?“You know, the alcohol was supposed to make the moping better,” Parker grumbles from beside me at the bar.
I down the rest of my glass, rolling my eyes. “This was your idea.”
“Because I thought that intoxicating you would make you more pleasant to be around.”
“Wow,” I snort. “You’re a real pal.”
“Someone has to make you take care of yourself,” he grouses.
I drop my head to the polished wood of the bar, pressing my cheek against it as I sigh. The slight spinning in my head does make the ache in my chest less noticeable, admittedly, but it doesn’t get rid of it completely.
“I just don’t get it,” I mumble.
Parker leans down toward my pitiful form. “You’re going to have to speak up. I can’t hear you over this shitty music.”
“Hey.” I peer up at him with narrowed eyes. “We don’t slander Miley Cyrus in this house.”
“Is that who it is?” He looks at the speakers with a grimace. “I liked her better on the wrecking ball.”
“I’m sorry that not everyone can be Taylor Swift.”
“Um, she was artist of the year and artist of the decade,” Parker says defensively. “No one can be Tay.”
“Tay,” I snort.
“Now what did you say?”
“I said I don’t get it,” I half shout.
“Get what?”
“He asked me on a date,” I groan. “A real date. Why did he do that if he was just going to dump me?”
“Can we call it dumping when it was contractual?” I glare at him, and he raises his hands in apology. “Okay, okay. He dumped you. He’s a bastard.”
“He’s not a bastard,” I whine.
“I’m getting mixed signals about how I am supposed to support you here.”
I blow out a breath. “I just . . . I had just decided to try letting somebody in, you know? I had this huge talk with Gran and there was some crying and shit, and I was feeling like the whole universe was aligning or something and then bam.” I slam my hand on the bar for emphasis. “Dumped.”
“Well, clearly, Noah has a broken brain. Obviously that’s why he did what he did.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I answer pitifully.
“Tell me how to cheer you up,” Parker urges, sounding concerned. “I actually hate seeing you like this, honestly. It’s like watching a puppy cry or something.”
“I wish I knew.” I sigh.
“Want to hear about some questionable internet usage from your fellow Denver General staff?”
I perk up. “Are you even allowed to tell me that?”
“Probably not, but if you start crying I might actually stop functioning.”
This makes me smile. “I thought gay men were supposed to be good at this sort of thing?”
“How many times have I told you not to put me in a box?” he huffs. “I can be emotionally incapable if I want to be. Now, do you want to hear or not?”
“Well, obviously,” I scoff.
“So, there’s a podiatrist on the seventh floor who is . . . way too into his job.”
I lift my head, furrowing my brow. “What do you mean?”
“Feet pictures, Mack. Feet pictures.”
“Ew.” I grimace. “Oh my God. Not that bald guy who’s always haunting Radiology?”
“Maybe he likes them inside and out.”
“That’s disgusting. But I like it. Tell me another.”
“Someone uses one of the terminals in the nurses’ station to watch porn every Thursday night.”
“No.”
“Yep. I’ve been trying to catch them for weeks. My money is on Kevin the creepy janitor.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t—” I remember the way he’d seemed so pleased to have found Noah and me practically making out in a closet, and I reconsider. “You know, maybe.”
Of course, now I’m thinking about Noah and me in a closet. Which means I’m thinking about Noah. Which means I’m depressed again.
I drop my forehead to the bar top. “I really liked him, Parker. I thought it was just dumb alpha stuff, but I think I really liked him. I thought he liked me too.”
“Honestly,” Parker sighs. “So did I. You should have seen him that day when you were going into heat. He was like . . . almost predatory. I actually thought he might rip my arm off for touching you when he found us together.”
“So why did he drop me right after? Was he just after sex this whole time?”
Parker frowns. “That doesn’t really fit to me. I mean, you guys did it a lot, right?”
“Basically,” I groan. “Maybe it was an omega thing? He heard what I was and was biding his time until I went into heat?”
“Do you really think that’s it?”
I think back—remembering the careful way he’d held me in the moments where I wasn’t in a fever dream–like state. I remember his soft words and his softer touch, practically still able to feel his fingers brushing lightly against my skin.
I’m not letting you get away from me, Mackenzie.
“No,” I answer quietly. “That doesn’t feel right.”
“Not to mention all the coupley shit you told me you’ve been doing with him the last couple of weeks. Maybe it really was just as he said,” Parker offers. “Maybe he just couldn’t handle the stress of it all. The guy was already a workaholic. Now he’s going to be chief of staff? Maybe he was afraid he couldn’t keep up with it all. You know how men are. They think they’re being noble when half the time, they’re just being stupid.”
“Maybe,” I sigh.
I can feel my eyes welling with tears, and it’s harder to fight them off with the alcohol in my system. I feel Parker’s hand at my back, rubbing a soothing circle, and I reach over my shoulder to pat his hand, grateful that he’s here.
“Want to hear more internet gossip?”
I nod feebly. “Please.”
“Let me think . . .” He looks up at the ceiling. “There’s the time I had to block Tinder from the server because some male nurse was posting dick pics from his work laptop.”
“Just . . . why?”
“Maybe he got a wider view from the laptop camera?”
“Wow, he must have had a huge—”
“No comment,” Parker says quickly, reaching for his drink. “But yes.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Tell me something else.”
“Hmm. Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “This isn’t really juicy, but it is kind of sad, almost. There’s this cardiologist in No—” He catches my wince. “Well, there’s this cardiologist who must be super jealous of a certain . . . other cardiologist.”
My mouth turns down. “What do you mean?”
“I had to update his computer recently, and his search history was nothing but alpha shit. I mean, this guy has been researching them for months. I’m assuming it’s a wishful thinking sort of scenario.”
Even through the haze of my three drinks, there’s a weight on my mind, something about what Parker’s saying poking at a memory that feels important. I lift up, my head feeling too heavy and instantly making me regret it, staring at the wall behind the bar intently as I try to think.
“He isn’t . . .” I shake my head. “Is his name Dennis Martin?”
“Hey, I don’t know if I should be giving you their names—”