Page 83 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

I close my eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace, but it eludes me. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, my heart a battlefield of emotions. And in the midst of it all, one thing remains clear: I love Emma. And I’m terrified of what that means.

The low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses wash over me as I push open the bar door. The smoky air feels like a thick blanket, and the blaring music assaults my ears after a twelve-hour shift fueled by stale coffee and sheer willpower. Sleep is a distant dream, my mind replaying the events of yesterday in a relentless loop.

I spot Damon at a corner table, surrounded by a group of boisterous guys. He looks up, a grin splitting his face as he catches sight of me. “Liam! The man of the hour finally arrives!” he booms, gesturing for me to join them.

I walk over, fatigue weighing heavily on my limbs. Despite the exhaustion, a sliver of a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Good. Distraction. That's what I need right now. Anything to drown out the chaotic symphony playing in my head.

Reaching the table, I pull Damon into a hug, his familiar scent a momentary anchor in the storm brewing inside me. “Hey,” I mumble, forcing a lightness to my voice.

“Dude, where have you been? We've been waiting ages!” chimes in a guy with a shaved head and a handlebar mustache.

“Work got a little crazy,” I apologize, offering a weak smile. “Had to tie up some loose ends before this…celebration.”

“Loose ends, huh?” another guy with a mischievous glint in his eyes nudges Damon playfully. “Best man duties? Or something else?”

Damon chuckles, a knowing look passing between them. “Just wedding stuff,” he says, patting me on the back. “Don't worry, Liam's all business these days.”

I manage a laugh, the sound brittle and strained even to my own ears. Business. Yeah, that's what I am these days. All business and zero sleep.

Damon launches into introductions, rattling off the names of his friends as I shake their hands. Most of them are colleagues, a couple are childhood buddies, but all of them sport friendly smiles and booming laughter. A welcome change from the turmoil churning inside me.

“Alright, guys,” Damon declares, once the introductions are done. “Tonight, we celebrate the end of an era! No more single life for this man!”

He raises his beer in a toast, and the rest of them follow suit. I clink my bottle against theirs, the cool glass momentarily numbing the knot of anxiety in my stomach. Tonight, I will be the best friend. The supportive shoulder. The man who is absolutely, positively thrilled for his friend.

And for the next few hours, I play the part. We down beers, share stories, laugh at dumb jokes. I tell embarrassing stories about Damon—with his permission, of course—and they retaliate in kind. It is a facade, a carefully crafted mask I wear to hide the turmoil within.

But the act, however convincing, can't erase the emptiness that gnaws at me. The boisterous laughter feels hollow, the beer tastes dull on my tongue. Everywhere I look, I see her—Emma's smile, Emma's laugh, Emma's eyes glittering with a mixture of hurt and anger. The other women in the bar, no matter how beautiful, pale in comparison.

The night wears on, and the haze of alcohol starts to settle over me. It’s a welcome numbness, a temporary escape from the thoughts that plague me. A beautiful woman with cascading blonde hair and a figure that could stop traffic sidles up to me, her crimson lips curved into a seductive smile.

“Hey there, stranger,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes at me. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Just in town for a friend’s wedding,” I reply, taking a sip of my drink.

“Oh, a wedding. Are you next in line?” she teases, her fingers lightly grazing my arm.

I shake my head, pulling away slightly. “Not really…”

She pouts. “I guess I can’t whip you off to the altar immediately. But we can start somewhere. You look like you could use some fun. Care to buy me a drink?”

Confident. Sassy. Bold and beautiful. In the not-so-distant past, I’d have immediately taken an interest in this woman, but now, I feel nothing.

I force a polite smile, the emptiness in my chest echoing in my voice. “Thanks, but I'm good.”

Her smile falters for a moment, then returns, a touch of challenge in her eyes. “Come on, you told me you’re not yet taken.”

“Not exactly,” I admit, my voice low. “I’m not really available, either.”

Before I can respond, Damon walks up, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Back off, Jenny. My sister’s making him an honest man.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking between us. “Oh, really? Good for her.” She smirks, a clear challenge sparking in her eyes. “Well, if things ever change,” she says, handing me a slip of paper with a phone number scribbled on it, “you know where to find me.”

With a wink, she sashays away, leaving me staring at the piece of paper in my hand. It is useless. A meaningless token from a meaningless encounter. The only number I want right now isn't scrawled on a flimsy piece of paper. The only number I want is etched in my memory, a constant reminder of the mess I've created.

I crumple the piece of paper, and Damon turns to me, grinning. “Can’t even enjoy a bachelor party without someone testing your faith, huh?”

I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Seems like it.”

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