Second Chance With My Bossy Doctor

Second Chance With My Bossy Doctor Sophie Pearce Copyright © 2023 by Sophie Pearce In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. "To my mother and father who mean so much to me. Thank you for believing in me and letting me follow my dreams. I'm so grateful for all the time we had, and I will forever cherish both of you in my heart." Contents Chapter 1: Nicole Chapter 2: Lucas Chapter 3: Nicole Chapter 4: Lucas Chapter 5: Nicole Chapter 6: Lucas Chapter 7: Nicole Chapter 8: Lucas Chapter 9: Nicole Chapter 10: Lucas Chapter 11: Nicole Chapter 12: Lucas Chapter 13: Nicole Chapter 14: Lucas Chapter 15: Nicole Chapter 16: Lucas Chapter 17: Nicole Chapter 18: Nicole Chapter 19: Lucas Chapter 20: Nicole Chapter 21: Lucas Chapter 22: Nicole Chapter 23: Nicole Chapter 1 Nicole “Miss Nicole,” a little voice chirped up. “I can’t get the petals right.” I straightened, smiling over the top of a few children’s bald, covered, or close-shaven heads to the speaker. When I’d first started volunteering here at Rochester Children’s Hospital, I’d gently insisted that the kids didn’t need to address me like I was a teacher, and that just Nicole would do. But when I realized that some kids likely missed the opportunity to feel a bit of that school day normalcy again, I warmly obliged whatever they wanted to call me. “I’ll be right over, Jaime. Let me just finish helping Sam.” I looked back down to the little papercraft daisy in the boy’s hand and nodded approvingly. “You’re doing great.” A warm pat on his frail shoulder was made as I stood and walked over to Jaime, the smiling eight-year-old who had hailed me moments before. “Let me take a look,” I warmly uttered, leaning in to inspect the little mass of pink paper petals heaped in front of her. My pin-straight black hair slid over my shoulder in its ponytail, and I spared a quick moment to flick it back. “Which one are you trying to make?” “A tulip.” “And you said you can’t get the petals right? They look really good, though. Is it because they aren’t together?” “Mhm,” Jaime affirmed, restlessly fiddling with the dull children’s craft scissors on the table. “Well, that’s an easy fix. Pick up these two pieces, and I’ll do another pair just like it, and we’ll do it together.” “Okay, I got them,” she chimed, ready and eager to have her little paper flower come to life. It took a minute or two for the girl to wrap her head around the steps, but by the end, we had made half of a tulip together. Jaime grinned widely, showing off the partial flower to the boy next to her with an excited babble before looking back up at me. “Thank you, Miss Nicole. I’ve got it from here!” I warmly chuckled, smiling, so endeared by the little girl’s bright confidence. “Mhm, you’ve got it. It’s already looking so good.” Volunteer days were my favorite day of the week. The kids here could become so lively and happy in this space, enjoying the leisure of playtime away from the clinical atmosphere of their rooms, waiting for the next round of treatments. RCH specialized in cancer treatment, as opposed to the more general children’s hospital run by the University of Rochester over Brighton. Unfortunately, volunteering my time to help run activities and play games was the most I could do for them. But even this little was so much better than nothing. These moments of joy would mean everything to them as they went through their battle. Every day they had was priceless, and it was a privilege to get to spend even a fraction of it with them. And since I’d been volunteering here for the past two years, each one of them was so dear to me, and I cherished each and every memory we had all made together. Especially with the ones who weren’t here anymore, for good or for ill. Today, we were making spring flowers. Daisies, daffodils, and tulips would soon be decorating bed frames and bedsides, offering some seasonal color and reminding them that beyond these walls, it was springtime. After all, it was easy to feel trapped in the timeless perpetuity of a hospital space. That was true whether you were a patient or one of the medical staff. Not that I was part of the staff here. No, just a volunteer. Only a volunteer. I smiled as I started to help wrap up the activity, assisting kids in finishing flowers to a satisfactory point and sneaking in some cleanup where supplies weren’t needed anymore. Soon enough, I was helping kids get escorted out of the play area by nurses, watching them filter off down the hallway brandishing their handiwork and freshly elated from a little diversion. “Hey, Nicole,” a warm and familiar voice greeted me from behind. I turned, my smile growing, and watched Tyler approach me with a tote bag in his hand. He was smiling too, which suited his affable features and dark complexion very well. He was such a sweetheart; his eleven-year-old daughter Stella had been a patient here for two years now, right in line with my own arrival as a routine volunteer. We’d grown quite friendly over time, as Stella and I had a particularly close bond. It was, even more, a shame that she hadn’t been able to join the activity today, having felt a little too poorly after her latest round of treatments to do anything other than rest in bed. It was hard for parents to come very often, unfortunately. Because of the distance or