Chapter 9
Gaige
“What’s wrong?”
“Does something have to be wrong?”
“You don’t call unless something is wrong.”
I remain silent, waiting for my little brother to speak.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I assure him.
“Did the condom break again?”
I huff a laugh. “No.”
“That’s the last time you called me first.”
“That condom broke over ten years ago,” I argue. I cringe thinking back. I was celebrating my graduation from law school by banging my way through a vacation in the Caribbean when a rubber snapped. My life flashed before my eyes, first with images of my dick rotting off, then of little Gaiges running around. I thought my world was over. My brother, already on the path to being a doctor was the first person I thought to call. After a good laugh, he gave me all the information I needed to get me through it. Worst fucking year of my life.
“Same goes,” Tyler argues. “I was still pre-med then. So is it crabs this time? Chlamydia?”
“I don’t have crabs and I didn’t get chlamydia last time, you asshole. I’ve never gotten a fucking STD.”
“Only because you’re lucky.”
“I’m safe.”
“Picking up hookers in bars isn’t safe, Bro.”
“They’re not hookers.”
“Any chick that you only sleep with once is a hooker.”
“Hookers get paid, and if you open your mouth and call them names, I’ll reach through this phone and snap your neck. Aren’t doctors known for hooking up in on-call rooms and sleeping their way through the nursing staff?”
“Apparently you watch too much TV.”
“So it’s not true?”
“Not for everyone.”
He doesn’t tell me which direction he leans, but I know the man dabbles a little in the same direction I do. He’s three years younger and living his best life as a hot, young doctor. The guy pulls plenty of tail.
“So why are you calling?”
“Can’t I just call to check in on my little brother?”
“You can, you just never do. What’s her name?”
“There’s no chick.”
There’s a pause.
“There’s no chick.”
“Who’s Leighton Redmond?”
“What the actual fuck?” I mutter.
“Wren,” Tyler says, and I can hear the evil smile in his voice.
“I’m going to kill him.” I type out that exact message in a text to Wren, only getting a full line of crying text emojis in return.
If I were at the office, I’d throw the breaker on the entire building just to fuck with him in hopes that he hadn’t backed up his damn system in the last couple of minutes. Of course, it would only be a minor inconvenience, but still.
“Are you bringing her to Lala’s birthday party?”
“No,” I answer quickly.
“You should.”
“I’ll never see her again.”
“You sound upset about that.”
“I’m not talking about Leighton Redmond.”
“Hmm.”
I don’t feed into his bait.
“You should bring someone.”
“I’m going alone. Just like always.”
“You’re just going to get hounded like always. You’re thirty-three and unmarried. They’re never going to leave you alone until you settle down, get married and have kids.”
“I know how to handle them. You should bring a date.”
“I’m a busy doctor. I don’t have time for a wife and kids.”
“I’m a damn attorney,” I argue.
“You hang out with your friends all day. I save lives. It’s not the same thing.”
Can’t really dispute that.
“Then just tell Lala you’re going to be a bachelor for the rest of your life. I don’t know why you keep telling her that you just haven’t found the right one yet.”
“I don’t want to break her heart.”
Tyler snorts. Neither of us want to upset our paternal grandmother. She’s an amazing, tell-it-like-it-is woman. She’s hysterical, even more so the older she gets, uncaring who’s watching or who’s listening. If it’s on her mind, it’s coming out of her mouth. She’s the center of attention wherever she’s at, and we love her all the more for it. She’s as fearless in her words as she is in her love, and we’re all strong, better people because of her.
“I may skip it this year,” I mutter.
“She’ll track you down and skin you alive.”
“I know she will.” I smile at the image of Lala Ward shuffling my way, waving her fist at me, cussing up a storm for missing her ninetieth birthday party.
“I’ll see you then?”
“What? Why are you getting off the phone?”
“One of the nurses just winked at me and disappeared into an on-call room.”
The line goes dead.
“Asshole,” I mutter as I slide my phone back across my kitchen counter.
My day started out better than it should’ve, after waking up on the BBS couch, curled in a ball like a little bitch. One of the asshole guys put a pillow under my head and covered me with a damn blanket—probably Kit because that guy is always looking for someone to take care of. I didn’t have the headache I was anticipating.
If Jude hadn’t disappeared the day before with Parker, I would think he started an IV with some sort of magical hangover cure. I came home and hit the gym to sweat out the rest of the alcohol, ate a hearty late breakfast, and have done my best to try to keep busy.