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501-505
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 17:07:59 +0000 UTCChapter 501: Stepping into Mastery
The next morning.
Medical Center.
Changing Room.
Liz had just showered, her wet hair hanging loose as she sat there, head down.
George and Cristina were perched beside her, offering quiet support.
Meredith leaned against a locker, looking at her with pity.
“My baby Emily died,” Liz murmured.
“We know,” they replied softly.
The quintuplets were the hot topic at the medical center right now. Everyone knew the moment they walked in. Baby Emily had held on until 4 a.m. Liz had spent the night fighting to save her, but exhaustion took over, and she’d dozed off beside the crib.
A nurse should’ve woken her up.
But Dr. Montgomery had arrived early, saw her sleeping, and told the nurse not to disturb her. By the time Liz woke up and realized Emily was gone, she asked the nurse—only to be hit with the devastating news.
Cue the endless self-blame.
When Dr. Montgomery finally told her the truth, it went exactly as Adam had predicted: Liz lost it. She yelled, demanded answers, then stormed off. After a shower calmed her down a bit, she was left with this overwhelming sadness and confusion.
That’s when Adam walked in.
“You!” Liz’s eyes snapped to him, her confusion and sorrow morphing into rage. She shot up, grabbed his collar, and shouted, “Where were you last night? Do you know how many times I paged you?! Emily’s dead!”
“I know,” Adam said, nodding calmly. “We did the surgery yesterday. Once we opened her chest, we all knew.”
“What?!” Liz froze. “You knew too?! You were in on it with her?!”
“It’s not a trick,” Adam explained patiently. “You’re an intern, here for residency training to learn. Last night was a lesson—one your attending deliberately set up to teach you.”
“Teach me?” Liz let out a bitter laugh. “By being that cruel?”
“What’s not cruel?” Adam’s voice stayed gentle. “We’ve been interns for months now. How many tearful goodbyes have we seen? If you can’t handle it, maybe you’re not cut out to be a doctor. You should get out early—because this kind of ‘cruelty’ will happen in front of you every single day.”
“Adam!” Meredith frowned. “Liz is hurting right now. Ease up.”
“Am I wrong?” Adam cut in. “You know why Dr. Montgomery did this? It’s because Liz’s flaw is way too obvious: she’s too emotional. Take Mrs. Rusabin’s case, for example. As the primary doctor, Liz met a pregnant patient and immediately mocked her, saying she and her husband should’ve read the fine print on those fertility drugs. Why? Because she couldn’t stand the patient—too emotional.
Then, when it’s something she finds touching, she flips to moral blackmail—acting like anyone who doesn’t follow her script is a villain. Sure, it looks like she’s giving her all for the patient. But can an emotional doctor like that really stay rational and calm about a patient’s condition?
In critical moments, let’s not even get into the scary possibility of her letting a patient she dislikes slip away, intentionally or not. What about the ones she’s overly attached to? If they’re beyond saving but she gets worked up and insists on saving them anyway—like in a transplant case—doesn’t that steal a chance from someone who could survive? Isn’t that indirectly killing someone?”
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Adam shifted his gaze from a stunned Meredith back to Liz, who stood there, dazed. “So when Dr. Montgomery asked me to keep quiet and take a risk to teach you this brutal lesson, I agreed. If it happened again, I’d still say yes. If you can’t accept it—or think we’ve done something unforgivable—then I’m telling you, don’t be a doctor. With emotions like yours, you’ll end up truly harming a patient one day. That’s when you’ll feel what real cruelty is.”
He pried Liz’s now-limp hands off his collar, walked to his locker, and started changing.
The room fell dead silent.
When Adam finished dressing, he glanced around: Cristina gave him a helpless smile, George looked pained, Meredith glared daggers, and Liz stood there, tears streaming down her face. He sighed.
“Which great doctor doesn’t have a patient’s death on their hands due to a mistake? Go ask Dr. Green, Dr. Shepherd, Dr. Burke, or even the Chief of Surgery. They’ve all lost patients they could’ve saved because of their own errors. That torment? That’s real cruelty.
