11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Weston
T he lights are off in the hotel room when I step out of the bathroom, pulling a T-shirt over my head. From what I can see in the darkness, it looks like Caroline is snuggled beneath the covers on the opposite side of where I was sitting earlier. I can’t tell if she’s already asleep, but I move as quietly as possible, just in case.
I pull back the duvet and settle into the queen size bed, turning toward the wall so that the light from my phone doesn’t bother her. I have no doubt that I’ll be able to hear Carter if he wakes up, but I want to do a quick check one last time before I pass out.
As I open the monitoring app, I hear Caroline whisper, “Did you set an alarm?”
I smile to myself because she has no idea that an alarm isn’t necessary when you have a baby.
“Six.”
It sounds like a statement, but I mean it as a question. We can get up whenever she wants, as long as I’m able to get a few hours of sleep before we start driving again.
“That’s fine. Based on the texts I’ve gotten tonight, they won’t be up early anyway.”
She’s not wrong.
I checked my messages while she was in the shower and had a few from Parker that were barely coherent, so I doubt any of our friends will be out of bed before noon.
I plug my phone into the charger and pull the covers up to my shoulders, feeling the mattress shift as Caroline rustles beside me.
This is my first time sharing a bed with a woman I’m not sleeping with, and I wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was, so I offered to sleep on the floor.
Of course, she had a problem with that, though—like most things I do. She told me I was being ridiculous, and that it was only awkward because I was making it that way.
And now that I’m lying beside her, I completely agree because nothing about this is awkward. In fact, I’m more comfortable than I have been in a while, and I’m unsure if it’s due to my sheer exhaustion or the woman beside me.
Unfortunately, being comfortable doesn’t seem to equate to being able to fall asleep.
I flop onto my back and close my eyes, focusing on the steady hum of the air conditioner above my head. I need to quiet my mind and get some rest or this detour will have been pointless.
“You okay?”
I turn my head, and even though I can’t see her expression, I can tell that she’s being sincere.
“Yeah . . . sorry. I was so tired earlier that I couldn’t keep my eyes open. But for some reason, now I can’t fall asleep.”
For a second I wonder if she’s going to respond because there’s a long pause. But then she asks, “Is that why we stopped?”
I stare at her through the darkness, knowing that I owe her an explanation—I just don’t know where to start, or how much I should share.
“Yeah.”
I’m used to functioning on less sleep than the general population because my years in surgical residency were riddled with chronic exhaustion. And while getting by on less than five hours of sleep prepared me to be a father, they didn’t prepare me for tonight.
None of the tricks I typically try to stay awake were effective in a silent car. I couldn’t exactly jog up a flight of stairs to get my blood flowing or blast 80s music when I had two people sleeping in the back seat. So when the trees on the side of the road tonight started looking like ghosts from a children’s cartoon, I knew that I needed to stop. I wasn’t going to add another item to my list of regrets.
Caroline lets out a long sigh, and if I had to guess, she’s probably rolling her pretty blue eyes in exasperation. “I would have driven the rest of the way, Wes. Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“Do you really believe that?”
I’m not trying to come off as patronizing, even though it probably sounds that way. But I know without a doubt that there’s no way she could’ve taken over. The winding mountain roads were pitch black and required a level of concentration that neither one of us were capable of.
“I mean . . . I could have tried.”
Her tone is defensive, and I completely understand—I made a decision for all of us without talking to her about it. But I would do it again in a heartbeat because she has no idea what could have happened. What has happened on roads like these.
“That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take,” I answer simply.
“But—”
“Caroline.”
Her name comes out more sternly than I intended, so I take a deep breath to reset myself. I should have known she wouldn’t let it go until I gave her the full truth—the truth I’ve never given anyone.
“Do you know how Cassidy’s brother died?” I ask gently.
Caroline shifts like she wasn’t expecting the question.
“Uh . . . car accident, right?”
