Chapter 9: 2 Broke Girls
Beneath a Brooklyn subway station, a sketchy clinic plastered with peeling advertisements flickered under buzzing fluorescent lights.
Inside, a lone doctor in a stained lab coat stood near the counter while a patient sat in the corner pressing a dirty rag against a gash on his arm.
Caroline stepped through the door cautiously, forcing an optimistic smile.
"Not so bad, not so bad... really not that bad."
Max surveyed the place like it was a crime scene. "Right. For a subway clinic, this dump's practically Mount Sinai."
"Seriously," Max whispered to Caroline, "how are you not sprinting for the exit right now?"
"I have literally zero options," Caroline clutched her knockoff designer purse. "No money, no insurance. I'm forced to seek medical care in what is essentially a developing nation."
Max gestured around dramatically. "This isn't the third world—this is the underworld. Only redeeming feature: bulletproof glass at reception."
Caroline followed her pointing finger and spotted a flattened bullet slug embedded in the reinforced window.
"Well," Max nodded with approval, "at least we know it's effective."
Caroline glanced at the abandoned reception desk. "Sign says to check in here."
On the counter sat a grease-stained ledger whose cover optimistically proclaimed, "Your Health, We Care."
Caroline flipped it open. Inside were a Papa John's coupon and several unidentifiable hairs.
"See? They do care," Max deadpanned. "About pizza delivery."
Max couldn't help herself. "Why don't we just dip into the cupcake fund and go to an actual clinic—one where you don't contract hepatitis just from breathing the air?"
"Absolutely not," Caroline insisted firmly. "That money is our future. We spend it once and it's gone forever."
Max snorted. "Future? Sweetie, you're running out of present."
Caroline signed the ledger with a flourish. Max peeked over her shoulder. "Nicole Richie?"
"I'd prefer if no one knew I was here." Caroline maintained her dignified posture. "I acknowledge the environment is suboptimal, but this is medically urgent."
"Wrong," Max said, eyeing the guy duct-taping a blood-soaked Band-Aid over his face. "He's urgent. You're, at best, moderately pathetic."
"Come on," Caroline took a steadying breath. "Let's just ask someone."
They approached the doctor wearing a grimy surgical mask that had definitely seen better days.
Doctor: "Welcome to Subway Smiles Clinic."
He flinched involuntarily. "Sorry, ladies. I'm a little on edge—just took a bullet earlier."
Caroline raised her right hand, displaying a palm-sized burn that glistened with broken blisters. "Um... I scalded myself. I was attempting to make caramel sauce yesterday and—"
Max cut in. "She dumped boiling sugar on her hand and waited twenty-four hours before seeking treatment, calling it 'the scar of entrepreneurship.'"
Caroline protested. "It demonstrates commitment!"
Max countered. "No, you have a third-degree burn."
The doctor nodded sympathetically. "I've got hepatitis C."
The two women locked eyes. Max patted Caroline's shoulder. "See? Everyone's dealing with something."
The doctor examined the burn more closely. "I can handle burns. I'll spray some topical foam on it first—just step into the back room."
Max immediately yanked Caroline backward. "You follow this guy into a back room, you're coming out minus a kidney and possibly pregnant."
The doctor added helpfully, "I've got nitrous oxide if you want something for the pain."
Caroline asked carefully, "Is that medically necessary?"
The doctor stared at her, pupils dilated to an alarming degree. "Skip it and you'll be begging for mercy, sweetheart."
They exchanged one horrified glance, then bolted for the door.
——
Back at the Williamsburg Diner, Caroline collapsed onto a kitchen stool, defeated.
Oleg shuffled over with a dishrag in hand, eyebrows waggling suggestively.
Oleg announced, "I give you money for real doctor."
Caroline blinked in surprise. "Really? You'd actually do that?"
"Think of it as favor," Oleg smirked knowingly. "Someday I need favor from you, and you say yes just as fast."
"I need to know what kind of favor we're talking about."
"Is hard to say specific."
"Like within a week? A month? A year?"
"Cannot predict timeline."
Caroline narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Is it sexual in nature?"
Oleg replied with complete solemnity, "Yes. Most definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent sexual."
"Thanks anyway, Oleg," Caroline backed away quickly. "I'm gonna pass on that offer."
She walked back out to the dining area where Max stood scrolling through her phone.
"Oh wait, I just remembered something," Max looked up. "There's this new clinic that opened nearby—cheap rates, supposedly clean, and the doctor's allegedly 'competent.' Meaning nobody's died on the operating table yet."
