Page 3 of Dr. Fellow

Beau crosses his meaty arms and turns to face his friend. “One, don’t hate on the interns. We’re trying our best,” he argues. A sly smirk forms on his lips like he’s about to poke the bear. “Two, we’re here for as long as the guest of honor wants. I owe him a fuck ton of alcohol for the extra shit he had to do after your tantrum, brother.”

He enunciates the last word, causing Parker’s mouth to set into a firm line. “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

Unbeknownst to anyone, Beau was dating Parker’s sister for a while in secret. I’m still not sure exactly how the details came to light, nor do I really care, but Parker was pissed when he found out. He told the entire department that Beau withheld his type 1 diabetes diagnosis from a pre-employment physical, and claimed that the omission put a patient at risk during a case.

Fortunately, nothing came of Parker’s outburst in the end. But because Beau was my intern at the time, it resulted in a ton of paperwork and conversations with administration that I would have rather not had.

Did I think Parker’s reaction was warranted? No—it was childish as fuck. But he found me the next day to apologize, and we moved on like adults. It’s water under the bridge now.

“What?” Beau muses, his broad chest heaving with suppressed laughter. “You told me if I ever hurt Claire, I’d be dead meat. Well, I happen to like my meat, and so does your sister, which means that I could be your brother one day. I’m just stating the facts here.”

Parker’s stormy blue eyes find mine, searching for an ally.

“Buff,” I grunt, giving him a warning glare. “Get your ass up and grab us another pitcher. My glass is empty.”

Beau rolls his eyes. Pushing back from the table, he bows exaggeratedly and says, “Yes, sir. Can I get you anything else?”

“A fucking clue,” I shoot back.

Parker lets out a strained chuckle as Beau makes his way to the bar.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “Been a rough couple of weeks, and the moron doesn’t know when to quit. He really is perfect for my sister.”

I get the sense that there’s more going on with Parker than a simple frustration over his best friend dating his sister. But I have no idea what it could be because the guy seems to have everything. He’s a well-respected junior attending, comes from a fuck ton of money, and is engaged to an incredible woman. From an outside perspective, he won the damn lottery.

“You okay?” I ask hesitantly.

He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who enjoys sharing personal shit, so I wouldn’t blame him if he told me to fuck right off. It’s what I would do if I were in his shoes. But if the litany of therapy I’ve been in since December has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes it’s not good to keep things bottled up.

Parker exhales, shifting his attention to the crowd. I don’t push him because I understand his unspoken words all too well, and we sit in comfortable silence as the bar noise drowns out whatever thoughts are ricocheting through his mind.

A few moments later Beau returns, balancing two pitchers and an extra glass in his arms. “Peace offering,” he says, setting them down and pouring out three drinks.

Parker looks up to meet his gaze, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “Thanks, brother.”

Beau’s eyes light up and before taking a seat, he claps Parker on the back and says, “Rolls right off the tongue. Doesn’t it?”

“Who knows . . . at this rate, you’ll probably get married before I do.”

Parker’s comment feels like it’s out of left field because his engagement party was only a few weeks ago, and at the time they seemed incredibly happy. So happy, in fact, that I had to excuse myself from their love bubble because it made me feel physically ill watching them cuddle on the balcony.

All of the amusement on Beau’s face fades as he glances at me, and then at Parker. “Hey man, he doesn’t mean anything. He’s in the past.”

Parker winces, staring into his full glass like it’s a crystal ball. “Right.”

I have no idea what they’re talking about so I sip my beer quietly and let them work through their issues.

“What did Cass say?” Beau asks tentatively.

Parker’s jaw clenches so hard that it looks like he might crack a tooth. “After she ran out of my office like a coward?” he snorts. “Nothing. We haven’t spoken about it since.”

“Hmmm.” Beau leans back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee, just like a damn therapist. Honestly, if he wasn’t so talented in the OR, I’d encourage him to go into psychiatry—he clearly enjoys this kind of thing. “Have you talked to Weston?”

Parker’s nostrils flare at the name. “Not sure why that’s my responsibility.”

Beau continues, “I heard he left his fellowship and accepted the open attending position in general surgery.”

They must be talking about Weston Southerland. He graduated residency with Parker and moved to Chicago for a trauma surgery fellowship. We got to know each other decently well over the past few years, and I always thought he was a solid guy, maybe a little too cocky for my liking, but we’re surgeons—we’re all cocky.

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