smile and jogged over to the paramedics rolling in.  

“42-year-old female, car lost control and hit a bridge. Conscious, oriented, vital signs stable,” the paramedic rattled off.  

Adam nodded, took over, and started checking the patient. Then his mouth twitched. Wait, is this a woman? Dressed in women’s clothes, makeup flawless—but Adam wasn’t buying it. He bit back a comment and focused. No internal injuries, just some scrapes. He glanced at the nurses’ station and had an idea.  

“Miss Carlton, hang tight,” he said, then strolled over.  

“What’s up, Carter?”  

“Dr. Duncan!” John Carter sprang up, waving a pig’s trotter like a trophy. “I’m practicing sutures on this pig’s foot! The texture’s so close to human skin—perfect for training. I’ve got six more in my fridge at home…”  

“Nice,” Adam said with a grin. “Pig’s feet are great for practice. Want to try the real thing?”  

“Absolutely!” John nodded like an eager puppy.  

“Over there, Miss Carlton needs stitches. You’re on,” Adam said, pointing. “You good?”  

“No problem!” John chirped.  

“If you hit a snag, have a nurse page me,” Adam said, clapping him on the shoulder.  

John strutted off, buzzing with energy.  

“Dr. Duncan, you think he’s ready?” a nurse asked, eyebrow raised.  

“Why not?” Adam shrugged with a smile. Ambitious, sharp, and practicing on pig’s feet—with six more stashed at home? Adam half-wondered if John secretly liked eating them too. That’s a lot of trotters to waste otherwise. If the kid wanted to tag along, Adam was happy to give him a shot. Maybe I’ll score some fancy braised pig’s feet out of it. Could be a fun perk of the job! 😋  

“Who are you?” the patient asked, frowning. “Where’s Dr. Duncan?”  

“Hi, I’m John Carter,” he said with a beaming smile. “Dr. Duncan’s tied up with other patients, so he asked me to handle your sutures. Miss Carlton, ready to get started?”  

The patient looked bummed, rolled onto their side, and said nothing. John took it as a green light and checked the wounds, prepping to stitch. Then he froze. Makeup’s great, but up close under a doctor’s eye? No hiding the truth. His face scrunched up. Some of the cuts were in awkward spots… but this was his first gig from Adam. No matter how tricky, he’d power through.  

Nurses’ Station 

“Pfft!” The nurses caught John’s weird suturing stance and realized the wounds were lower down. His awkward grimace sent them into giggles.  

Adam laughed too. “The kid’s got potential.” 😏  

Chapter 460: The Saintly Mother Also Has a Maidenly Aspect 

Medical Center 

Emergency Room 

Woo-woo-woo!  

The piercing wail of an ambulance siren cut through the air again. Adam bolted toward it. 

“Highway crash—two teenage guys, both wearing seatbelts, thrown from the car. This one had a sudden heart attack, unresponsive, vitals barely there,” the paramedic barked out fast. 

Adam jumped into action—CPR, the whole resuscitation drill. But the damage was brutal. Brain matter was spilling out, a sickening mess. After injecting atropine and pushing CPR for nearly ten minutes, he stopped. 

“Time of death, 7:33,” he said, glancing at the clock. 

Another car crash victim. Last time, Adam had battled for over an hour and pulled off a miracle. This time? Ten minutes, and he called it. Sure, the injuries were different, but there was more to it. The cop who came with them said this kid was a street racer—blew a red light on the highway and killed a 22-year-old girl. They got rushed here first, while the innocent victim, her neck snapped, was left at the scene. No shot at making it to the hospital. 

Adam was a doctor, not a judge. But for a reckless killer like this? He’d stick to the playbook—no heroics. 

“Need help!” Susan’s voice rang out from the next room. 

Adam shoved the door open. The second guy from the wreck was here now, thrashing in agony. 

“Ahh! It hurts so bad!” he screamed, flailing so hard Susan and a nurse couldn’t pin him down. 

“Adam, help me hold him!” Susan’s face lit up when she saw him. Adam’s strength was the stuff of legends around here. 

“On it.” Adam stepped up and pressed the guy down. Instantly, he went still, like he’d been hit with a freeze ray. 

“Nice!” Susan grinned , finally able to check him out. 

“Prep for peritoneal lavage,” she said. 

It’s a test for internal bleeding—slice a small hole in the belly, pump in saline, and if blood flows out, it’s surgery time. 

“No need,” Adam cut in after a quick look. “He’s bleeding internally. OR, now.” 

