1 #2
“Always here for you.” She paused, and when she spoke again, it was softer, almost reverent.
“Really, though—bring someone. Not sure if you checked out the pictures, but they’re stunning, okay?
It’s this private island off Cambodia—white sand, boardwalks through the jungle, villas right over the reef.
Like, you can watch fish swim by while you sip champagne on your private deck. ”
Sure, yeah—I’d heard worse. I made a vague noise, and she barreled on.
“Just think how it’ll be pouring rain in New York, or maybe that awful sleet stuff that doesn’t count as snow. Meanwhile, we’ll have perfect daytime temperatures for a swim, and it won’t be sweltering hot at night either. Bring someone. Anyone. Or I’ll personally drown you in the infinity pool.”
“You have weirdly strong feelings about this.”
“It’s my wedding, and I want you to have a good time.
” Her voice slowed, went low and warm. “Seriously, Dean. Think about it, okay? I mean, yeah, Mom would love it if you brought your boyfriend. But even just bringing a friend—I think you’d enjoy it more.
And I don’t know when you last took a vacation, so… please. For me.”
Damn, she sure knew how to make her case. Stupid lawyers.
“Message received,” I told her and stared at the coffeemaker like it might offer life advice. I sure could use some.
It took a minute for Gregg to stop laughing. Only to chance one look at me and start again.
“Thanks, man,” I said, barely loud enough to carry over the hospital cafeteria’s mid-afternoon buzz. Trays clattered, chatter underpinning the subtle weariness of staff who’d realized the pasta tasted just as miserable as they looked.
“Man.” He sucked in a breath, mirth crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’re just—you’re priceless. Absolutely fucking priceless.”
“I’m glad my misery is amusing to you.” My flat tone was offset by the smile twitching around my mouth. It was hard to stew in self-pity when faced with his open delight at the world in general and my predicament in particular. Gregg kind of had that effect on people.
“Just so you know,” he said, “I’d totally be your fake boyfriend.” He gave a dramatic wave with his fork. “But Charley wouldn’t buy it. Plus, my girlfriend might have a few mild objections to me taking on a boyfriend and vanishing for a week.”
“Fair,” I conceded, elbows propped on the sticky table as I let my gaze sweep across the familiar space—three nurses huddled at a corner table, a banana sitting abandoned on a windowsill, and walls painted beige like the mood.
My coffee tasted slightly burnt. “Guess I’ll just say we broke up.
Which means no one’s gonna believe I even had a boyfriend to begin with, but whatever. I’ll survive.”
“Might want to work on shedding a few tears on demand.” Gregg shoved an ambitious amount of soggy spaghetti into his mouth and kept talking through it. “Though, listen. I’ve got an idea.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That usually means trouble.” Like that time we tried to, ah, liberate an unused hospital wheelchair to race down the underground staff corridor and I’d ended up with a bruised shin, or that other time he told the nurses I had a secret identical twin just to see how long he could keep the bit going. The answer was: four days.
“No, hear me out.” He shoved light brown hair off his forehead. “One of the residents on my team—charming guy, gay, has made a couple of comments about how he needs a break but can’t afford it.”
Right, I could see where this was going. “Gregg, no. I’m not bringing a complete stranger to meet my family.”
“He’s not.” Gregg’s grin flashed wide. “You know him. Did his cardio rotation under you, earlier this year. Tay.”
I shrugged. “Not usually on a first-name basis with the juniors.”
“See, it’s that sort of attitude that makes them think you communicate exclusively through scalpel placement.” He pointed his fork at me. “Tay Carter. Tall, good hair, dark eyes. You’d remember him.”
Uh, yeah. In theory, he’d been just another junior fumbling his way through cardio.
He wasn’t assigned to me directly, but we’d crossed paths a handful of times on ward rounds or in surgery, and—well.
In practice, there’d been something about his way with patients that even I had noticed, a…
humanity, maybe, something rather rare in our field.
Also, hard to forget the fittest general surgery resident who’d come through in a good long while, all narrow waist and legs for miles, raven hair, easy grins that he’d dished out like candy to anyone but me.
The kind of look my piece-of-shit dad would’ve called “a bit exotic,” because racism had been just one of his many charming qualities.
I didn’t usually allow the man to creep into my thoughts—must’ve been served up fresh by my mom’s unspoken fear that he’d messed me up beyond repair. I pushed it aside.
“Right,” I said, aiming for casual. “Carter, yeah. I remember him. Pretty.” Gorgeous, more like. “Still technically a junior, though, isn’t he?”
Gregg scoffed. “He’s in his final year of residency, Dean. And he’s good—really good. Half the departments he’s rotated through are hoping he’ll apply for a fellowship slot with them next year.”