She forced a breath. She had to get better at this. Communication and sensitivity. She knew she struggled with both. “Again, I’m sorry. I’m not good at... I lack a certain sensitivity. I really don’t mean to offend.”

His body relaxed a little and he hugged her closer. “I know. It’s okay.” He cleared his throat. “Is that why you wouldn’t go see that injured skier when he asked for you at the hospital?”

“Yes.” And she’d thought about that decision and how it must have looked to the other doctors, to Reed, a few times since, before pushing it away. It was in the past. She couldn’t change it. But she wished she could stop feeling a slight pang of regret about it. Unlike the emergency room, where she had plenty of other patients and a hectic schedule to use as excuses for not following up or being available, here she’d had no excuse. Except her own awkwardness and reluctance to see patients as people once they didn’t need her help anymore.

“I take it you prefer to distance yourself from patients?” No judgment in his voice, just a genuine curiosity.

She nodded. Inadvertently, she distanced herself from everyone. Her mother was the compassion and source of comfort in her home...after she died, Erika’s father retreated and she was left to either toughen up or be lost in sadness. “I need to in order to do my job effectively. If I’m emotionally invested in a patient, the surgery has an added element of pressure. If I don’t know anything about them, I can operate the same on everyone, without placing values on life.”

He nodded. “I understand. I think. But then every patient is just another medical file?”

Her spine stiffened. “It sounds cold when you put it that way...but I can’t say it isn’t true.” Cold as it was, she couldn’t deny that each patient became a series of numbers and tests. Their probability of survival was the only way she knew to determine the outcome of the procedure. It didn’t matter if one person had three kids and a mortgage to pay or if they were a single, middle-aged billionaire. Everyone got her best—in the operating room, at least. And that’s really what they needed from her. Friends and family could provide comfort and support. They couldn’t save them. That was her job.

When Reed was silent, she leaned on an elbow to look at him, expecting to see him look at her differently now. It would be hard for him to understand. He was full of compassion and empathy and she doubted he could as effectively remove emotions from his chosen career.

The respect and admiration in his eyes was a source of relief. “Things are just different—stressful and fast-paced in a different way in the hospital setting.”