Page 79 of Clinically Awkward

“That’s—”

“I blocked Fitz’s number at 1:30 AM.”

“To be fair,” Fitz said, “I was being very annoying.”

“And now you’re telling me,” I continued, ignoring him, “that Julien didn’t even care because he was too busy planning a vacation?”

“Technically—”

“A vacation, Quinton.”

“I know.”

“Julien doesn’t take vacations.”

“I know.”

“He barely takes bathroom breaks.”

“I know.”

I stared at him, and then I started laughing again. Because what else was I supposed to do?

“Well,” Fitz said after a long moment. “That was anticlimactic.”

“Extremely anticlimactic,” Nathan agreed.

“I’m almost disappointed,” Hayden said.

“Almost?” Gabriel said. “I’m completely disappointed. I was expecting blood. Maybe some shouting. At least a strongly worded lecture.”

“Instead, we got vacation plans,” Nathan said.

“Vacation plans,” Fitz repeated, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Quinton looked at me and despite everything, despite the sleepless night, the panic, the desperate scheming, I couldn’t stop smiling. Because he was okay. We were okay. And Julien was going on vacation.

“So,” Quinton said slowly. “I guess I’m covering the clinic next week.”

“I guess you are,” I said.

“And I still haven’t told Julien.”

“Nope.”

“Which means⁠—”

“Which means you’re going to have to do this all over again,” Fitz said cheerfully.

Quinton groaned, and everyone started laughing.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Quinton

The laughter was still echoing through the lobby, bouncing off the sterile white walls and outdated motivational posters, when Julien’s office door opened again with its familiar creak, and we all froze like deer in headlights as Julien emerged carrying his briefcase in one hand and a precariously balanced stack of patient files in the other, his expression the same flat, unimpressed look he’d worn since approximately 2003, back when he still had hope for humanity.

He walked directly toward me, his footsteps deliberate and measured on the worn linoleum floor, weaving past the reception desk and the sad plastic plant that had been there longer than any of us. He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell his coffee breath, and held out the files without saying a word.