Page 77 of Dr. Intern

Parker’s laughter rings through the phone. “I guess my fiancée has finally warmed my cold heart. Speaking of Cass, she’s actually why I called you.”

“Oh?”

My curiosity piques, though I’m hopeful that I’m not going to be put in the middle of their issues again. Actually, I take that back. I love drama, and I’m more than happy to play therapist. As long as it’s not a sex therapist, because . . . ew.

“I want to do something nice for her, and was thinking about having an engagement party at the condo. We would do it here, but the furniture situation is still a nightmare. I’ve been eating on the couch for months while we wait for the dining table to come in.”

“How savage of you,” I say, picturing my brother’s distaste. He’s absurd.

Parker ignores my comment. “Could you maybe help with the planning? Caroline is off school for a week between semesters, so I figured that New Year’s Eve would be the best time.”

Unable to help myself, I squeal into the phone. “Oh my gosh, stop. A New Year’s party is so romantic. It’s going to be perfect, and yes, I’ll do everything. Just make sure that the two of you are there, and dressed for the occasion. How do you feel about sequins? Black tie? Every man looks good in a tux, and I feel like we have to have sparkles on New Year’s.”

My mind immediately pictures Beau.

Yes, please.

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone, and I can practically see Parker’s mind spinning as he tries to keep up with my rambling. “I’m fine with anything. But do you think Cassidy would like it? She’s not exactly the sparkle and sequin type.”

“Trust me, I know,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “When Mom and I went wedding dress shopping with her, I tried so hard to get Cass to buy something fun, but she wouldn’t budge.”

The memory washes over me, bringing a smile to my face. It was such a great day until it wasn’t. But over time, I’ve chosen to focus on the happy moments rather than the dark ones.

“Cass will be fine,” I add quickly to alleviate his concern. “She might act like she hates dressing up, but I know for a fact that she’s a big fat liar.”

“Whatever you say,” Parker grunts. “Do you want to ask Beau about the party? Or should I? Not sure how close the two of you are. I’m sure you hardly even see him.”

My brother’s mention of Beau sends a ripple of nervousness through me. There’s no way he knows what’s going on between us, but that doesn’t make it any less comfortable. Parker isn’t exactly the best at handling things outside of his control . . . but maybe if I plant the seed that Beau and I are friends, it’ll make things less explosive when my brother eventually does find out.

“I’ll ask him,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, you know, when he’s not at the hospital or sleeping.”

Surprisingly, Parker chuckles. “Sounds like the life of a surgical intern. He briefly mentioned that he got you a foster kitten, so I figured you couldn’t hate him that much.”

It’ the opposite actually—I think I like him too much.

Chapter 31

Beau

Whenever I return to the condo from the hospital, the first thing I do is rinse my body off in an ice-cold shower. It’s a way to reset myself, both physically and mentally, after whatever the day brings.

Being a physician, especially one at the bottom of the totem pole, is overwhelming. You never feel like you can leave work at work. There’s always this incessant push for more—more patients, more knowledge, more growth—until you truly are as close to robotic as possible.

I’ve always felt like my strength as a doctor would lie in the fact that I’m not a robot. I prided myself in the fact that I enjoyed taking the time to get to know my patients and colleagues. It was what made me different, I told myself. It’s why I would be a great surgeon one day.

The problem is, in real life, that’s just not possible. Because in real life, being a surgical intern feels like you’re sinking in quicksand, despite doing everything you can to maintain your footing. There’s no time to think clearly, let alone hold meaningful conversations with patients or coworkers. I’m constantly pulled in opposing directions, while still being expected to perform perfectly in every situation. But perfect performance requires a level of disassociation from myself that is, quite honestly, exhausting.

Surgery used to provide a thrill that nothing else in the world could. But now, it’s become a grueling endurance race that I’m forced to run just so I can get back to the one place where I truly feel like myself—with Claire.

Claire reorients me to who I am. She has an infectious interest in people, the way that I once did. She takes the time to get to know everyone shemeets . . . has taken the time to get to know me. That’s what probably drew me to her in the beginning—the way she reminded me what it feels like to be human, to be curious about people.

So, every time I return home and step into the shower, it’s like I’m cleansing myself of the expectations and pressures of the healthcare system. Even with the constant exhaustion and lack of sleep, this ritual leaves me feeling refreshed and renewed. It lets me reset so that I can be the best version of myself for her.

But tonight, as I step out of the shower, terror replaces that sense of renewal. A blood-curdling scream erupts from the kitchen, sending my pulse through the roof.

I quickly wrap a towel around my waist, taking the stairs two at a time and almost tripping over my feet on the way down. Everything from an intruder to an injury crosses my mind as I sprint to the kitchen. I have no idea what I’m going to do if someone actually broke into the condo, though. Swing my dick at them?

“What happened?” I demand as I reach the island, trying to catch my breath as my eyes fall on Claire. She looks completely composed, wearing black leggings and a gray quarter-zip sweatshirt, like she just came from a casual walk outside, not a traumatic event that warranted a shriek. Her blue eyes cut to my body from the laptop screen in front of her as they assess my soaking wet, half-naked state.

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