6:14 a.m. Absolutely freaking perfect. Since my car was towed to the wrecker’s yard after the crash, Zeth volunteered Michael to get me to work. The poor guy drove like a madman, but still…even early morning traffic heading into Seattle is a bitch, and now I’m late. Pre-Zeth Sloane would be losing her cool right now, but as I walk through the doors of St. Peter’s, the me that takes risks and does things that could possibly land a person in jail isn’t all that bothered. Fourteen minutes in the history of my career as a doctor. Fourteen minutes won’t kill anyone. The niggly Pippa voice tuts at the back of my head, airing out its disapproval—fourteen minutes could kill someone. If there was an accident and you were late to work, and there was no one available to treat— I cut off the pointless narrative as I rifle through my locker and pluck out clean scrubs. Hair tie to pull back my hair, hand sanitizer in the pocket, flats changed over to sneakers, and this doctor is ready for work.
