Page 91 of Dr. Fellow

I swallow and close my eyes, the image of him hanging upside down in our beat-up SUV flooding back with vivid clarity. An ambulance showed up a few minutes later, declared him dead on arrival, and rushed me to the hospital.

“Mom died a few years later,” I add, blinking away the memories. “Overdosed the night after I left for college.”

Saying everything out loud sounds a lot worse than it feels. Sure, it’s hard to talk about, but I worked through my shit years ago. And while I would have loved a different childhood, it made me into the person I am today.

“So, uh, yeah,” I pause, trying to remember the point of this story other than pity. “The wound from the accident was pretty nasty, and the doctors at Grady did the best they could, but I ended up with a big-ass scar that ran down my forearm. As soon as I could afford it, I got a tattoo to cover it up. I didn’t give a fuck what it was—pretty sure I just told them to do the entire arm and handed them a wad of cash.”

Morgan nuzzles into my side, pressing her cheek against my chest. “I’m sorry that you went through that. And I’m even more sorry that I asked.”

“I’m glad you did,” I reply, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb as I meet her gaze. Her emerald eyes have turned glossy, like she’s fighting back tears. “And I’m glad it happened because I probably wouldn’t be a doctor otherwise.”

I didn’t make the connection until much later, but the experience actually solidified my interest in medicine. The team that worked on me was thorough, comforting, and incredibly talented. If it hadn’t been for them, I would have a fuck ton of debt because my parents didn’t have health insurance. The vascular surgeon spoke with social work to ensure that the surgeries were pro bono, and I left the hospital without a single bill.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re a doctor.”

I plant a kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad I’m a doctor, too. Because it means that I met you.”

Silence settles between us as I think back on the past five months.

When my wife left me, I resigned myself to a life without love because I assumed that I couldn’t be a good surgeon and a good husband at the same time. I figured there was a reason the divorce rate in residency was so high, after all. But it turns out that the problem wasn’t my career specifically—it was a lack of perspective, both from myself and my partner.

The hospital is a unique microcosm that you can really only understand from the inside. The doctors, the nurses, the technicians, we all spend more time with each other than we do with our own families. We laugh together, we cry together, we grow together, and we fall apart together. And because of the rawness of human emotion that we experience in our careers, it doesn’t take long to form bonds with our coworkers that rival any other relationship in our lives—bonds that are foraged in mutual suffering, enlightenment, and deep acceptance.

Oftentimes, when we try to live our normal lives outside of our jobs, it can be challenging to feel understood. And the more that I think about it, that mutual lack of perspective is what ended up becoming the biggest detriment to my first marriage. I lacked the perspective to understand how alone Lane felt when I was working hundred-hour weeks, and she lacked the perspective to understand how alone I felt after those hundred-hour weeks. Neither one of us was wrong, and while it was fucked up that she had an affair, I understand now that it was because she was lonely—we were both lonely.

Having a career in medicine can sometimes feel like you’re living two different lives—one at work and one at home. But with Morgan, those lives have merged effortlessly into something beautifully whole. Something that I never want to let go of.

“Actually, I do have one tattoo that means something,” I murmur after a while, my voice barely above a whisper.

I promised myself that I wasn’t going to show her until it felt right, but now seems like just as good of a time as any—I want her to know how much she means to me.

Her ears perk up, and she lifts her head. “Please tell me it’s not a Creed song. I didn’t realize how obsessed you were until I opened your phone to play music in Vegas and saw that your username was in the top zero point one percent of listeners . . .”

“It’s not a Creed song,” I confirm with a soft laugh. “See if you can find it.”

Shifting my body, I turn to face her again and hold out my arm so that my palm is raised to the ceiling.

She mutters something snarky about how she’s already seen my tattoos a million times, but her stubbornly curious gaze travels along my skin, trying to confirm that she hasn’t missed anything. When she reaches the inner part of my upper arm, her face pales.

“Hang on. What’s—” Her voice crawls to a stop, like she’s had the wind knocked out of her.

“I got it after Vegas,” I explain, the amusement from her shock warring with the sudden rush of emotion that just slammed into my chest. “It’s the Tasmanian Devil.”

Morgan swallows and touches the fresh ink. Her fingers trace over the animated character swirling around in a tornado that appears to be coming out of a wound in my skin. Because of its location, you wouldn’t know the tattoo was there unless I called attention to it, so I’m not surprised that she didn’t notice it yet. But now that she has, I don’t think she’ll ever unsee it again.

“But why?” she asks quietly, keeping her eyes glued to the permanent art like it will answer the question for her.

“Because you swirled into my life like a little devil—unpredictable, powerful, and intoxicating. You swept me away, and I haven’t wanted to be back on my feet ever since.” I reach out to cup her face, directing her attention to me. “I wanted to carry you with me, regardless of what happened with us in the end. Even if you decided you didn’t want me, I knew that you’d always have me.”

Her bottom lip wobbles. “You’re serious?”

I nod, swallowing down my own emotion. “You have my heart, little devil, and you’ll have my heart until the day that I die. I love you.”

The words are everything I can offer her, and yet somehow not enough, because what I feel for Morgan is so much more than love. She’s the most important thing in my life, and she will continue to be the most important thing in my life until I die.

The raw emotion that crosses her face tells me that she feels the same way, and even though I don’t expect her to say anything, she whispers, “I love you too.”

My fingers tip her chin, angling her face so that I can capture her mouth. Our kiss is all-consuming, filled with passion, vulnerability, and pure understanding. It’s a kiss that I never thought I’d experience, but one that I feel so goddamn lucky to have.

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