Page 58 of Clinically Awkward

The blood drained from my face. I hadn’t thought about that.

Julien, one of my best friends, Vivian’s semi-overprotective, albeit annoying older brother, the man who once threatened to perform an unnecessary surgery on a guy who looked at Vivian wrong, was going to find out that I slept with his sister. “I’m dead,” I said. “I’m actually dead.”

“Maybe he’ll be cool about it?” Gabriel offered weakly.

We all looked at each other.

Then Fitz started laughing again. “You’re so fucked.”

And I realized he was absolutely right.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Quinton

Okay. Deep breaths. It’s just a conversation with your best friend—for whom you may have just permanently detonated the trust bridge. No big deal, right?

Honestly, Quinton, this is fine. Just the potential end of a decade-long friendship. Oh, and possibly your career if Julien decides to go all scorched earth on your reputation at work. Fantastic.

I could do this. I was a grown-ass man. A doctor who stitched up half the ER with hands steadier than a metronome—until now. I’d known Gabriel since med school orientation, and Fitz since he tried to prank my anatomy lab and nearly got both our eyebrows singed off. These two had seen me at my best and worst, and apparently, at my current twitchy-eyed meltdown. Julien was more than a friend—he was practically family. And his sister, Vivian? She wasn’t just a reckless mistake. She was brave, sharp, the kind of woman who made you want to be better. And now I was about to devastate her brother—or, best case, just get throttled and exiled forever.

“You’re spiraling,” Gabriel said, with the patience of a saint who’d seen this circus before.

“I’m not spiraling,” I lied, dignity already halfway out the window.

“You’re absolutely spiraling,” Fitz said, grinning like a feral cat. “Your left eye’s twitching. Again.”

I poked my eyelid—yep, full-on Morse code panic blinking.

“Just tell him the truth,” Gabriel said gently. “Julien is reasonable. Occasionally. Like, once a year.”

I inhaled, exhaled, and immediately calculated if I could fit through the conference window without breaking anything important. “Right,” I said, shoulders squared, voice mostly steady. “I’m going out there. To my doom.”

“Good luck, mate.” Fitz patted my back with all the sympathy of a Viking sending me into battle. “We’ll plan a lovely funeral. Open bar?”

“Not helping,” I muttered, but my lips twitched in spite of myself.

“I’ll wear black. Very somber. Maybe a veil.” Fitz winked. I snorted. Gallows humor was the best kind, apparently.

“FITZ,” I hissed, but honestly, the guy was a walking distraction from my impending social demise.

I stared at the door handle. Just open it, Quinton. Rip off the Band-Aid—except this Band-Aid might bleed. Breathe. Remember, you’re doing this because you care about Vivian. Because you respect Julien. Because you don’t want to look like a coward in front of Gabriel and Fitz. Because you’re not a coward. Probably.

You can do this. Be honest. Tell him you care about her. Tell him it meant something. Tell him— The door swung open. Julien was there, phone to his ear, every muscle in his face wound tight.

Here it was. Friendship, future, and possibly my life were all about to go up in smoke. I opened my mouth—“Quinton!” Julien barked, lowering his phone. “Grab your bag. Now.”

I blinked. “What?”

“ER. Major emergency. Nathan needs help. Move.”

My brain short-circuited, relief and dread fighting it out in my chest.

That was... not how I’d pictured my dramatic confession going. But maybe, just maybe, the universe was giving me a stay of execution.

“I—what kind of emergency?”

“The kind where people are dying and you’re standing here asking stupid questions,” Julien snapped. “MOVE.”