——
At the Rayne Clinic, an extensively sutured turkey lay on the operating table. Mary had the day off, so only the repeatedly-resurrected bird kept Ethan company.
Ethan was deep into his daily practice routine. The turkey, having been brought back from death one too many times, appeared both physically and spiritually exhausted.
One wing twitched weakly, then went still.
"Jesus Christ!" Max's voice rang out from the doorway. "New York never ceases to lower my expectations. This doc might actually be worse than subway guy."
Ethan startled—he'd been so absorbed in his healing incantations that he hadn't noticed anyone enter.
Max and Caroline walked in. Apparently the door chime was broken.
"Okay, but at least this one's seriously hot," Caroline observed, stepping forward. "Were you just... praying over a dead turkey?"
"Uh..."
Good news: they hadn't witnessed the actual resurrection attempt. Bad news: they'd definitely heard him chanting something weird.
Ethan recovered smoothly. "Practicing my suturing technique."
Caroline frowned skeptically. "On poultry?"
"...Yep." Ethan maintained a completely straight face—if he didn't act embarrassed, maybe they'd be the ones feeling awkward.
"An insanely hot guy doing weird stuff with dead birds. Should I be concerned that I find this kind of attractive?" Max sighed, then her eyes widened suddenly. "OH MY GOD—the sign outside says Rayne Clinic. You're Ethan?!"
Ethan blinked. "Yeah. Can I help—"
He froze completely. "...Max?"
Three full seconds of silence.
Caroline looked between them gleefully. "You two know each other? Like... biblically?"
Max rolled her eyes. "We went on a handful of dates back in the day."
Ethan coughed. "A handful? We were actually boyfriend and girlfriend, Max."
Caroline perked up immediately. "Ooh—exes reunited in a medical setting. Hold on, let me grab popcorn while you two eviscerate each other emotionally."
"Shut it, Caroline," Max snapped.
Ethan laughed. "You've really changed. Back then you didn't have—"
Max placed her hands on her hips smugly. "You mean these girls weren't this spectacular? Too bad for you—they developed significantly post-breakup."
Ethan choked slightly, not expecting that particular redirect. "I... actually meant your hairstyle."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Shame. Hair doesn't have quite the upgrade potential that my breasts do."
Caroline extended her uninjured left hand with exaggerated politeness. "Caroline Channing. Wharton Business School graduate—formerly possessed a trust fund, a private orthodontist, and personal dignity. Currently just sporting a badly scalded hand."
Ethan shook it briefly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ethan Rayne."
Wait—hold on a second!
Caroline Channing?
No freaking way—this is 2 Broke Girls?
Ethan's eyes flicked back to Max. His ex-girlfriend from years ago was the Max Black?
He genuinely hadn't made the connection while they were dating. She'd seemed like a completely different person back then.
Max caught him staring. "What, suddenly nostalgic for the girls?"
Ethan shook his head and switched into professional mode. "Let's take care of that burn first, Caroline."
He snapped on latex gloves and leaned in to examine her injury closely.
"Second-degree burn. Consistent with hot caramelized sugar—damage to epidermis and upper dermis layers, but hasn't penetrated deeper tissue. Could have been significantly worse."
Max grinned mischievously. "Think she needs amputation? Maybe a sweet prosthetic hook like a pirate?"
Caroline shot her a look. "You watch way too much cable, Max."
Ethan chuckled. "I need to clean this thoroughly—residual sugar interferes with the healing process."
He carefully poured sterile saline solution across the burn. Caroline hissed sharply as the liquid made contact.
Using clean gauze, he gently lifted away the sticky caramelized residue and drained the smaller blisters.
Max leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. "Wow, you were never this gentle and attentive in bed. Or do all your female patients get the premium treatment?"
Without looking up, Ethan replied, "We're not in bed. You worked night shifts, I was pulling overnight shifts at the hospital—some weeks we literally only saw each other while unconscious."
Caroline blinked. "Wait, were you two in a long-distance relationship?"
Max clarified, "Same city, completely different planets. Our bed was exclusively for sleeping—and I mean literally just sleeping."
Ethan's mouth twitched. "That sounds way more suggestive than intended. We just slept."
"That's exactly what I said," Max shrugged innocently.
Caroline snorted with laughter.
Ethan gave up trying to clarify, focusing on wrapping the bandage properly. "Change the dressing every two days. Apply ice for pain management—and absolutely no butter."