Compared to that, you getting this chance? You’re lucky. Dr. Montgomery took a risk for this lesson—she genuinely wants to help you. If you cool off and figure that out, go thank her. Learn from her. Save as many patients as you can down the road.”
He stopped there, not bothering to say what’d happen if she didn’t get it. He met Meredith’s glare with a cold smirk and left.
Meredith was totally unhinged now—not because she disagreed with him, but because he’d sided with her rival, Dr. Montgomery. Another emotional mess, just less extreme than Liz. No wonder, despite her talent, her mom, Ellis Grey, never gave her the time of day.
A legend like Ellis Grey could go 18 years without a single personal chat with her dedicated scrub nurse—despite secretly admiring her. Only when Alzheimer’s hit, and she couldn’t even recognize her own daughter, did she let slip a smile, saying how great that nurse was.
That ice-cold, steady mindset? That’s the foundation of a legend.
Morning.
“Thanks.”
In the hallway, Dr. Montgomery stopped Adam, her gratitude sincere. Clearly, word of his changing-room speech had reached her.
Adam wasn’t surprised. It was a big room—shared by all the surgical interns. Sure, it’d seemed like just Cristina and the gang were there, but others were in the back, listening. One morning was all it took for the story to spread.
Emmm.
This definitely wasn’t Adam showboating to score points with the medical center’s current star, Neonatal Chief Dr. Montgomery. Nope, his words came straight from the heart.
Yup.
Totally!
“No problem,” Adam said. “Did Liz come around?”
“With that wake-up call you gave her, she probably will,” Dr. Montgomery replied with a smile.
She’d just run into Liz. A quick look in her eyes told the seasoned doctor everything: less anger, more complexity. A solid start. No need to find a new protégé. Adam’s favor? She’d remember it.
“Heh.” Adam flashed a grin, his teeth catching the light like a cheesy movie sparkle.
Chapter 502: Hot Take
Medical Center.
After brushing past Dr. Montgomery, Adam was on his way to the ER when someone stopped him again.
“Adam!” Cristina called out, blocking his path. “How about I trade you a surgery for that favor I owe you?”
“What surgery?” Adam asked with a noncommittal grin.
“Foreign object removal from the intestines,” Cristina pitched. “She swallowed four razor blades. Could lead to a perforated bowel and all sorts of infections. It’s a solid case—not super rare, but good enough to cancel out that favor, right?”
“Nope,” Adam said, shaking his head with a laugh. “But I’ll do it for you for free. No extra favors owed.”
“What?!” Cristina yelped.
“Come on,” Adam shrugged. “You didn’t think I’d miss the news about that female inmate who just got rushed in, did you? She’s a triple murderer, locked up in solitary in some tiny dark cell.
“This isn’t her first time swallowing blades to get a breather outside. It’s totally normal to be freaked out by a patient that hardcore. I’ll help you out.”
“Damn it! So close!” Cristina clenched her fist in frustration before griping, “How do you know everything?”
“That’s why you can’t pull one over on me,” Adam teased. “So, what do you say? I’ll handle it for free—deal?”
“No way,” Cristina shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to leave. “She said she doesn’t kill doctors… at least no doctor’s died by her hands yet.”
“Keep your distance,” Adam called after her.
A psycho who’d killed three people could snap and attack a doctor at any moment. What’s one more murder? Another few hundred years tacked onto her sentence? She didn’t care—her attitude was cocky as hell.
Adam had heard from a nurse that when the inmate arrived, she was practically giddy, yelling and calling everyone “baby” with this wild, unhinged energy that freaked people out. The nurses assigned to her were the unlucky ones who’d lost a draw. Even with her hands cuffed, they stayed as far away as possible while changing her dressings, terrified she’d lash out.
The inmate picked up on their fear and started bossing them around like they were her servants. The nurses just took it—too scared to push back.
Even Cristina, with her natural surgeon’s calm and logic, couldn’t pretend she wasn’t rattled by this patient. Coming to Adam was the smart move. In the whole medical center, he was probably the only one who could handle her without blinking. But flipping it so he’d owe her a favor? Fat chance.
Noon.
Cafeteria.
“That guy you had with the pet rattlesnake was already nuts,” George said, still amazed. “But I’ve got one that tops it—he keeps leeches as pets.”
