Page 5 of The Devil Gets His Due

I showerand collapse in my own bed for two hours, hoping I’ll forget what occurred. Unfortunately, I wake feeling deliciouslyoverused, which means I either ran a marathon last night or had repeated sex with someone twice my size.

If my life was a movie, this would be the wake-up call, the moment when I realize I need to pull my shit together: stop drinking, quit medicine, and do something meaningful with my life—like open a restaurant and joinThe Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Except I can’t afford to have a wake-up call right now, because the only way I can play hostess next to the loathsome, oversized Graham is through a little more drinking.

I order eggs, bacon, and a mimosa, and am informed that they are no longer serving breakfast, which leaves me feeling judged. I settle for the mimosa and put on my bikini, picking right back up where I left off last night: with no food in my stomach and a strange unhappiness I’m eager to dull.

I walk outside. We got lucky with the weather—January in LA is not reliably warm enough to be considered pool weather, but it’s in the seventies today and sunny. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with this idea, either. Gemma is lounging under the shade of a cabana, surrounded by her new friends, and it’s hard not to think about how different things are, how different she is. I’m so happy for her, but I can’t deny there’s this little pinch in my chest.

We used to be a mess together. I was bad with all things adult, and she was so emotionally detached I sometimes wondered if she might be a sociopath. But it turned out she was simply damaged, and now she’s fixed—madly in love and always doing grown-up shit with her well-adjusted husband and friends. She’s tried to include me, and I always make an excuse to get out of it. Being around all of them makes me feel like the only flower in the garden that’s failed to bloom.

I have to force myself to walk over. Gemma makes room for me to squeeze in, and once I’m seated, Tali, the very-pregnant wife of Ben’s best friend, taps my foot.

“So…mission accomplished last night?”

“Mission?” I repeat, looking from her to Gemma.

“We had a whole conversation about your plan to sleep with Josh’s brother. You don’t remember?”

Her daughter walks over, dripping wet, and Tali wraps a towel around her before tugging her to her side for a cuddle. My mom was like that with me, even when I was nearly grown. If I was anywhere nearby, I was getting a hug.

I swallow and look away. “It didn’t go as planned.”

Gemma laughs quietly. “That’s ironic. Your plans failed while Graham apparently had averybusy night.”

My gaze darts to hers. “Oh?”

“Ben said his room looked like he’d held a rave there last night. I think—” her voice drops to a whisper, “he might have been with Elise. I don’t know if you’ve met her yet.”

Obviously, this whole Graham situation would be far less awkward if that were the case. I wonder if Elise is the reason he stayed out so late, and if so, how he wound up with me instead.

Tali’s husband, Hayes, appears at the foot of the chair, smiling at his wife and kid with so much affection in his gaze that I have to look away. All these fucking couples with their shared looks and their quiet complete-ness are pushing my mood lower by the second, and it was already on the edge anyway.

I was ready to finish up my residency, but I’m sad about it too. I’m going to miss my friends at the hospital. I’m going to miss the chaos, though I’ve spent four years saying I couldn’t wait to put it behind me. And I’ve got three months of training at NIH with no job lined up afterward, so what was supposed to be a celebration feels a bit less so, and I really don’t need all this endless proof that everyone else is moving forward right now, getting jobs or getting married, or exchanging long affectionate glances over their children’s heads. My bitterness makes no sense, given I don’t evenwantmost of those things, but I feel it anyway.

Hayes lifts his daughter into his arms and her head rests against his chest as she pops her thumb in her mouth. She’s an adorable little thing. I’d have liked a daughter like that if things had gone differently.

“I need a drink,” I say, jumping to my feet.

I need a lot of drinks.

I walk to the bar. This is my last weekend at home before I leave for DC and I’m finally free of Dr. Patel, the world’s worst attending. I’ll be damned if all these happy fucking people are going to ruin it for me.

I smile at one of the guys behind the bar, and he hustles right over. “I’ll have—”

A hand lands on my ass.

“Two gin and tonics,” says Six to the bartender before he looks down and grins at me like the sure thing I am. “What happened last night? You went to the dance floor and never came back.”

I press a finger to one temple.Goddammit. My plan was one hundred percent on track and then Graham Tate somehow came in and ruined everything.

“I really don’t remember. I must have gone to bed.”

With someone else. By accident.So classy.

“We’ve still got today,” Six says. He signs the tab and slides me one of the gin and tonics. “Slam it. I just challenged people to a chicken fight, which should be right up your alley, little wild thing.”

He makes it sound like a compliment, while Graham could undoubtedly produce a long list of why being alittle wild thingis not a desirable quality.

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