Page 52 of Dr. Fellow

As I’m pulling fresh sheets out of the dryer, my phone pings with a text from Morgan.

Just got home and hopping in the shower.

Be over soon.

She worked today and even though I had no reason to stop by the ER before heading home, I couldn’t help myself—I wanted to see her. It must have been a busy day though, because I only caught a glimpse of her rolling a crash cart through the hallway, looking irritated and miserable. I type back a response, hoping a little bit of teasing will turn her day around.

Yikes . . . see you in three hours.

A text bounces back almost instantly, making the corner of my lips quirk up.

Don’t worry.

Two hours max.

I quickly remake my bed and then respond to her message as I walk into my recently finished office.

I hope you’re joking.

Three blue dots pop up, then disappear quickly as her reply comes through.

Am I?

My lips press into a firm line.

There are going to be consequences if you take two hours to get your ass over here.

Almost immediately, she starts typing.

In that case . . .

See you in four hours. ;)

I read the message several times and shake my head before tossing my phone on the new ebony wood desk I just had delivered.

My finished office is masculine and sexy, with dark floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining three walls, and a cowhide rug covering the hardwoods. While the space isn’t huge, I was able to fit a Chesterfield loveseat and bar cart against the open wall. I never would have imagined that I would enjoy interior design, but this project has kept me company over the past few months, and I’m genuinely proud of the results, especially the false bookshelf I installed which opens to a walk-in closet.

Pouring a glass of whiskey, I sink into the leather couch for the first time. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and if Morgan wasn’t coming over tonight, I probably wouldn’t move—I honestly still might not move depending on how long it takes for her to get over here.

Needing something to pass the time, I open one of the books she texted me about this week. Now that she knows I’ll indulge her recommendations, she won’t shut up about them. When I got back to the hotel after the conference one night, I opened my phone to a list of required reading that was almost as long as the screen.

And what did I do?

Ordered all of them immediately.

Hey, I needed something to fill my empty shelves—even if they will definitely be hidden at the top where nobody can see them.

I know she was surprised that I finished the first book, but I’ve always been an avid reader. I’ll read pretty much anything that takes me to a different world, especially because my world growing up was one that warranted escaping from. Unfortunately, now that my board exams are looming on the horizon, I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to escape anything other than my orthopedic surgery textbooks. But that’s a problem for tomorrow—today I’m making the conscious choice to put something other than my career first, knowing that it’ll make her happy. Maybe my therapist is right—I have grown.

As I’m diving into chapter four of a book that seems like it’s about some sort of post-apocalyptic world, my phone pings with another text from Morgan.

On my way!

I’ve got a surprise for you.

A few seconds later an image of a silver hook comes through. It’s nearly twice the size of her hand, with a small ball on the end that looks like a marble.

Before I can respond to her message, I get another text.

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