Page 47 of Dr. Attending

I pull my phone out of my pocket as I walk toward my office, taking the long way across the skybridge because the September sun is shining through the glass.

There’s a text from my mom asking what we’re doing for Carter’s first birthday at the end of the month, and another from Parker about a golf reservation he made for us this weekend. I ignore them and scroll through my messages to the thread from a week ago that I can’t help but look at each day.

Did you make it to bed?

Yes, Dad. I made it up the stairs and to my room just fine.

I think I earned the title Daddy after tonight.

Nice try but it’s going to take more than a little tongue action to get me to call you that.

What would it take? Please be as explicit as possible ;)

It rhymes with shut up.

Oh, so you want to butt fuck? Hell yeah, I’ll be right there.

No you won’t because my door is locked.

Goodnight Weston.

Goodnight princess.

Caroline and I sent those messages shortly after we hooked up in the hot tub, and I remember staring at the ceiling for a while afterward as my mind raced.

In the past, most of my moments of post-nut clarity have been filled with regret. But this was different. She was different. And all I could focus on was how I needed to find a way to make it happen again . . . until I overheard what she really thought about me the next day.

“Southerland.” A familiar voice calls from down the hallway, distracting me from the memory.

I slide my phone into the back pocket of my scrubs and glance up. Walker is standing by the elevators in a suit and tie that doesn’t look like it fits him quite right.

“Long time no see, man,” I joke as I greet him with a clap on the back. “Shouldn’t you be at a game or some shit?”

Walker started his sports medicine fellowship a couple of months ago at University Hospital, and I still think it’s hilarious because he’s the least stereotypical orthopedic surgeon I’ve ever met. He’s reserved, meticulous, and disciplined—the complete opposite of the hammering heathens he works with like Beau.

“Tomorrow.” He laughs and steps back, assessing me with a curious expression. “You good?”

I dismiss his concern with a lazy grin, running my fingers through my hair. “Is this your way of saying that I look like trash?”

“Nah.” He narrows his dark brown eyes suspiciously. “You just look like something’s bugging you.”

I glance at the elevator instinctively, debating making my escape. Never show anyone your weakness—that’s the one thing that was ingrained in me by my parents and why I usually blow off tough conversations with humor. But Walker has never givena shit about expectations or vulnerabilities. He’s just a decent guy who cares about the people in his life, which is why I find myself asking if he’ll meet me in my office after his meeting.

I finish up charting and send off a few emails while I wait for him, trying to figure out why I’m so bothered by what a woman thinks about me when everything else in my life is finally going right. My son and I have a routine down. I’m satisfied with my job, eating well, sleeping well, and doing everything well if I’m being honest. Everything except for one thing . . . according to Caroline Winters.

Her conversation with Morgan has been playing on repeat in my mind for the past week, tormenting me whenever I have a moment alone to myself. I know it shouldn’t hold so much weight, but it does—I just wish I knew why.

“That was quick,” I offer as I watch Walker close my office door and take a few long strides across the room.

On the elevator ride up, he briefly mentioned that he was meeting with his mentor and a few other ortho guys for a “casual conversation.” Considering there’s no such thing as a casual conversation for a surgeon in a suit, I assumed that it was an interview. And judging by the massive smile on his face as he sinks into the chair across from me, it must have gone well.

“Weaver wants me to come back once I finish fellowship.”

My mood instantly lifts because having him back at Midtown Memorial would be amazing. He’s incredibly talented and would be an asset to any group that took him on. Plus, I selfishly like working with him.

“That’s great, man. Congratulations. You gonna take the offer?”

Walker crosses his ankle over his knee, trying to get comfortable in the tiny office chair he’s dwarfing. “Maybe.”

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