Early morning.
An empty roadside.
"How's your mental math?" Adam asked, glancing at a silent Brian. "It's not that hard, really. You just need to gauge the car's feedback, figure out those random variables, plug their current values into a mental model, and bam—you've got the result. Minimal slowdown, max speed through the turn."
"…" Brian gave a wry smile. "I think the normal way suits me better."
"Fair enough," Adam nodded. "Guess most people do hate math… Alright, we'll stick to the regular method then."
With a roar, the sports car shot off.
"Let's take it slow at first," Adam said with a grin. "Get a feel for it…"
"This is slow?!" Jesse yelped from the back.
"Heh," Adam couldn't help but laugh.
Sitting in the passenger seat, he instantly calculated the perfect cornering speed and drift angle in his head, guiding Brian to ease off just right, pull the handbrake, turn the wheel, and punch the gas. If Brian's moves were off, Adam's hands shot out to fix them on the spot.
With his bullet-time reflexes and brute strength, he could tweak Brian's drifts mid-action no problem. Still, even though Adam dialed down the speed on purpose, to a regular person like Jesse Paige, cornering like this felt like a one-way ticket to a rollover! 😱
"Whoa!" Under Adam's coaching, Brian nailed a slick high-speed tail drift. The car-obsessed adrenaline junkie let out an excited shout. "Again!"
"Your wish is my command!" Adam grinned. He couldn't wait to get this guy up to speed.
With a literal car god riding shotgun, Brian—who already had serious natural talent—improved at a crazy pace. Soon, he was pulling off flawless drifts without Adam even saying a word.
They practiced half the night. Then Adam headed back to the hospital.
For the next few days, every early morning, Adam was out there teaching Brian to drive. A new car god was rising amid the roar of the engine. 🚗💨
---
The Ward
Woot woot!
Clap clap!
As soon as Adam stepped in, the room was packed—streamers everywhere, people blowing paper horns and cheering like crazy. Total chaos!
"Everyone, settle down," George's dad called from the bed, beaming.
"Good morning, everyone!" George's mom smiled at Adam and the crew.
"Morning!" Adam grinned back. "George, you give the case report."
"Go George!" The O'Malley clan cheered.
"Harold O'Malley, 54," George started, pushing through the awkwardness under everyone's stares. "Post-aortic valve replacement. Morning chest X-ray and two days of vitals show no lung collapse. Tumor removal's scheduled for tomorrow at 9 a.m. That's it!"
"Yeah!" The O'Malleys erupted again.
"Hey, family, mind heading to the lounge for a bit and coming back later?" Adam asked.
"We'll do whatever Dr. Duncan says," George's mom nodded. "See you all in a bit!"
The O'Malley crowd shuffled out, and the ward went blissfully quiet.
"Mr. O'Malley, how're you feeling?" Adam asked with a smile.
"Great," George's mom jumped in. "Thanks to you, Dr. Duncan. He says he's never felt this good, so we called everyone over. We figure after today, it'll be a while before he feels this awesome again."
Adam just gave a polite smile.
"After surgery, when do we start chemo?" George's dad asked, concerned.
"That depends on what we see once we open you up," the short guy piped up under Adam's gaze. "We'll figure out the next steps then."
"What's that mean?" George's dad blinked.
"Tests and scans only tell us so much," the short guy explained. "We won't know the real deal—how far the cancer's spread—until we're inside. If it's too bad, we might not proceed with the surgery."
"What?!" George's dad gaped.
"If it's that severe, your tissues won't recover post-op. You'd end up with multiple organ failure," the short guy glanced at Adam before continuing. "In that case, it's better to stitch you up so you can spend time with family…"
"How long would I have without surgery?" George's dad pressed.
"A few weeks, maybe months," the short guy said straight.
"No!" George's dad shouted. "No matter what you see, I want that tumor out…"
"Dad!" George couldn't hold back.
"No way!" His dad shook his head. "The O'Malleys are fighters—I'm a fighter! I know I can make it. I will!"
"Mr. O'Malley, you sure about this?" Adam cut in. "If things look bad, the smartest medical call is to give you more time with your family. If you push for this, odds are you'll end up bedridden, on a ventilator, doped up and in pain. Then your family—especially George—would have to decide when to let you go.
Willpower can work miracles sometimes, sure. But more often, nature wins. You've got a day to talk it over with your family, especially George. If you insist, we'll respect your choice as the patient. But George might not see it that way.
He could blame us for not explaining it clearly, letting you—someone who doesn't know medicine—be blindly optimistic and rob them of your final moments. If he can't handle that and flips out… it'd get messy. Bad for him, bad for his future. So I really hope you all come to a solid decision together."
"…" George's chubby face turned beet red. He wanted to argue but had no clue how. Because, yeah, that sounded exactly like him! 😳
"I'll do that, Dr. Duncan," George's dad said. He'd been dead-set on cutting out the tumor no matter what, but seeing his son's flushed face—and remembering how George had been a nervous wreck before—softened him. He let out a sigh.
He got what Adam was saying. When they found out about the cancer, George had lost it. If he secretly used his patient rights to demand the tumor be removed—hiding it from George and making the docs keep quiet—his son might go off the rails when it all came out.
The world didn't revolve around George. The hospital wasn't his punching bag. Sure, people might cut him some slack if he lost his dad, but there's a limit. No one's putting up with endless tantrums.
The O'Malleys had tons of folks over the years, but only one doctor—George. And now he was training under a legend, with a bright future ahead. No way his dad would let a sneaky choice tank all that by pushing George to blow up.
Adam nodded to the family and left.
It wasn't overthinking. George's dad was hell-bent on removing the tumor no matter the odds. If he pulled the patient card and told Adam to keep it from George, the fallout would be a nightmare. Even with patient privacy, George's temper would probably explode.
Adam didn't want to get chewed out by his own team. If that happened, he'd have to cut George loose. But that'd leave a sour taste—George would've just lost his dad, after all.
Better to nip it in the bud. Lay out the likely drama upfront and squash any chance of George's rage turning him reckless. That was the play.
---
(Chapter End)