Page 72 of Dr. Fellow

Her eyes widen with sudden inspiration, and she quickly navigates to the photos app on my phone. Most of my pictures are surgery related, but Morgan did steal my phone a few times last night since she left hers back in the room, worried she’d lose it—maybe she’s onto something.

“Anything?”

All I notice are images of our friend group, drinks, and random city lights—nothing that remotely resembles a wedding chapel. But I let her do her thing because she’s probably better at this than I am.

Her lips curl into a thin line as she locks the screen, like it’ll magically erase the truth.“Nope.”

“Maybe it wasn’t us?” I suggest, watching her lean over the side of the bed.

I instinctively rub her back, thinking she’s about to throw up because her skin feels clammy under my hand. But then she sits up, rummaging through her beaded clutch frantically. Her body stiffens as she pulls out two plastic blue rings, the cheap kind that you’d find in a gumball machine.

“It was us.”

Before I can say anything, Claire comes barreling through the door at top speed.

“I fucking knew it,” she screeches, launching herself head first into the mattress. She quickly turns to face us, propping her chin on her hands as she wags her feet in the air. “Morgan and Walkie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Beau follows, slowly trodding across the marble floor with an apologetic look on his face. “She’s very persuasive.”

Morgan groans beside me, shifting her weight so that she can bury her head in her knees as Claire begins to rattle off every reason she thought we were hooking up.

Beau stops at the corner of the bed, staring at me with concern.

“You okay, bud?” His bushy eyebrows draw together as he assesses me more like a physician than a friend. “You look a little pale.”

“First comes love, then comes marriage,” Claire sings with a giggle, glancing up at Morgan, who slowly lifts her head as if it’s made of lead.

I shoot Beau a look that I hope communicates my growing irritation, silently threatening what I might say to his girlfriend if she keeps this up. He catches the warning, his expression softening as he guides Claire to sit by him on the bed’s edge. He pulls her into his oversized arms and murmurs something in her ear that makes her lips curl into a silent smirk.

“Can you call Cassidy and Parker in here, please?” I don’t want to elaborate further until we have more information.I have no idea how late they stayed out with us, but the last thing I remember is being with them at the karaoke bar. Maybe they’ll say something to jog our memories.

Beau frowns but doesn’t question me. He simply raises his voice to call to our friends through the open door, his eyes narrowing on me suspiciously.

I stroke my thumb along Morgan’s thigh as we wait for our friends in uneasy silence.

Parker shuffles in first, massaging the back of his neck, followed closely by his fiancée. They’re both still wearing their pajamas and look just as rough as we do.

Great.

“What’s up?” Parker asks, glancing between the four of us piled on the bed. His midnight-blue eyes settle on mine cautiously, as if he’s expecting me to be the one who brings him up to speed.

“Do you, uh, remember last night?”

“Which part?” He chuckles, wrapping his arm around Cass affectionately. “The part where we kicked your asses at jello shot pong? Or anything after that? Because my memories get kind of hazy from there.”

Jello shot pong?

What the—

I hear Morgan swallow audibly, before she asks, “Anything else? Anything at all?”

Though her question is directed at Parker, her eyes plead with her best friend for answers.

Cassidy wrinkles her nose, darting her attention between us. “Why? What happened?”

Morgan takes a deep breath and glances at me in permission. I nod somberly.

“Walker got a few messages this morning from the Burning Love Wedding Chapel . . .” Her voice trails off, weighted with uncertainty.

---