“What’s the deal?” Adam asked, caught off guard.
“My patient’s got multiple skin melanomas,” George explained. “He’s on biotherapy.”
“With leeches,” Adam realized.
“Yup,” George groaned. “He says they helped him, so he wants to keep them and release them back into the wild someday.”
“That’s pretty tame, actually,” Adam chuckled. “Could’ve been for some weird, creepy reason.”
Just then, Cristina walked over, frowning.
“What are you staring at?” she snapped as Adam gave her a once-over.
“No missing parts—looks like you got lucky today,” Adam quipped.
“She’s fearless,” Cristina complained. “We told her the surgery risks, and all she did was yell for mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
“And the crazier she acts, the more freaked out you guys get, right?” Adam hit the nail on the head.
“No kidding,” Cristina said, exasperated. “You didn’t see the nurse taking care of her—legs shaking so bad she’s been to the bathroom like five times already.”
“Here’s a thought,” Adam said with a grin. “If every prisoner pulled stunts like her, wouldn’t that tank our healthcare system in no time?”
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“Obviously,” Cristina nodded after a pause. “With that many inmates doing this, we’d never keep up.”
“Do you know how much taxpayer money a single prisoner burns through every year?” Adam asked.
“How much?” George piped up, curious.
“Sixty grand per head,” Adam said, smirking. “They can casually call up a pricey ambulance, roll into the hospital, boss us around—and in some ways, they’re living better than us interns.”
“Pfft!” George nearly spat out his drink. “Sixty grand?! That’s, what, two of us to support one of them?”
“Wrong,” Cristina corrected. “You make, what, thirty-something grand a year? Your taxes are only a few thousand. It takes over a dozen of you, working your butts off, to fund one of them—and that’s not even counting when they pull stuff like this and hog rare medical resources.”
“No way,” George said, jaw dropping.
“Why not?” Cristina pressed. “If one prisoner costs sixty grand in public funds, build a few more prisons, lock up more people, and suddenly thousands of middle-class elites are slaving away for them.
“Eating slop, no days off, raking in billions.
“Why do you think private prisons are popping up everywhere? They wouldn’t be booming if there wasn’t cash in it.”
“Heh, now you get it,” Adam laughed. “They say doctors and lawyers are the ultimate middle-class jobs. But four years of undergrad, four years of med school, six or seven years as a resident—it takes fourteen or fifteen years to hit that middle-class life.
“Only then does our ‘income and spending power’ start catching up to the convicts. Pretty hilarious when you think about it.”
Interns and residents don’t make much. It’s only when you hit attending that the real money kicks in—and even then, it depends on your skills or how well you play the game.
“That’s not how it works…” George muttered, shaking his head, unwilling to buy this wild take. “We’ve got freedom—they don’t…”
“What freedom do you have as an intern?” Cristina cut in. “Prisoners get yard time every day. When we’re slammed, we don’t even have time to eat or pee.”
“…” George went silent, totally deflated.
This hit him hard. He’d worked his tail off to become a doctor and was damn proud of it—usually looking down a bit on his brothers, a mailman and a mechanic. But after Adam and Cristina broke it down like this, that pride took a dent.
Sure, the comparison wasn’t perfect. Survive the grind, and his life would keep getting better while the prisoners’ got worse. But for some reason, he just felt… bummed out.
“I hear some surgery junkies get so into it they wear diapers to the OR,” Cristina said, veering off-topic with a dreamy look. “I hope one day I’m that hardcore—living in the operating room…”
Leave it to her to take it to extremes just to save time.
“Adam, when that day comes, it’ll be way easier for me than you,” she teased.
“No way,” Adam said, twitching. “I’ve got my bladder under control. No matter how busy surgery gets, I’m good.”
Chapter 503: Peggy the Boxer
Medical Center.
Cafeteria.
Cristina was animatedly recounting a wild story about a surgery-obsessed doc wearing adult diapers into the OR, and Adam couldn’t help but crack a smile. 😂 But when she started speculating about who’d be more comfy in them—her or Adam—he felt a little offended.