“You sure?” Susan blinked. 

“Dead sure.” Adam nodded. 

“Alright then.” Susan locked eyes with him and trusted his gut. She might be the ER resident, and Adam just her intern, but everyone knew who the real star was. 

“Call the OR—we’re on our way,” she ordered. 

Internal bleeding doesn’t mess around; every second counts. 

“OMG! Larry’s dead!” the guy on the gurney yelled as they rolled him past the room where his buddy lay lifeless. 

“Am I gonna die too?!” 

“We’ll do everything we can to save you,” Susan said, her voice steady and warm. 

The nurse got on the phone with the OR.  

“What? All booked? Can’t you squeeze us in? No? This is for Dr. Duncan! OR 5 can bump someone? Perfect, we’re heading to OR 5!”  

She hung up and dashed to catch Adam’s crew. “Dr. Duncan, OR 5!”  

Then she sprinted ahead, holding doors open like a pro. 

OR 5 

“They’re all slammed,” Susan said, scrubbing in after getting the go-ahead from the attending. 

“Looks like it’s up to us.” 

“No sweat—we’ve got this,” Adam said with a grin , scrubbing up next to her. 

“You take the lead,” Susan said with a little laugh. 

She was an ER resident—sure, she could handle surgery, but her deal was stabilizing patients and passing them off to the surgeons. She didn’t rack up OR hours like Bailey, the surgical resident. When it was crunch time and everyone else was tied up, she’d step in, but confidence? Not exactly overflowing. 

“You sure?” Adam raised an eyebrow. 

Doctors—especially residents—lived for surgeries. It’s how they sharpened their skills, their ticket to the big leagues. 

“I’m sure,” Susan said with a smile. “You’re the surgeon here, right?” 

Adam gave her a look. Classic Susan—Saint Susan—always putting the patient over her own growth. In her mind, with a sharper surgeon like Adam in the room, it only made sense for him to cut. If it were Christina? She’d dive in headfirst and only hand it over if she crashed and burned. That’s the God complex of a hardcore surgeon. Susan? No wonder she swapped surgery for the ER. 

“Alright,” Adam agreed. 

Everything was ready. Adam took his spot at the table, nodded to Susan across from him, and held out his hand. “Scalpel.”  

The scrub nurse slapped it into his palm. With calm, steady hands, he made the incision. 

“Everyone says you’re a theory genius, but I think you’re even better with a blade,” Susan said, watching his slick moves. 

“For now, theory’s still my thing,” Adam said, playing it humble. 

The surgery went smooth as butter. Afterward, Susan bolted—her cranky dialysis patient was waiting. 

Nurses’ Station 

Adam strolled up and heard the dialysis guy—let’s call him Mr. Rant—already going off. 

“Who told you to do that?!” he snapped. 

“I already lined up a doctor for you,” Susan said, her patience fraying. 

“Dr. Lewis pulled strings to get the clinic to take him back, and he’s being a total jerk.” 

“He even cussed out Dr. Duncan.” 

“What a creep.”  

The nurses weren’t holding back. 

“I’m not going!” Mr. Rant crumpled the appointment slip and chucked it at Susan’s face. 

“Mr. Rack,” Susan said, her voice tight. She took a deep breath. “If you don’t go, you’ll end up back here, and none of us want that.” 

“Shut up!” he barked. 

“Excuse me?” Susan’s jaw dropped. 

“Are you deaf?” He jabbed a finger at her. “I said shut up, you nauseating idiot!” 

Adam had seen enough. He waved a nurse over to call security. 

Susan walked back to the station, her face flashing shock, hurt, then anger. Her kindness had been trashed—again. 

“Don’t let him get to you,” Adam said quietly. 

Susan shook her head, her eyes catching a potted sunflower on the desk. A lightbulb went off. 

Security showed up, but Susan held up a hand to stop them. Instead, she slapped on a sugary smile and marched back to Mr. Rant. 

A few minutes later:  

“Good Lord, I’m not a baby,” Mr. Rant grumbled. “Can’t you just stick it in my mouth?”  

“Sorry, hospital rules. I’ll be back in ten,” Susan said, smirking as she yanked the curtains around his bed wide open. 

“Wait, what about my privacy?!” he yelped.  

There he was, pants down, bent over for a rectal temp check. The room barely held it together, stifling laughs. 

“What’s so funny? Never seen a temp taken before?” he growled.  

Everyone bit their lips, dying inside. And there, leaning toward the crowd, was that sunflower, beaming like it was in on the joke