I glance back at the ceiling as flashbacks of regret start playing in my mind. Only this time, one in particular is much more vivid.
“Yeah,” I confirm, reaching up to adjust the overstuffed pillow beneath my head. “During my fourth year of residency.”
“Were you close?”
I can tell that she’s facing me now because I can hear her steady exhale beside me.
“He was one of my best friends.” I feel my throat tighten, but I force myself to continue. “Our friendship changed as life took us in different directions, but he always prioritized keeping up with me.”
I feel Caroline studying me, and it should make me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. Because I’ve never had to pretend like I was someone I’m not with her. She saw me for who I was from the beginning.
While I’d like to think that I’m not that guy anymore, and for some ridiculous reason, I’d like for her to think that too, I need to get this off my chest.
“Every year we would take a trip to the mountains with our high school friends. Because Carter and I were living in Atlanta at the time, we planned on driving up together after work. But I got offered a crazy case at the last minute that I felt like I couldn’t say no to. I knew it would run through the night, so I told him to head up without me instead.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling like I just got punched in the gut as I think back to the call that I got from my mom the next morning.The funny thing is . . . I don’t even remember what the case was anymore. All I remember is that it cost me the life of my best friend, and that guilt sits with me every single day.
“He ended up falling asleep at the wheel, and I never saw him again.”
“That wasn’t your fault, Wes,” she says softly.
Caroline’s hand rests on my shoulder, and I don’t stop to think before leaning into her touch. It just feels so good to have someone else to bear the burden with, even if her words aren’t entirely true.
“He told me he was working crazy hours at the investment bank. I should’ve known he couldn’t make the drive on his own . . . I should’ve put him first.”
“Regret is a normal part of grief.”
“I have plenty of regrets, trust me.” I force a near-painful laugh. “You know I never went to his funeral? I couldn’t do it.”
I suck in a shaky breath, remembering that day he was buried with clarity.
It was a perfect fall afternoon. The sun was shining, the temperature didn’t get higher than seventy degrees, and the leaves were starting to change colors. Everyone was gathered to celebrate the life of one of my best friends.
Everyone except me.
I’m sure most people think that because I deal with so much death at work, it must get easier over time. That I can see a trauma patient and instantly compartmentalize because I’m good at what I do. But the truth is, it never gets easier . . . not for me, at least. Every loss sticks with me, especially the ones I know I could’ve done something about. Like Carter.
So, instead of going to his funeral, I overloaded myself with cases at the hospital. I mourned him in my own fucked-up way, hoping that if I was able to help save a few more strangers, it might make up for the fact that I couldn’t save one of my best friends.
Sometimes I wish he could see me now. I wish we could laugh about how I’ve transformed from the thrill-seeking teenager who used to do doughnuts on my ATV, to a careful father who firmly believes in seatbelt safety. He probably wouldn’t recognize me. Or at least that’s what he would probably claim . . . if heaven wasn’t so far away.
“I don’t blame you,” Caroline says, pulling me out of my head. “I didn’t want to go to Mom’s funeral either. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”
Her acceptance settles deep in my chest, releasing some of the guilt I’ve carried for too long. And for the second time today, I find myself saying two words in the English language that sound incredibly trivial but mean so much.
“Thank you.”
Her thumb strokes my shoulder affectionately, and it feels like another shift is happening between us—one I can’t quite place.
“You don’t have to thank me, Wes.”
Silence settles in the dark room for a while before Caroline breaks it again. “Parker told me about what happened. Is that why you named your son Carter?”
A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips, grateful that I don’t have to explain the saga again. Grateful that she reminded me of the light that came from all of the darkness.
“Yeah,” I answer, picturing my friend’s face so vividly in my mind after all this time. “I wanted to be reminded that I don’t come first anymore. Plus, he was always a good-looking bastard, and I figured I’d try to manifest that for my son.”
Caroline snorts, but instead of teasing me, she squeezes my shoulder again. “Thank you for putting us both first tonight.”