Okay, sure, Cristina might technically have the edge as a woman. But Adam wasn’t some bladder-control disaster like Sheldon, nor was he Howard, inventing a “warming gadget” for movie lines and subtly adjusting his pants with a smug grin. When Adam said he could hold it, he meant it. Just ask his “more than friends, less than lovers” buddies—same principle, right?
Ding-a-ling!
His phone rang, cutting through the moment.
“Lisa?” Adam’s brow furrowed. He grabbed his tray, answered, and headed out. “What’s up?”
Lisa, his assistant, was fully in charge of looking after Peggy. A call at this hour made his stomach twist. Then she dropped a bombshell that left him torn between laughing and groaning.
“What? Peggy hit someone? What happened?”
“Boss,” Lisa said over the line, “today Peggy’s sister showed up with her boyfriend. They were chatting, and the guy started getting flirty…”
“Hm?” Adam’s tone chilled. “With Peggy?”
“Yeah,” Lisa hurried to clarify, “but just flirty talk. Peggy’s sister called him out right away.”
“And then?” Adam pressed, voice still icy. “Peggy wouldn’t deck him for no reason.”
“This guy’s some artsy type,” Lisa explained. “Bad temper. When Peggy’s sister chewed him out, he hauled off and hit her. She just took it. I called security, but before they got there, Peggy stepped in and clocked him—right in the left eye socket.”
“Heh.” Adam couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “And then?”
“The jerk’s a big guy but totally useless,” Lisa said, her tone lightening as she sensed Adam’s mood lift. “Peggy’s punch dazed him. He started to lose it, but she landed another one square on his face. By then, security swooped in and took control.”
“Is Peggy’s hand okay?” Adam asked, genuinely concerned.
“Don’t worry, boss, she’s fine,” Lisa laughed. “The guy’s locked up in the security room downstairs now. Only question is, what do we do with him? Peggy’s sister keeps begging us to let him go, says she needs to get him to a hospital.”
“What’s his attitude like now?” Adam asked.
“Scared, probably,” Lisa replied. “In the U.S., you don’t mess with rich folks and walk away clean.”
Fair point. Down in the security room, surrounded by pro gear and trained guards, anyone with half a brain would realize they’d ticked off someone with money—or power.
“Keep him there for now,” Adam mused. “I’ll send someone to deal with him later.”
“Deal with him?” Lisa sounded startled. “Boss, don’t do anything rash—he’s the one Peggy hit!”
“What, you think I’m some movie gangster?” Adam shot back, half-laughing. “I’m not gonna go full mob boss over this!”
“Right, right,” Lisa exhaled. “So, what’s ‘deal with him’ mean?”
“Let’s keep Peggy out of this mess,” Adam said. “I’ll get a pro to teach this clown some manners so he doesn’t try anything stupid. Old cop I know—hand him over, he’ll handle it.”
“What’s the plan, boss?” Lisa asked, curiosity piqued.
“Nothing crazy,” Adam sighed. “Can’t go overboard. Just straighten him out, patch him up, make sure there’s no evidence tying him to Peggy, and dig into his background. Artists, y’know, they’ve got their quirks. Plus, a guy who hits his girlfriend on a whim and flirts with her little sister in front of her? Total dirtbag. He’s got a fitting destination waiting.”
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“…” Lisa was speechless.
Not a big deal? This was barely a step down from wiping the guy out! Her boss sure held grudges. Note to self: never cross him.
“Don’t worry,” Adam added. “I’ll have them toss in a wrist-strapped soap pouch—keep him from dropping the bar in the shower.”
Lisa had no clue what that meant, but she knew it was some twisted joke of his.
“What about Peggy’s sister, though?” she asked. “She seems really into him.”
“Leave that to me,” Adam said with a grin. “I’ll head over early tonight. Prep dinner—I’ll talk to her.”
He knew Peggy’s sister well enough. Back in high school, when Peggy’s parents were splitting up, Peggy only dabbled in rebellion. Her sister, though? Full-on trainwreck. She ran off with some punk in a beat-up van he’d turned into a “camper”—no bathroom, just a bed. People called it a “mobile bang shack.”
