Dr. Attending (Midtown Memorial #4)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Weston

M ost surgeons are unflappable under pressure—they’re stoic leaders who refuse to admit weakness both inside, and out, of the operating room. If you did a survey on which medical specialty has the biggest ego, nine times out of ten, the answer would be surgery. But if you whittled it down from there, nobody would be able to agree. Ortho would probably say cardiac. Cardiac would probably say neuro. And neuro would probably refuse to answer the question because they know that it’s them.

The point is that surgeons aren’t exactly known for their emotional intelligence. They’re paid to produce the best results with the fewest errors. And that type of focus requires a disassociation from yourself that can be challenging to snap out of once you go home.

But you have to.

You have to remember that when you leave the walls of the hospital, you are not a God. You are a person. A person who is capable of making mistakes, just like everyone else. And I’m hoping that Parker remembers that too.

“Ready to order?” the waitress asks me for the second time.

Her expression is filled with concern, probably because she assumes that my date didn’t show up. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m starting to wonder the same thing.

I’ve been sitting alone on the crowded front patio for the past half hour, pretending to watch baseball highlights on the massive outdoor televisions. At this point I’m ready to call it quits—this has been a colossal waste of my time.

I glance at my phone for the tenth time, finding no new messages.

“No,” I reply, pulling out my AMEX. “I’ll just take another gin and tonic. You can close me out.”

She takes my card with a pitied half-smile. But before she can make it inside, a familiar voice stops her. “Make it two. Top shelf.”

I freeze, not sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed. But when I finally look up, I can’t help the grin that overtakes my face because it’s impossible to feel anything other than love for the guy who’s been like a brother to me over the past ten years.

The waitress pauses to see if I approve of the charge, and I nod, turning back to my friend.

“You couldn’t have picked somewhere with valet?” Parker mutters as he slides into the chair across from me. “Took me twenty fucking minutes to find parking.”

“You couldn’t have dressed up?” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes on his navy Braves polo and matching baseball cap. “Our first date in almost two years, and it’s like you didn’t even try.”

He chuckles as he eyes my outfit. “I think you tried hard enough for the both of us.”

Yeah, yeah.

My white linen button down, khakis, and loafers might be slightly overstated for a seedy Virginia Highlands sports bar, but I panicked and reverted to my roots. I guess it’s true what they say—you can take the boy out of Buckhead, but you can’t take Buckhead out of the boy.

“I figured you couldn’t clock me when I’m wearing Armani,” I laugh, noticing the tension in my shoulders beginning to ease.

When Parker and I spoke at the hospital, our conversation was short, so it was hard to gauge how deep the rift between us had settled. But it’s nice to know that we can fall right back into our bullshit like old times.

Parker shakes his head and leans back in his chair, getting comfortable. “I think that’s even more of a reason to throw a punch.”

“Well, thanks for coming, man,” I say, starting to feel hopeful that we might be able to repair our friendship. “I honestly wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”

“I definitely considered bailing after sitting in traffic on 400 for an hour. But, nah, I said I’d be here. So I’m here.”

I study him for a moment, trying to work out where to begin.

I like to think I’m good at reading people—other than nepotism, it’s the thing that’s gotten me the farthest in life. But Parker is the one person I’ve never quite been able to get a grasp on, and his current facial expression isn’t cluing me in to how he’s actually feeling.

“It’s good to see you,” I offer, feeling the need to break the silence between us as the waitress slides our drinks onto the table. “You know . . . when you’re not avoiding me at work.”

It’s not exactly a profound opening, but it’s true. I missed the hell out of him.

I’ve always been the guy who surrounded himself with friends. I thought the more that I had, the better off I would be when I wanted or needed something. But my friendship with Parker was never built on selfishness or desire. It was formed from a mutual awareness of each other’s backgrounds and the pressure that comes with family expectations. And until it was gone, I didn’t realize how important it was to me.

Parker reaches up to flip his hat around, running his fingers through his dark hair before he places it back on his head. I can see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he wants to talk about the elephant in the room, but he doesn’t know where to start. And neither do I . . . but I’m going to try.

“I was sorry to hear about your mom.”

“Thanks.” He swallows and glances away for a moment before meeting my gaze. “You didn’t have to make that donation, by the way.”

“It was nothing.”

Parker’s mom would always talk about her volunteer work at a free clinic near their house, so I gave some money to them. The donation was supposed to be anonymous, so I’m not sure how he found out, but I didn’t do it to buy his forgiveness, or anything like that. I did it because I wanted to be there for him, but I knew that I wasn’t welcome.

His mouth curls into a ghost of a smile. “I know you felt bad, dude. But an entire building was a little superfluous, don’t you think?”