"That feels oddly targeted," Max protested. "Butter is essential—for cooking and... various other applications."
"This is a medical clinic, not your kitchen or personal playground."
"Basically the same thing. Want to hear how I treated my last boyfriend's burn?"
"Not remotely."
"He's permanently two different colors now."
Task completed, Ethan turned to grab antibiotic ointment from the supply cabinet.
Max slid her hands into her jeans pockets casually. "So you actually opened your own clinic. Why didn't you stay on as the hotshot surgeon that all the nurses wanted to sleep with? Get caught selling organs on the black market?"
Ethan smiled. "Freedom, mostly. These days I perform all types of procedures—breast augmentations, for example."
"Ah, that explains why you got so excited when you saw me walk in."
Caroline had officially transitioned into pure spectator mode, thoroughly entertained.
After a brief pause, Ethan asked quietly, "Max, why did you just disappear back then?"
Her cocky grin faltered slightly. "Why did you lie to me?"
"Lie?" Ethan frowned, genuinely confused.
Caroline blurted out immediately, "Oh my God, he cheated on you? What absolute scum!"
"I didn't cheat. I barely had enough time for Max, much less anyone else."
Max said evenly, "You told me you were working two jobs to make ends meet."
"I was—my hospital internship definitely counted as a second job."
"And you said you lived in a basement apartment. Turns out it was the basement level of the med school dormitory. You were the golden-boy future surgeon; I was slinging hash at a diner. Our credit scores didn't even speak the same language."
Ethan fell silent, processing.
Max continued, "You also claimed you were completely broke."
"I was broke. Student loans were crushing me financially. You were the one who always bought the coffee, remember?"
Caroline blinked rapidly. "Wait, that's it? Are you absolutely sure that's everything?"
Max hesitated. "I guess... yeah, that's pretty much it?"
"I genuinely don't understand." Caroline stared at Max incredulously. "Your last boyfriend openly hit on me at a party, then got caught sleeping with another woman in your bed. You cried into a family-size bag of chips and still considered taking him back.
So what happened with Ethan, Max—temporary brain damage?"
"Call it life systematically beating the optimism out of me over time."
Caroline turned to Ethan. "I had a complete emotional breakdown in a Goodwill thrift store. Want to know what Max told me? 'Save your tears for when you're alone.'"
Ethan nodded knowingly. "She looked at me completely deadpan and said, 'Keep your emotions internal.'"
Caroline exclaimed, "Word for word the exact same advice!"
"And when I really needed emotional support, she told me, 'Stop seeking external validation, find it within yourself.'" Ethan added. "Oh, and did she suggest you open a cupcake business? She told me a mule kicked me in the head and scrambled my brain."
Caroline laughed until tears formed. "She said my horse Chestnut did the kicking—close enough though!"
Ethan felt an instant bond forming. "Dealing with her is genuinely impossible sometimes, right?"
Caroline nodded vigorously in agreement.
Max threw her hands up defensively. "Why are you two suddenly bonding over me? Instant best friends now?"
Caroline batted her eyelashes sweetly. "Are you jealous that I'm getting along so well with your ex-boyfriend?"
Max shrugged dismissively. "Please. He's like a hand-me-down sweater I wore once and donated. Plus, he was pretty mediocre in bed, just FYI."
Caroline whispered conspiratorially to Ethan, "Coming from her extensive dating history, that's practically a glowing endorsement."
She leaned closer to Ethan with a scheming expression. "Get the two of you back together and I'll get you a free air conditioning installation—our apartment's like Satan's sauna."
Ethan casually slid John Kramer's hundred-thousand-dollar check onto the counter. "Get us back together and this entire payment is yours to keep."
Caroline let out an actual squeal of delight.
Max protested loudly, "That's completely unfair! I'm the one who actually slept with him!"
Caroline was already counting zeros. "And according to you, you thoroughly enjoyed the experience."
"Hell yes I did," Max purred, then her eyes went wide. "Wait—ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS?! That's marry-him-immediately money!"
"A hundred grand?" Caroline squinted at the check. "Hold on, I think I miscounted a zero. There's way too many!
New plan—we charge per encounter. A hundred bucks per session. Three times daily, you'd be debt-free in under a year."
Max's eyes glinted mischievously. "Or Caroline joins in for premium threesome rates, and we knock it out in three months flat."
Ethan nodded with complete sincerity. "I'm absolutely on board with this business plan. Sounds fiscally responsible.
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