Sheldon’s brother, Little George, had snagged one too, claiming it was to “drive Sheldon around.” But Big George, their dad, saw through it in a heartbeat. He’d been young once—scored his wife with a slick motorcycle back in the day. That van? His dream ride. Motorbikes were cool, but impractical for the real action.
To avoid early grandkids, Big George put his foot down: sell it or get out. Little George, all bravado, refused, decked it out with twinkle lights, and drove it to his girlfriend’s place, promising her dad he’d have her home by 11.
Her dad, also a former young hotshot, wasn’t fooled. One look inside that van, and it was game over. Curfews mean squat when you’ve got a rolling hookup pad. Little George got sent packing and learned the hard way: no parent’s that dumb. A van’s only handy if the girl still agrees to get in it. He cut his losses and sold it.
Little George flopped, but Peggy’s sister’s loser boyfriend pulled it off. With her parents distracted by the divorce—and Peggy as the spark—no one noticed the “invisible” older sister slipping away.
If that punk could sweet-talk her, Adam was damn sure he could too.
Chapter 504: You Know Too Much
After hanging up the phone, Adam headed to the VIP ward. Today, he was in charge of a patient with a Rathke’s cleft cyst.
“Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin!” Nurse Violet—the sharpest of the bunch—was anxiously knocking on the bathroom door inside the ward.
“Dr. Duncan, Mr. Martin’s locked himself in there and won’t open the door,” she said, turning to Adam.
“Mr. Martin, please open the door. I know you’re feeling awful, but you need our help,” Adam called, giving the door a few firm knocks.
“I don’t need help! I don’t need anyone!” Mr. Martin yelled from inside. “I’m an island—a beautiful little island, surrounded by water!”
“Shit!” Adam’s face darkened.
“Dr. Duncan, I’ll get security,” Nurse Violet said instinctively.
“No need,” Adam replied. With a hard twist, he forced the lock open.
Nurse Violet froze on the spot. There was Mr. Martin—a successful guy who could afford a VIP ward—sprawled by the toilet, his face plunged into the water. When he saw them barge in, he lifted his head for a second, then dunked it right back in, chugging desperately.
Adam marched over, grabbed him by the collar with one hand, and hauled him out.
“No!” Mr. Martin thrashed wildly. “Let me go! I need water!”
“Violet, get the restraints,” Adam ordered.
“Yes, sir!” She bolted out of the room.
“Don’t look at me! I don’t want anyone seeing me like this—so pathetic!” Mr. Martin roared as he struggled.
“This isn’t you, Mr. Martin,” Adam said, pinning him to the bed and trying to calm him. “You’re sick. There’s a Rathke’s cleft cyst in your pituitary gland causing hyponatremia—low blood sodium. That’s why you’re so thirsty.
“But we can’t let you guzzle water. It has to be an IV drip. Drinking too much will mess with your sodium levels even more and drive you into delirium.
“That ‘beautiful island surrounded by water’ you saw? It was just a toilet. And I’m not your in-flight attendant on some vacation—I’m your doctor.”
“No! I don’t believe you!” Mr. Martin screamed, completely unhinged.
Adam had seen him in his normal state before: a reclusive, proud businessman with a male assistant always at his side. According to the assistant, Mr. Martin had no friends—well, except maybe the assistant himself, who’d been with him for three years.
Though, honestly, that was probably just the assistant’s wishful thinking. When he followed Adam’s orders and restricted Mr. Martin’s water intake, the guy’s desperate thirst got the better of him—and he fired the assistant on the spot.
Adam had tried to talk him out of it.
“You’re just a doctor—what do you know?” Mr. Martin had snapped back. “Come talk to me about this when you have an assistant.” His words dripped with disdain and arrogance.
Adam didn’t bother arguing further. But Nurse Violet couldn’t hold back—she shut him down in a few sharp sentences. Sure, there are plenty of successful businessmen, but not one in a hundred is a billionaire. Mr. Martin had to eat his words.
This doctor might actually understand the dynamic between a boss and an assistant. Still, he didn’t take Adam’s advice and call the guy back. In his mind, the assistant had seen him at his lowest, and that respect was gone forever. No way he’d keep someone like that around.
Adam got it. It was like the old days—knowing too many royal secrets could get you in hot water.
