Dr. Attending (Midtown Memorial #4)

20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Caroline

“ D on’t you have to pick up Carter from daycare?” I ask as Weston slides into the sticky red booth across from me.

It’s nearly five in the evening, so I would expect him to have more important places to be than sitting in the middle of a busy cafeteria with me.

“They have special hours for healthcare workers,” he says as he hands me a cup of coffee from the knockoff hospital Starbucks. “Plus, I don’t usually get him until around six most days.”

I take a sip of the much-needed liquid caffeine and nearly spit it back out.

“What is this?” I sputter as I swallow down the lighter fluid in disguise.

Weston’s brows furrow.

“A coffee?” He takes a sip of his own, looking genuinely confused. “Why? Is something wrong with yours?”

I hold my tongue because I know that he was trying to be thoughtful. And to be fair, I didn’t tell him how I wanted my drink. I just assumed he would know that I’m not a sociopath who drinks my coffee black.

“I prefer a little cream and sugar for future reference.”

Weston’s lips curl into a devious smirk over the rim of his cup. “So you’re saying there’s a future?”

Ugh.

Why is he going there again? It's not like he made any effort to pursue me over the past two weeks. And even if he had, it would be pointless because nothing about my situation has changed.

I still have two and a half years of school left, followed by residency and fellowship. Even if I could figure out how to surgically stimulate that maternal muscle buried deep inside me, my time isn’t my own—it won’t be for at least six more years. And I don’t think Wes realizes that. Actually, I know he doesn’t or he wouldn’t be making comments like this.

“Thank you for today,” I say, changing the subject. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He puts his cup down on the table between us. “I figured it might be what you need.”

My heart almost stops because when Weston was grabbing our coffees, I pulled out my phone and added another item to my list of things to be happy about. I could have written any number of things to commemorate what happened this afternoon. Things like:

The sterile hue of light in the OR Scrubbing for surgery for the first time An unexpected distraction from studying Getting to touch a hernia sac

But what I actually typed felt more poignant. More raw. And now it feels more overwhelming . . . because it’s exactly what Weston just said.

Someone knowing what you need before you do

I don’t have any idea how he knew. Or why he took it upon himself to turn my day around and give me the perspective that I needed. But he did. And it worked.

“It was,” I confirm, unable to hide my smile as I think back on the past few hours.

I finally got to put some of my knowledge into real-life practice instead of using it to solve generic scenarios that seem so far away. It made my constant studying more tangible somehow, like I could see the fruits of my labor firsthand as I followed what was happening throughout the case.Sure, an umbilical hernia repair is one of the easiest procedures that a general surgeon does, but that didn’t make it any less magical to experience for the first time.

Weston’s smile matches mine, and I swear it’s like he’s replaying the moment in his head, too. “You did great. You’re a natural.”

I stretch my arms above my head, trying to alleviate the uncomfortable tension in my chest. “You don’t have to say that just because I’m your friend’s sister.”

My family was never big on words of affirmation. That’s not to say that we didn’t have love in our home—it was just never expressed with overt praise or verbal statements of satisfaction. It was silent. Steady. Understood. So whenever someone praises me, I don’t know how to naturally respond.

Typically, I brush them off or change the subject. But for some reason, I take it upon myself at this moment to do something even more absurd—stare at the ceiling with my arms in the air, thinking about how the stain splattered across the white tile got up there. I guess looking like a lunatic is easier than holding Weston’s golden gaze and listening to words that I don’t believe.

“That’s not why I’m saying it, Caroline. And we both know it.”

His tone is serious, and I force myself to swallow down the ball in the base of my throat.

“So,” I say, letting my hands fall to my travel coffee cup as I finally return my focus to him. “Do you have students often?”

Weston’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, but he ignores it and takes a sip of his drink, like he needs a moment to contemplate a challenging question.

“More often than not,” he finally replies. “It’s either that or residents these days. But I don’t mind having them around.”

I feel myself frown. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure Parker hates it.”

I’ve always assumed that most physicians loathed teaching because I’ve listened to my brother complain about how much of a burden it is for years. But nothing about today felt like a burden—it felt like a gift. A gift for both of us.

Weston chuckles as he leans back against the booth. “Yeah, it’s not his strong suit. I’m kind of surprised you never shadowed him, though. I figured he would be itching to get you in the OR.”

“Believe me, he tried to make it happen.” I huff a laugh, remembering an argument we got into a few years ago after I learned I’d gotten into med school.

Parker wanted me to spend spring break in Atlanta so I would have a leg up on my classmates when I started. He wouldn’t shut up about his grand plans of having his angelic sister follow in his footsteps, even though I told him a million times that I wasn’t skipping a cruise to Mexico with my friends. The concession was to let him teach me how to scrub and suture over summer break—the ideal way to spend my time off from school.

Weston’s expression turns curious, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What?” I ask.

