Page 48 of Dr. Attending

I close out of the patient chart that I had open and turn to face him. “What do you mean maybe? Why wouldn’t you?”

When I decided to come back, I considered a position at another hospital in the city because I wasn’t interested in the drama that would inevitably follow my return. But nobody could beat the cushy benefits and call requirements that Midtown Memorial has, which is saying a lot because general surgery is known to have a crummy work-life balance across the board.

Orthopedics is only more specialized, so his benefits would be even better than mine. The only reason I can think of for him to stay at UH would be for the clout or research—two things I know that he isn’t interested in.

Walker reaches up to undo his gray silk necktie. “It’s not a decision I can make without talking to my wife.”

“And HR,” I tease.

Our hospital clearly doesn’t care about workplace relationships, considering our entire group of friends is one massive HR violation waiting to happen.

He chuckles as he pulls his tie through his collar, letting out a long exhale once it’s undone, like he can already breathe easier. “I’m just glad it’s over. I figured he would still be pissed that I gave up the rotationplasty he offered me over the summer.”

“Clearly not. And neither is Beau because I think he mentioned it about ten times last weekend.”

I get it because I used to get excited by stuff like that too, especially when it came to trauma cases. I would do just about anything to get in on interesting procedures, including sucking up to whoever I needed to. Getting ahead was the most important thing in my life . . . until Carter.

When I left Chicago, I was worried that becoming a general surgery attending would be mind-numbingly boring because it couldn’t give me the chaotic pace that I craved. That performing the same predictable cases over and over again would destroy the thrill that I used to feel in the OR.

But over the past few months, I’ve realized that was kind of the point—predictability. It was the thing I desperately needed in order to raise my son by myself, and even though general surgery was never my dream specialty, I’m not the most important person in my life anymore—my son is.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he has something written about that case on his headstone when he dies,” Walker says, shaking his head. “But that actually reminds me. If you’re free next Wednesday, you should stop by the campus.”

I arch my brow. “What? A fancy drill model came out, and you want to have a play date to show off your shiny new toy, or something?”

Our hospitals are only twenty minutes apart, so it shouldn’t be a problem to shift around my scheduled cases. I’m just giving him a hard time because ortho bro jokes are too easy to toss around.

“Never heard that one before,” he deadpans. “No. Dr. Tomkins is giving a talk on the use of foreskin with trauma wound healing, and I thought you might be interested.

“Thanks but I’m already circumcised.”

I have to roll my lips to stifle my amusement, but Walker just blinks at me like I’m the biggest moron that he’s ever met.

“I’ll be there, relax.” I lean back in my desk chair and laugh. “And come on . . . you have to admit that was a pretty good one.”

He cracks a smile. “For a dad.”

“Don’t say that like it’s an insult. Considering how much your wife talks about y’all fucking, I’m sure you’ll be spewing dad jokes soon enough too.”

We both know that isn’t true. Walker is one of the most literal people I’ve ever met, so even if he became a father tomorrow, he wouldn’t ever make a joke—it’s just not in his DNA.

“Actually, speaking of that . . .” I trail off because I’m reminded of why I asked him to stick around after his interview, and I wantto phrase this correctly so that I don’t embarrass the fuck out of myself.

He watches me silently, waiting for me to continue.

“So when you guys started hooking up,” I start again, trying to spit it out. “Was it more, uh, vanilla? Or did you guys always . . . you know?”

I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I’ve never had issues finding the right words before so talking about BDSM shouldn’t make me hesitate.

But it does.

I don’t know if it’s because this isn’t a topic I’m familiar with at all, so I don’t know what I don’t know. Or if it’s because I was raised in the South, so the thought of disrespecting a woman throws me off. But I suddenly feel like I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Jesus Christ. This was a stupid idea.

Walker cocks his head like my question was the last thing he was expecting.

“Our dynamic?” he asks, letting out a soft chuckle. “No, it was the opposite. We became more vanilla as time went on, actually. Now we kind of go in and out of it depending on the situation.”

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