You know too much.
The king doesn’t want to see you.
You’ve got to disappear…
“Dr. Duncan,” Nurse Violet called, snapping him back. She’d returned with the restraints in record time.
“Tie him down,” Adam instructed.
She expertly secured Mr. Martin’s wrists and ankles to the bed.
“Start him on a 3% hypertonic saline IV drip—500 milliliters over four hours,” Adam ordered. “Repeat that back.”
“3% hypertonic saline IV drip, 500 milliliters over four hours,” she echoed.
“Good,” Adam said, then added, “Be careful with this. Too much saline can permanently damage his brain. Make sure it’s 500 milliliters total over four hours—no more.”
Nurses are great for routine stuff—they can handle it without a doctor hovering. But for rare, tricky cases like this, their experience falls short. If she’d misheard and thought it was 500 milliliters per hour for four hours, Mr. Martin’s brain would be toast. Not dead, but paralyzed for life.
Adam had just told Liz that “every great doctor has lost a patient they shouldn’t have due to a mistake.” What he didn’t say was that applied to average great doctors. For a cheat-code genius like him, a patient dying from his error might never happen. And the longer he went—skills and expertise piling up—the less likely it’d ever be.
He wasn’t about to let his first screw-up be something this basic. Even if it did happen, it wouldn’t tank his career. Seasoned doctors could still rattle off every detail of their own slip-ups years later—it haunts them forever. Adam’s brain had an encrypted folder for that kind of thing, but a mistake he could avoid with one extra word? No chance he’d let it slide.
“Got it, Dr. Duncan,” Nurse Violet nodded seriously.
“Dr. Shepherd,” Adam said later, tracking her down after settling Mr. Martin. He filled her in.
“Alright,” Dr. Shepherd replied, glancing at her watch. It was past 2 p.m. The IV drip would take four hours, pushing them past regular hours. “Keep a close eye on him tonight. We’ll operate tomorrow.”
That’s a big difference between attendings and residents: attendings have set schedules. Aside from rotating hospital duty or emergencies, they work seven-to-five with weekends off—normal life stuff. It’s why residents grind so hard to make attending. It’s not just the money—it’s the free time. Money and leisure? That’s the dream.
“Cristina, your favor’s cashed in,” Adam said, finding her later and handing off Mr. Martin’s overnight watch.
The nurses could handle it, technically, but since he was Adam’s patient, he didn’t feel right without a dedicated doctor on it. Might as well burn Cristina’s favor now—otherwise, she’d keep obsessing over it. Plus, if they bet again later and the favors stacked up, she might just give up and ghost the debt entirely. Better to keep it clean: owe, pay, owe again.
As expected, Cristina was thrilled to agree. Owing someone a favor weighed on a proud, principled person like her. Adam hadn’t given her a chance to clear it before, but now? Just a night shift and some extra patient duty to wipe the slate clean. Way better than handing over a surgery.
He trusted Cristina enough but still drilled the instructions into her three times before clocking out, changing, and driving off to New Jersey.
Chapter 505: The Peggy Sisters
New Jersey.
Princeton University.
Outside Peggy’s apartment building.
Lisa was already there, waiting. The second Adam’s car rolled up, she scurried over with a big grin, opening his door like he was royalty or something.
“Boss, dinner’s all set, and that jerk’s been hauled off by the pro you sent,” she chirped.
“Cool,” Adam said with a nod, strolling toward the apartment.
No need to meet the guy face-to-face. Distance keeps the fear factor alive, right? Leave the pros to handle the dirty work. Kate had hooked him up with a seasoned cop—loaded with experience and connections. Adam trusted him to sort it out his way.
All he had to do was convince Peggy’s sister to ditch the loser and clear out the drama around Peggy. Easy enough.
“Didn’t peg Peggy for such a badass,” Lisa said, trotting alongside him. Sensing his good mood, she grinned. “A pretty little scientist girl, throwing punches like that? Too cool!”
“Heh,” Adam slowed his step, chuckling. “It’s not her first rodeo.”
“What?!” Lisa gasped, playing along. “For real?”
“Yup. First victim was our buddy Sheldon,” Adam said, laughing. “Back in high school. They were both, like, eleven.”