“I just figured you would want to learn from him instead of me, that’s all.”

I purse my lips, trying to work out just how candid I want to be.

I’m sure from the outside, it probably seems like my brother and I are closer than most siblings. And, in a way, we are—we understand each other in a way that my sister doesn’t. But even with that degree of understanding, we tend to keep our relationship very surface level. It’s just safer that way.

“Parker can be . . .” I trail off, searching for the right word. “Suffocating.”

I shake my head and sigh, tracing my thumb along the plastic lid of the coffee cup. “I don’t know . . . it’s like all he wants to talk about is my career. Or boards. Or getting into a good residency. I appreciate that he cares, and I love that we have that in common, but it’s exhausting to pretend everything is okay all of the time.”

“So don’t.”

I cock my head like I misheard him, even though his words were loud and clear. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend.”

Weston’s broad shoulders shrug, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and I want to open my mouth and tell him that it’s not that easy. I could tell my brother the truth about how I’m doing, but it would be pointless. He wouldn’t understand.

“Listen,” he continues, his expression softening. “Sometimes, when I’m teaching during a case, I’ll tell the resident that they just have to feel their way through it. The same goes for medical school, residency, all of it. It’s not easy, and everyone struggles occasionally. Even Parker.”

“Yeah, right,” I reply, hearing the blatant sarcasm in my tone.

I know my brother isn’t perfect in his personal life, obviously. But I doubt he’s ever struggled professionally. Everything he achieves looks so effortless, like he’s a robot that’s genetically programmed to succeed.

“Ask him about the research study during our chief year.”

I scoff. “Oh, I know about that . . . trust me.”

“You do?”

My lips tilt into a reluctant grin. “Yeah, I called him an itsy-bitsy bitch when he finally told me the full story.”

Weston blinks like he’s momentarily stunned. Then, he starts howling with rich laughter that’s so infectious it only makes my smile widen because he’s just so damn hard not to like.

Once Weston catches his breath, he looks at me with sheer admiration. “I wish I had been there to see that. Thanks for defending my honor, princess.”

The nickname doesn’t irritate me like it normally does. Instead, it makes my heart beat just a tad bit faster.

“Oh, I didn’t want to at the time,” I admit. “Especially because my opinion of you was at an all-time low. But even I have limits to my loyalty.”

He chuckles warmly. “And your opinion of me now?”

I pause like I’m mulling over the question.

“Improving.”

I feel my cheeks flush from the sheer honesty of the word, and every instinct that I have makes me want to look away, but I force myself to hold his gaze.

I’ve been searching for reasons to hold Weston at a distance—to stay away from him. But each time we’re together, it gets harder to believe that he’s the man I want to think he is. Especially after today.

“Do you want to know what my opinion of you was back then?” he asks after a moment, his hazel eyes glowing like they’re holding onto a precious secret. “What I thought about the first time we met?”

“Hmmm,” I hum, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. “Probably something like, ‘ She looks like fun to mess with. I’m going to do everything in my power to irritate her. Hell, I might even cross a line and ruin her first-ever relationship, just for shits and giggles. ’”

I expect him to refute my claim, but he doesn’t.

He leans forward, like what he’s about to say is more important than defending himself.

“No, Caroline,” he says with a tone more serious than I ever thought would be possible coming from him. “I thought you were the most beautifully honest person I had ever met in my life. It didn’t take you long to see through my bullshit and call me out. Nobody had done that before, and it’s always stuck with me.”

“I find that genuinely shocking given how much of a fuckboy you were.”I laugh, rolling my eyes.

Weston’s lips quirk into a wistful smile. “I sure was. So just remember that if you’re ever looking for someone to be honest with, you already know how to do that with me.”

I blink at him because I never thought about our relationship like that. But now that he’s made the connection, it’s spot on.

Weston was so inconsequential to me that I never held back with him. I never bothered to portray the perfectly curated version of myself that everyone else wanted to see—the ambitious achiever that I am to my classmates, the perfect peacemaker that I am to my siblings, and the charismatic cheerleader that I am to my friends.

I’ve spent my life wearing so many different faces, but never allowed myself to tap into the person that I truly am—the person that I am with Weston.

The tightness in my body begins to ease, almost like the ever-present pressure to be everything for everyone is gone.

“Honest is the understatement of the century.”

“You don’t say?” Weston chuckles and strokes the defined line of his jaw like he’s trying to jog his memory. “What did you call me after the truth or dare thing? ‘ An entitled fuckface with no regard for anyone but myself ?’ A little harsh, don’t you think?”

The way that he remembers my exact words makes me smile. “Listen . . . I stand by what I said.”

“And I stand by what I did. The kid was a douche.”

My brow arches. “And you weren’t?”

Weston shakes his head as all of the humor drains from his face. “Not to you. Never to you, princess.”