I shrug because the amount of money that it took to fund the clinic didn’t even make a dent in my trust.

“I have the money,” I state simply. “Why not do some good with it?”

We both sip our drinks, trying to figure out where to go from here because that was just the tip of the very deep iceberg of our friendship.

“So,” Parker starts before I have a chance to dive in. “I got your messages . . . and emails . . . and letters.”

“A little desperate, huh?” I chuckle uncomfortably, slowly stroking the condensation on my glass with my thumb.

“A little.”

“Did you read them?”

I’m not trying to come off as a smartass—it’s a genuine question.

I laid everything on the table—the truth about the research from our chief year, what happened between me and Cass, and everything I’ve done to make both situations right. When my multiple attempts at explaining myself went unanswered, I got the point. He wasn’t interested in hearing me out.

Which is why I was honestly surprised when he agreed to meet me today—it’s not like anything has changed since then.

“I did.” Parker swallows and looks down at his drink, giving it a quick stir before meeting my gaze head on. “But I already knew all of that stuff.”

The knot in the base of my stomach transforms into a leaden cannonball because if he’s been sitting on the truth for this long, our conversation is pointless. There is quite literally nothing more that I can say.

I suck in a slow breath, trying to find my footing. “You did?”

Parker nods, and his expression softens. “I just needed time.”

It’s a simple explanation, but it does nothing to ease the emotion between us—the regret, frustration, and guilt coming from both sides.

“And now that you’ve had it?”

Parker’s jaw tightens like he’s trying to figure out the right words, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink, letting out a heavy sigh when he finally sets his glass down.

“I think I’m the one who owes you an apology.”

I blink, certain that I’ve misheard him.

Parker leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I know you’ve been trying to make things right, and I’ve refused to hear you out because I’ve been wallowing in this . . . resentment. At first, I thought I was pissed about the research. But it wasn’t that. Not once Swanson explained everything to me.”

I keep my mouth shut, letting him work through it.

He shakes his head, staring down at the stained concrete beneath us like he can’t bear to look at me. “But eventually, I realized it was all about Cass.”

“Parker, it—”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupts, his voice still steady but tinged with rare emotion. “I used the research bullshit as a crutch to stay mad at you instead of admitting the truth.”

I can tell that whatever he’s about to say has been weighing on him because his expression is almost pained when he lifts his head.

“I was . . . I was jealous of you.”

I must look as stunned as I feel because Parker lets out a half-chuckle.

“I didn’t say it was logical because I’m clearly better looking. But when I found out that you and Cass had such an extensive history, it brought me face-to-face with my biggest insecurity.”

“What? That you clearly have a thing for blondes?” I wink, feeling like this conversation needs a little bit of levity. “It’s okay. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Parker rolls his eyes at my joke.

“I’m serious, though,” he says after a beat. “It made me feel like she would prefer you over me, just like everyone else.”

I have to take a second to process his words.

Parker and I have had a handful of conversations like this over the years, but they were always related to our background and family dynamics. Nothing remotely like this. Nothing vulnerable and raw.

But the more that I think about it, the more his admission makes sense. Even though we were close, our friendship has always felt like a competition. While the magnitude has somewhat faded over the years now that we’re not in medical school, the inherent rivalry between us hasn’t quite disappeared.

It’s almost like we each have something the other desperately wants. Parker is logical, focused, and has an aptitude for surgery that I’ve always dreamed of. And while he might be more talented in the operating room, I have much better people skills and connect with patients on a different level than he does.

It’s strange, but it almost feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to myself, but looking at Parker now, it’s finally so clear—he might have been jealous of me, but I was jealous of him too.

I would have done anything to make it seem like I had the upper hand in our friendship. Anything, like finding Cassidy’s look-alike on a dating app and bringing her to Thanksgiving dinner, just to prove that I wasn’t bothered by their relationship—to prove I hadn’t actually lost or been bested by him.

In a way, I’m thankful for my petty behavior because it brought me my son. But looking back, I can’t help but shake my head at how childish I was. How desperate I was to protect my foolish pride.

“Well,” I finally say. “I can’t speak for everyone . . . but I hope you know by now that Cass definitely prefers you over me.”

Parker’s mouth twists into a reluctant smile. “She’s told me once or twice.”

“And I prefer it too . . . you’re great together, man. I really am happy for you.”

As important as Cassidy is to me, in my heart I’ve always known that we were never truly right for each other. We were an arrangement of sorts, planned by our families over the years because they thought it would make the perfect story.

But I’ve learned a thing or two about stories over the past year. And while they don’t always end the way that the reader or the writer expect them to, sometimes that’s for the best. Sometimes that’s what we need.