Page 23 of Dr. Attending

The old Weston would’ve bitten back and continued to argue with me just for the sake of it. But the stranger sitting in my back seat simply chuckles and turns his attention to his son. He shakes a colorful cube in his face, making him giggle and babble as I pull onto the quiet street.

I grip the wheel tighter, willing myself to focus on the road and not the sound of Weston’s laugh, or the way his cologne lingersin the air. It’s suffocatingly warm at first, followed by a biting finish—perfect for him, really.

Because Weston Southerland is a bundle of contradictions.

He’s caring, but he doesn’t act like he cares. He’s warm, but burns the people who get too close to his sunshine. He’s ambitious, but doesn’t take anything too seriously. I never understood how someone could be so many versions of themselves.

We barely make it to the stop sign a hundred feet away when my car suddenly decides to reconnect to Bluetooth, blasting a raspy male voice through the surround sound speakers.

“Her full lips drool around the gag as those baby-blue eyes meet mine, pleading for me to stop my torment. She’s already come twice, but I know she has more in her, and she’s going to take it until I say—”

I must be more exhausted than I thought because it takes me a second too long to register what’s going on, and Weston’s howling laughter overtakes the noise of the audiobook. My skin prickles with embarrassment as I fumble for the power button on the center console, finally finding it after several more lines of Morgan’s spicy book recommendation are performed with dramatic effect.

God damnit.

This day could genuinely not get any worse.

I glance back at Weston.

“Don’t,” I warn with my most intimidating tone.

His freshly shaven cheeks puff out as he lifts his fist to his mouth, forcibly stifling whatever he wants to say.

Our eyes briefly meet again, and if I wasn’t driving, I would have a much more difficult time looking away. Because even though I don’t want to admit it, he’s still just as magnetic as I remember.

Chapter 9

Weston

“Fa-fa,” Carter says as he presses his greasy hands together to signal that he wants more.

“French fry,” Caroline repeats as she leans forward to hand him another one of her Chick-fil-A waffle fries.

I can’t help but watch the way my son sits happily on her lap as she smooths the hair out of his face like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I tried to put him in a high chair, but Carter wasn’t having it. He kept twisting and reaching for her, fussing in a way that left me no choice but to hand him over.

At first, Caroline looked like she’d just been handed a live grenade. She tensed up immediately, holding him awkwardly, like one wrong move might cause him to explode. She furrowed her brow like she was analyzing a complicated problem as she tried to properly position him, and it was painfully obvious that she was out of her comfort zone.

But then something shifted. After a few minutes, Caroline started to become more confident. I could see her begin tovisibly relax and enjoy the meal with him, and it made my heart ache in a way that I wasn’t expecting.

I don’t often think about what it’s like for him to grow up without a mom. I assumed that the interactions with his grandmother and daycare teachers would be enough to quench that lack of maternal presence in our home. But now I’m starting to wonder if they’re not—if maybe he needs more.

Now that my life feels like less of a whirlwind, and I finally have my feet back under me, I know that I should probably start thinking about dating again. The problem is that I feel like a completely different person than I was a year ago, and the surface-level relationships that I used to have aren’t going to work for me anymore. I need something real. Something raw and honest. Something like the relationship that I’ve always had with Caroline.

She glances up and cocks her head because I’m staring at her like a creep. “What?”

Her tone isn’t as snippy as usual. It’s softer, almost generous, like she’s beginning to warm to me after being stuck in an enclosed space together for several hours. And even though I know now that she’s only here because her brother conned her into it, I have to admit that it feels good to have someone else around—someone who can lighten my load.

“Thank you.”

I think I’ve said those two words more in the past twelve months than I ever have in my life. But the thing is, you don’t realize how much you need other people until you have to raise a child alone.

From the surgical department chair who worked with me to create a schedule that fit my childcare needs, to my parents who have truly helped me through my lowest lows, I’m genuinely thankful for everyone who has gotten me through the last year and helped restore a sense of normalcy to my life.

And now that includes Caroline.

Very quickly into our drive, I realized that I was out of my mind to think I could have ever made this trip alone. Carter had a ton of energy after his nap, and the hits just kept coming—he needed to be entertained, then he needed a snack, then he started sobbing and needed to be soothed. It was constant. And if Caroline hadn’t been driving, we wouldn’t have made it more than an hour before we had to turn back around.

“Thank you for what?” The edges of Caroline’s full lips twitch as she shifts my son in her lap.“Not slamming the door in your face? Or not leaving you in Atlanta?”

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