Chapter 3

"I still don't know why you don't use a freaking pump like every other type 1 diabetic out there," my best friend—and yes, cousin—Owen comments, watching as I lift my shirt above my belly button and inject myself with my short-acting insulin pen. He winces, but I don't know why. I hardly feel the stick at this point, and he's a doctor who has seen way worse. Hell, he's seen way worse with me over the years. "They have some really good ones now."

I peek up at him as I close the pen and tuck it back in my purse. "I tried the pump, a few different kinds, and I had catheter kinks that led to crazy high blood sugars. The ones without catheters gave me site infections and made my skin break out in rashes. They were also big and a bit bulky on my skin. Remember?"

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, lifting his bourbon to his lips and taking a sip. "That was fifteen years ago, Katy."

"Yes, and I hated it then. I hated it even more when I was in college and then in medical school when I tried it again, thinking that would be easier given my hectic schedule. Do you know how annoying it is to have sex, or sleep, or even take a shower with a pump on you?"

"Thankfully, no."

"Well, let me tell you, it's not fun. Anytime I wanted to wear a dress—which you know I love wearing—I had to tuck the pump into my bra, which was no treat either, and that also meant I couldn't wear a dress without a bra."

"Can we stop talking about your bras?"

I give him a cheeky grin. "Besides, it's easy enough to control my sugars now that I have the continuous glucose monitor, and by this point, I'm used to giving myself a few injections a day."

I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when I was ten. Having two emergency medicine doctors as your guardians sometimes pays off because they recognized the signs and symptoms and caught it early before I got really sick with it, or even ended up hospitalized, which often happens to newly diagnosed diabetics.

That's not to say it's been all sunshine and roses for me, because it hasn't been. I've had my struggles, and those struggles have been real. But I've been in a good rhythm with it for the last four years after a terrifying near-death experience, and that's not a boat I want to rock. So for now, it's pens for the win.

"Fine. You know better than I do about that. I just hate having to see you stick yourself is all." He sets his glass down and cradles it in both hands as he scans the restaurant before turning back to me. "Where are you on picking a donor?"

"Nowhere yet. I have an appointment coming up with my endocrinologist, and once he tells me I'm good to go, then I'll start seriously digging into it. I don't want to find someone, get excited, and then be told I shouldn't get pregnant." Life isn't always the picnic we're promised. Sometimes it's gritty and messy, but I'd rather trudge through the sludge than never get the chance to play in the mud.

Owen leans over and kisses my forehead. "You'll get what you want, Katy. You will. When the time is right, you'll have everything you deserve, but no matter what, I'll be there with you every step of the way."

I start to get choked up and sniffle back the tears burning my eyes. "Thank you. I love you. You're the bestest best friend on the planet."

He sighs, worried about me because Owen is a natural worrier. "I love you too. Now, are you going to tell me what happened today? Or even better, have us order food and then tell me? I told my parents I'd pick up Rory in two hours, and I'm starving."

Rory is his five-year-old daughter, and despite the massive family we have who love to spend time with her, Owen doesn't relish being away from her when he can help it. He already works long hours as a pediatric surgeon, and since Rory's mom bailed on them when Rory was little, he always wants her to feel like she's his priority—which she is.

I shake my head, taking a sip of my lemon drop. "Not yet. I promised Keegan I'd wait for her and Kenna to get here so she could join in describing her trauma from the power outage."

"Of course she did," he deadpans. "Because no one is more dramatic than Keegan."

Truth.

"Still, you just took your shot," he maintains. "We should order food before your blood sugar gets too low."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, dad. Whatever you say."

He reaches over and pinches my side, making me yelp, but he signals our waitress and waves a hand for me to order. "We'll have one of every appetizer, please."

"Sure thing. Do you want me to bring Keegan and Kenna their drinks?"

I hold in my snicker. "Yeah. I have a feeling they'll be here?—"

"Oh, my hell! My attending was such a jerk today." Keegan comes barreling in, dropping dramatically into the chair across from me.

"—any second," I finish, smirking at Jeanie, our regular waitress, because we obviously come here a bit too often. But in fairness, it's across the street from the hospital and has amazing food and drinks.

Jeanie gives me a wink and then goes off to get our order going.

"You know your attending is my father, right?" Owen points out, though I don't know why he bothers. Keegan always complains about her attending despite the fact that he's her uncle. I consider everyone here my cousins—my family—but I have no biological relation to them the way they do with each other.

When my parents died when I was six, my uncle Callan took me in. He met and fell in love with Layla who had a nearly identical situation to mine growing up, though it was her sister Amelia who took care of her and not her uncle. Amelia married Oliver Fritz, the youngest son in a family of famous billionaires, and together they had Keegan and Kenna. So my stepmother of sorts is the biological aunt of Keegan and Kenna, and Owen is Oliver's brother Carter's son, so, also biological cousins with Keegan and Kenna.

