Page 30 of Dr. Attending

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 Icouldn’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.”

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