Page 9 of Dr. Attending

“Apparently,you’redifferent now too,” I mutter under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Parker is the least emotionally intelligent person that I know. And that’s not a dig at him, it’s just the truth. He sees things in black and white, and he has absolutely no tolerance for anything in between. So why the hell is he suddenly rolling over and acting like everything Weston did never happened?

I can understand why my brother might think that my opinion of his friend is overblown—I never clued him into the actual reasons behind it. But the fact that he seems to be so quick to forgive someone who betrayed him isn’t sitting well with me. He hasn’t changed that much.

“Maybe we’re all different now,” Parker counters.

He studies me for a beat, then shakes his head like I’m the one who’s lost my mind. “But, anyway, I’m grabbing drinks with him tomorrow to catch up.”

I freeze, not understanding how his opinion could go from icy cold to hunky-dory with a single conversation.

“You’re what?” I bite out.

“Getting drinks,” he answers. “Why is that so weird? We used to do it all the time.”

I don’t know what possesses me, but I reach into the elastic pocket of my running shorts, pull out my phone, and flip on the flashlight. It’s not dark yet, but the point I’m about to make should still work.

“Carol,” he growls, batting my hand away as soon as I shine the beam into his pupils. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I smirk because he only calls me that when he’s cranky.

Good. I want that version of my brother—not the overly sentimental one sitting beside me.

“Just making sure you don’t have a neurological deficit,” I answer sweetly, clicking off the light. “Because that’s theonlyway you’d think meeting up with Wes is a good idea.”

Parker looks horrified, probably because he’s used to reactions like this from Claire, not me—his perfect baby sister who can do no wrong.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t know.” I quirk a brow at him. “Pretty sure you meet the criteria for early onset Alzheimer’s . . . might want to get that checked out.”

“You can’t diagnose that from a pupillary assessment, idiot,” he deadpans.

I roll my eyes. Despite our ten-year age gap, my brother and I will get mistaken for twins from time to time. But even though we share similar physical features, a sense of humor is absolutely something we differ in.

“No,” I argue, “but I can diagnose you based on symptoms. And the number one symptom is memory loss, which you clearly have if you don’t remember what he did.”

If my best friend treated me the way that Weston treated my brother, I would never speak to them again. It wouldn’t matter if they “changed.” Or had a traumatic life event. Or won the Nobel Prize. A betrayal is still a betrayal, no matter what you do afterward to cover it up.

Parker lets out a heavy breath. “Trust me . . . I remember.”

“Do you though? Because if you did, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation, P.”

My brother shifts and crosses his ankle over his knee. He studies his tennis shoe for a moment before reaching down to retie the already perfect laces. When he’s satisfied, he drags his eyes toward the luminescent skyline as an almost guilty expression crosses his face.

“I think I should finally tell you the full story.”

Chapter 3

Weston

My phone vibrates with a doorbell notification as I’m flicking the switch on the noise machine in Carter’s room. The low rumble of thunder fills the small space, and I bend to plant a kiss on his forehead before grabbing the baby monitor and softly closing the door to his room. I pause for a moment to listen for a cry, just in case, and then head to the front of the house.

“Nice diggs, dickhead,” Morgan greets me the second I open the door, breezing past without waiting for a response.

If we were at work, I’d toss an insult back at her. But even I know better than to do that in front of her husband. Not without permission, anyway.

“Would it be appropriate to call your wife a little shit?” I chuckle, stepping aside to let Walker in.

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