“Wait, if they’re friends, why’d she hit him?” Lisa asked, wide-eyed.
“He had it coming,” Adam said, shaking his head as the memory hit him.
It was during Peggy’s parents’ messy divorce. Peggy was testing the rebel waters, and her mom, still hovering, pushed her to hang out with “similar” kids like Sheldon while signing her up for Bible choir—hoping some divine vibes would straighten her out.
One Sunday, Sheldon showed up all hyped for a stamp-collecting club meetup, only to find out it was canceled. Apparently, he was the only one who’d RSVP’d. He couldn’t believe it—stats said stamp collecting was trending with the 70-plus crowd, and they’ve got all the time in the world, right?
But little Sheldon was used to disappointment by then. His mom and sister dragged him to the choir instead. That’s where he ran into Peggy, also strong-armed into it by her mom. Both being hardcore atheists, they thought the Bible trivia contest was dumb as hell.
Still, ever since Peggy crushed him at chess and flipped the board, Sheldon was obsessed with beating her—even at something as lame as Bible facts. They started bickering, and when the pastor tossed out a question that left Missy and the others clueless, Peggy and Sheldon shot their hands up, ready to duke it out.
No surprise who won. The pastor, already dreading Sheldon’s smug face from past run-ins, ignored him and picked Peggy. For two geniuses like them, it was child’s play. She nailed it, got the praise and prize, and Sheldon fumed. He swore he’d take her down next time, went home, re-read the Bible, and made Missy quiz him to boost his hand-raising speed.
Next week’s choir rolled around, and Sheldon was sure he had it in the bag. But Peggy? She didn’t even bother competing. Drove him nuts. When he demanded why, she smirked and said she just wanted to see him squirm.
Emmm. Total “tell me your woes so we can all laugh” energy. “My joy comes from your misery” vibes.
Sheldon tried flipping the script, but he sucked at it. Even tossing out his dad’s classic domestic-violence-trigger line—“Woman, get me a beer!”—didn’t faze her.
Finally, he struck gold: he hit her where it hurt, bringing up her parents’ divorce and how it all started with her.
Bingo. Peggy snapped. She unleashed Missy’s go-to move for handling Sheldon: violence! One punch to his left eye socket, and he was down for the count—KO’d by an eleven-year-old girl.
Missy’s gleeful cackle echoed through the room.
Afterward, Sheldon’s mom was heartbroken but couldn’t really argue. Peggy was cut from the same cloth as her son, and she felt for her. She chalked it up to “Missy beating up Sheldon” territory—nothing new. Truth is, Missy was Peggy’s real mentor. Though Sheldon’s mom did pull Missy aside later and ban her from teaching Peggy any more moves.
Good thing, too. Missy’s signature was a brutal knee to the groin.
The memories flashed through Adam’s mind as they reached the apartment door. Lisa, ever the pro, unlocked it for him.
“Hey, Erica,” Adam called out, spotting a vaguely familiar woman inside. On closer look—yep, Peggy’s sister.
Man, she’d changed. Back in the day, she couldn’t hold a candle to Peggy. Now? The baby fat was gone, and she was stunning. Not surprising, given Peggy’s looks. They were sisters, after all. Even a tenth of that DNA was a guaranteed beauty ticket.
Kinda like that dragon lady claiming she’s the “ugliest” in her family—humblebrag with a grain of truth.
“Hey, Adam,” Erica said, a little dazed. She’d met him before through Peggy, thought he was cute enough but nothing special. Compared to her edgy, bad-boy artist boyfriend, he’d been a yawn.
But now? Totally different vibe. Something about him—mature, doctorly, artsy, handsome. A quadruple whammy of her favorite traits.
Yup. Peggy’s mom had worried Peggy’s “daddy issues” from their broken home led her to Adam. Wrong kid. Peggy just needed a half-decent friend after Sheldon flopped. Erica, though? She was the one nursing a quiet crush on older, stable types thanks to that divorce mess.
Erica had planned to beg Adam to let her boyfriend go. But now? No rush. She flicked her hair, hiding a fading bruise from her cheek, and flashed him her brightest smile.
(End of Chapter)
