Page 108 of Dr. Intern

“Iswear to God, Buffington, if you sew any slower that wound is going to heal on its own,” Parker sneers from the other side of the table.

I pause and mutter an obscenity under my breath before returning to my work. This is one of the most complicated stitches in surgical practice, so fucking forgive me for taking my time with it.

Casting a glance at the large, clinical clock mounted on the sterile white wall, I note the time. We still have thirty minutes until our monthly surgical meeting where we discuss department updates and difficult cases. That’s plenty of time to finish up here and make it without rushing.

Parker’s been on my ass all morning for some reason completely beyond me. It makes absolutely no sense, especially considering he was the one who requested my assistance. Typically when I’m on his service, we have a blast. He’s relaxed, and we joke around throughout the cases. But today, he’s been inexplicably harsh, treating me worse than his interns.

“What was that?” Parker probes sharply, clearly hearing what I mumbled.

As I secure the final stitch, deftly tying it off, I set down the needle holder with a controlled clink on the tray next to me.

“Wasn’t your New Year’s resolution to be nicer?” I ask, nodding toward my sutures so that he can check my work. “Because we’re already a week in, and I see no evidence of change.”

The scrub tech standing next to me tries to stifle a laugh, and I’m thankful for the mask covering my own smirk.I’m funny as fuck.

This is my first day seeing Parker since the engagement party. I’ve been ridiculously busy with trauma service, and the plan was to stay there for the month, which is why I was surprised that he requested me this morning.Typically, when we don’t see each other at work, we still talk shit on our favorite chess app, but he’s been unusually silent there too. I’ve just assumed that it was because he was working a ton, but now I’m starting to wonder if something else is going on.

Parker leans in to inspect my work, his eyes narrowing as he examines the sutures. For a moment, I’m convinced he’s going to find some fault, but then he grunts in approval, his eye twitching as he looks up from the incision.

“We’re done here. See you at the meeting,” he announces briskly, turning on his heel and exiting the OR with an air of urgency.

I exchange a quick glance with the circulating nurse, who’s been quietly observing from her station.

“Alright, guess we’re done. Happy New Year, everyone,” I say before I book it out of the surgical suite.

By the time I catch up with him, Parker is waiting for the elevator, his foot tapping impatiently as he stares straight ahead.

I clap my hand on his back. “Everything good? You seem a little off, buddy.”

Parker shrugs away from my touch, keeping his gaze fixed on the closed metal doors in front of us. I know we joke that we always look like shit, but he really does look terrible today. Deep bags shadow his blue eyes, and a week’s worth of stubble covers his jaw, as if he hasn’t bothered with a razor since the party.

My stomach drops. Did he find out about Cassidy’s meetup with Weston? Claire filled me in on the situation the morning after the party, taking over an hour to intricately describe the dynamics of their history. While I can’t say that I care for the drama as much as she does, it definitely sounds like a nightmare. Though if I know anything, it’s that Cass would never do anything to hurt Parker—she’s madly in love with him. Which is why I also know that he’ll get over it eventually.

The elevator dings open, breaking the heavy silence between us as Parker steps on, still not acknowledging me.

I follow him in, reaching over to push the button for the top floor where our department meeting awaits.

“Seriously, man, what’s up?” I press, turning to face him.

Parker’s eyes remain rooted in place as if in a trance, though his hand digs into his pocket. As the elevator announces our arrival with another chime, he hesitates for a moment before finally turning to face me, his nostrils flaring with a deep breath. Instead of offering any words, he takes a crumpled piece of paper from his scrub pocket and hands it to me before he steps out of the elevator.

My heart pounds as I stand motionless, holding the note. Somehow I know what it contains before I even look. In theory, it could be one of the early, harmless notes that I wrote to Claire, but the look in Parker’s eyes tells a different story. With a forced breath to steady myself, I carefully unfold the paper, bracing myself for what’s written inside.

Got you a new coffee creamer called Italian Sweet Cream.Doubt it’s as sweet as the cream that’s gonna come out of your pussy when I lick that perfect cunt.

See you soon,

Bad boy Beau

Fuck me.

Claire started calling me Bad Boy Beau as my alter ego, a subtle nod to one of our first conversations when I first moved into the condo. She only uses it in a sexual context, and I fucking love it—I love showing her how bad I can be.

But, of course, out of all of the notes I’ve written her with sweet nothings on them, Parker had to find the most sexually explicit one. It makes me look like fucking pervert, not a man so deep in love with his sister that I’d literally give up everything to make her happy.

When Parker and Cassidy stayed at the condo after the engagement party, it didn’t even occur to me to hide the notes. I actually had forgotten Claire even kept them in the drawer beneath the coffee maker. What are the chances that out of all of the cabinets in the massive kitchen, he would open the one with damning evidence?

Apparently, very high . . . because it fucking happened.

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