Page 109 of Dr. Fellow

“Morgan.”

“Fine,” I concede. My eyes pinball between the two of them to make sure they understand that I’m not joking when I say, “But don’t kill each other, or I’m going to be seriously pissed.”

I glare at Parker to make sure he knows that my threat is mostly directed at him, but he’s already crossing the room.

Shutting the sliding door behind me, I press my back against the glass, wishing that it was thinner so that I could eavesdrop on their conversation. I close my eyes for a moment, my breaths coming easier now that the air isn’t swirling with tension.

Cassidy startles me, bumping my hip like she always does. “Hey, Boo. Thanks for the socks.”

I let out a nervous giggle. “No problem.”

Her head cocks suspiciously. “You good?”

“Yep.” I look down at my Hokas, knowing that if I meet her eyes there’s going to be a problem. Not only do I suck at controlling my facial expressions, but Cass can read me like a damn book. “Never better.”

I shift my feet and wait for her to walk away, but her black Danskos remain planted next to mine.

“Have you seen Parker? I noticed him speed by, and he looked off.”

“Nope.” I roll my lips to stop my mouth from saying anything else.

“Is this your new patient? Marisa said you were busy in here. Do you need help?”

What I need is for my best friend to walk away so that I don’t spill the fucking beans.

“I’m good.”

She doesn’t move, so I give her my best fake smile.

It doesn’t work.

Her arms cross as she glances at the room number. “Why is there no name on the door?”

This bitch should work for the FBI.

When a patient is admitted, the first thing we do is put their name on the door because it’s something the administration audits. I’ve gotten a stern talking to by managers once or twice for not following the ridiculous policy. But seriously, in what world does it make sense to take the time to find an Expo marker when a patient is in distress?

“I don’t know, Cass, chill. It’s fine. Everything is fine in there.”

The faint sound of a baby crying interrupts me, and I see my best friend’s hazel eyes go wide. “Was that—”

All of the blood in my body rushes to the surface, prickling my skin with tension. “Nope.”

I sidestep to protect the entrance to the room.

Cass is only four inches taller than me, but it feels like she’s towering over me and shooting daggers into my soul. The saying “God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers,” is bullshit because I’m definitely the weakest link here, and we both know it.

I don’t wait for our war of wills to continue—I wave the white flag.

“Weston and Parker are in there,” I state simply, hoping she’ll understand and let them handle their shit.

And under normal circumstances, she probably would have. But I forgot about one tiny little thing—she heard a baby cry.

She pushes past me and into the room, stopping abruptly just inside the door.

I swear to God, everything feels like it happens in slow motion.

Parker is standing next to the hospital bed with his hand resting on the baby’s back. The tiniest hint of a smile crosses his face as Weston finishes saying something, though it grows even wider when he realizes that we’re in the room.

His midnight-blue eyes land on Cassidy, brimming with love and adoration. “His name is Carter.”

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