Page 80 of Dr. Fellow

We sat in our own little bubble on the sky bridge for far too long, alternating between slow conversation and comfortable silence. Just like that first night I broke down at his house, Walker didn’t force me to talk about what happened today. He just held me in his arms and gave me all of the time I needed to reset in his secret spot.

And it worked . . . though I think that’s more due to him, than anything else. I almost forgot what it’s like to be around him—the constant crackle of energy flowing between us, the spark that makes even the darkest grays transform into beautiful color.

Walker told me he has something to give me before I head home, so we’re currently stopping by the ortho call room on the way out.

I feel myself frown as we enter the small, windowless space.

I can’t believe that my friends hookup in here.

There’s nothing sexy about a twin-size bed and fluorescent lighting—not even if the man you’re with makes you feel all tingly inside.

“Did you get me a present?” I ask, trying to peek past Walker’s massive body. He’s standing at his locker, searching for something.

“No.”

I jump into the air, getting a quick glimpse of a blue bag and a stack of neatly organized books. “Did you make me something?”

“No.”

This time I launch myself onto his back, wrapping my legs around his torso so that I can peer over his shoulder.

“Blue Nerd Clusters!” I scream into his ear, reaching out with grabby hands.

Walker mutters something rude that I don’t hear because I’ve secured the goods and already jumped down from my mount. Plopping onto the desk in the corner, I shove a handful of my favorite candy into my mouth, the stress of the day instantly washing away the moment the sugary gummies hit my tongue.

“Best husband ever,” I say with a full mouth. “Did you get these for me? Or are you a connoisseur too?”

He grabs something else from his locker and closes the door. “Pretty sure you called me the worst husband less than twelve hours ago.”

He settles into the desk chair across from me, leaning back to study me.

“You’re net zero today,” I explain, closing the bag because I’m suddenly hungry for something other than candy. “It’s a sliding scale, not that I would expect you to understand how those work as an ortho bro.”

Walker’s lips quirk a millimeter but quickly return to his traditional flat-lined scowl. His chin is resting in his hand, thumb rubbing his neatly trimmed facial hair as his eyes narrow on me like I’m in trouble. His expression is giving me flashbacks to dominant Walker, and I suddenly take back everything I said about hooking up in call rooms—you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.

“Interesting,” he muses, attention dropping to my lips in the most shameless way.

My skin prickles under his scrutiny, but I keep pushing him. “It would be more interesting if you got a positive score for once. But until you agree to divorce me, that won’t be happening.”

I don’t know why I say that—seeing Walker today changed everything. His physical presence alone might have been enough to make me rethink my stance on our relationship, but after what he did for me, I’m beginning to wonder where the harm in trying is.

I mean, maybe marriage could work between us. And if it doesn’t, we’ll just get divorced like everyone else. Plus, it was super hot hearing him call me his wife earlier—I definitely wouldn’t hate hearing that again.

Walker’s dark eyes flicker with something unreadable before he speaks. “If you would give me a compelling argument on why I should divorce you, I’d do it. I’d sign the papers as soon as they came in. But you haven’t. All you’ve done is beg for something that you don’t even know if you want. Because if you knew why you wanted to end this marriage, you would have already told me.”

He scoots closer, his legs caging me in.

“So go ahead, Morgan. Tell me why you want this to end. Why you don’t even want to try.” He leans in, his face inches from mine. “I’m all fucking ears.”

My traitorous mouth opens and closes, unable to find words for the first time in my life.

This is my chance. All I’ve done for the past month is come up with positive arguments for divorce, reasons why I should ignore the intense magnetism between us, and think clearly. I created an entire list that was well crafted, backed by logic, and most importantly—factually accurate. So why does my mind go completely blank when I look at the man across from me?

“No?” Walker taunts, reaching out to place something in the front pocket of my scrubs. “Well, until then, here’s a key to my house . . . wife.”

The metal poetically settles above my heart, weighing me down with more than I can fight right now. I don’t have the strength to fight my stupid feelings, my stupid reasons, any of this.

So I don’t.

---