Page 8 of Dr. Attending

“Do you know what happened?” I ask, trying to figure out why the news makes me so uneasy when, logically, I should feel indifferent.

My brother shifts uncomfortably.

“Yeah, he gave me a quick rundown when he brought his son in,” he says, his tone almost somber.

“Okay . . .”

Parker swallows like he’s not sure where to begin. “Do you remember how Wes would host the surgical residents at his parents’ house for Thanksgiving every year?”

“Sure. I guess?”

“Well, during our chief year, he brought a date. Someone who looked kind of like Cassidy,” Parker continues. “He ended things with her a few days later, and then didn’t hear from her again until she reached out to tell him that she was about to give birth to his baby.”

I frown because that seems odd. “Why wouldn’t she tell him when she found out she was pregnant?”

Weston might not have the best morals in the world, but I can’t picture him abandoning a child.

My brother shrugs. “Wes said he has no idea. Apparently, he barely made it to the hospital before Carter was born, and things got hairy afterward, so he never got a chance to ask her.”

“That’s kind of bizarre,” I offer, still not fully understanding the situation. “So, did she just leave the baby with him or something?”

Parker’s eyes flick toward mine. “She died shortly after she gave birth.”

I slowly turn to face my brother so I can make sure I heard him correctly. “I’m sorry . . . she what?”

Women don’t just die from childbirth. I mean, they do, but the chances of it happening are less than a percent of a percent. It’s rare, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. In fact, the rate is actually on the rise in the United States, especially among minorities.

Parker runs a hand through his dark hair. “She had undiagnosed Von Willebrand’s, which led to uncontrollable postpartum hemorrhage. I doubt Wes even had a chance to process the fact that he was going to be a dad before it happened.”

My heart softens—just a little—because I truly can’t imagine the way something like that would turn your entire world upside down.

“Wow,” I whisper because it’s all I can manage to say.

Weston and I might have bad blood, but that doesn’t mean that I would ever wish something like this on him. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“Yeah . . . I can tell it really shook him up because he doesn’t seem like the same carefree guy we used to know. He’s more mature and introspective, in a way,” Parker says, his voice easing back to something more neutral. “But like I said, we didn’t have a chance to talk about anything too in depth because he brought his kid in for a dislocated elbow. I think he was worried about the increased bleeding risk, given what happened to the mom.”

I frown. “Is there one?”

Parker shrugs. “Not that I can tell, but I didn’t run a genetic panel or anything. The labs looked normal, though, and I gave him Beau’s brother’s number, just in case. It never hurts to know a hematologist, even if they live in Houston.”

“Sure.” I slowly run my fingers down my sister’s cat’s spine like I’m inThe Godfather,trying to figure out how to feel.

Part of me is still shocked Weston has a kid that he is raising on his own. And I’m incredibly sympathetic for the situationregardless of my personal opinion of his character. But the other part of me wants to shake my brother and remind him that this man almost ruined his career. I can understand offering to help because it’s part of his oath as a doctor. But what I can’t understand is the look on his face right now. It’s . . . affectionate. Fond, even.

“Anyway,” Parker says, his mouth curling into a smile like he’s remembering a happy memory. “It was good to see Wes. I didn’t realize how much I missed the guy.”

“Well, I didn’t.” My voice is somewhat shaky as I focus my attention back on the glowing skyline.

I’ve worked hard to gain control of my life over the years—to build up a shell of impenetrability so that nobody could get under my skin the way that Weston once did. And I thought that it had worked . . . until this exact moment. Because all I can think about is how I’m currently hanging on by an invisible string, and if he comes back into our lives, I might just break.

“Yeah, yeah.” Parker chuckles, completely unphased by my comment. “We all know how you feel about Wes.”

He leans over and puts his hand on my shoulder in a way that he probably thinks is affectionate, but instead feels incredibly patronizing.

“I think you’d be surprised how different he is now, though.”

I swerve away from his touch, keeping my eyes glued to the glimmering oranges painting the pencil-shaped building in front of me.

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