"Yes, and Uncle Carter was a total jerk," Keegan grumbles adamantly. "He made me run labs with the interns after the power outage. For no reason!" She slams her palm down on the table, rattling Owen's and my drinks. "He put someone else on two of my laboring women. All because I might have gotten a bit too hysterical about the power outage."

"You, hysterical? Never," Owen mutters dryly, making Keegan flip him off.

"The generators weren't working as they should have been, Owen. That's scary stuff."

"I agree. Think of the patients in the OR, or, I don't know the people trapped in elevators."

Keegan points a finger at Owen. "We all suffered the price. And scut sucks. You can't deny that."

"Are you doing laps in Greyson's pool tomorrow?" Kenna asks me, ignoring her twin completely as Keegan continues to go back and forth with Owen.

The Greyson she's referring to is Greyson Monroe, the famous rock star. My uncle Callan has four best friends—Zax, Greyson, Asher, and Lenox—who were all once part of Central Square, a wildly famous rock band. They broke up after four years of being on top, and now they all do different things but are still impossibly close, more like brothers than friends. And since Layla is a Fritz and some of the Central Square people are good friends with the Fritzes, we're now pretty much one big, giant family.

All the Central Square kids and the Fritz kids are my cousins. The only blood cousin I have—who is more like my brother—is Wilder because he's Callan and Layla's son.

I nod, sipping my drink. "That's my plan. I have to be at work by six though since I have a new boss to impress."

"That's fine. We can go at four-thirty. I have to be in early tomorrow too. But speaking of your new boss, are you going to tell us about the elevator?" Kenna bounces her eyebrows suggestively at me. "Keegan says he's who you were stuck with. And that he's hot."

Owen grunts, shaking his head. "Who cares if he's hot? How is that even important?"

"Oh, right. Like you guys don't comment on your female nurses, techs, and doctors' appearance? I'm so calling bullshit on that," I tell him.

"You know I don't. Dating someone you work with is about the dumbest fucking thing you can do."

I glare. "Ouch." Since that's exactly what I did and it didn't just end badly, it ended in disaster.

He sighs remorsefully. "Sorry. That wasn't a dig at you. You know what I meant. I don't look because there's no point for me."

I bat my eyelashes playfully at him. "You could try dating again. Meet a lady who sweeps the handsome, broody Owen Fritz off his feet."

He sips his bourbon, a grimace on his face. "Why do I spend all my free time with you? We need another guy here. Why isn't Vander or even Mason here? And why don't I hang out with people my own age?"

"You're old. We get it. But you love us too much to leave us. Besides, that won't change the fact that I speak the truth, oh hot, brilliant doctor of Boston Children's Hospital."

Another grunt because he knows I'm right. Every straight woman and not-so-straight man is after Owen Fritz. The fact that he's a single dad doesn't detract from that one bit.

"Anyway, I invited Vander and Stone to come," I offer, smiling smugly because he can't argue with me on his hotness. "Vander doing something I don't want to know about and Stone has a shift." Vander is Lenox's son and he's somewhat of an evil genius. A bit morally gray, especially when it comes to his hacking abilities, but he's as loyal as it gets. Stone is Kaplan's, Owen's uncle and godfather's, son. Owen and Stone work together and are very tight. "And you love me too much not to come out with me."

For how close I am with Keegan and Kenna—since I now sorta temporarily live with them—I am the closest with Owen and have been since we were kids. The moment I came to live with my uncle, Owen took on the role of big brother and protector. Now we're pretty much inseparable.

"Ignore Owen," Keegan says dismissively, waving him away. "You've evaded this long enough. What happened in the elevator with the hot doc? What?" Keegan blinks when Owen gives her a disgruntled look. "He's not my attending. I can say he's hot. Hell, I can even hit on him if I want."

I groan, picking at a few split ends before forcing myself back from that train wreck. "Who are you, Dr. Seuss? Stop rhyming about my new boss."

"Because you want him all to yourself," Kenna teases, playing with a cocktail napkin on the table and searching around for our waitress in the hope she'll deliver her drink.

I snort derisively. "No way. Absolutely not," I lie. Because I might. Just a little. But purely in a competitive, I-want-to-be-his-ace-way and nothing more. The fact that he once laid one of the best kisses I've ever had on me and his touches in the elevator today had my stomach feeling full and fizzy like I drank too much Diet Coke means nothing.

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."

I scowl at my friends, making Owen choke on a laugh. "As much as I hate to side with Kenna, she's right. You have a look about you and you're a horrible liar. What aren't you saying?"

Ugh. Having people who know your every expression and tone is both a blessing and a curse. "I know him," I admit, running my finger along the rim of my martini glass. "Or, I mean, I guess knew him might be the better way to put it."

"What do you mean?" Owen asks, dropping his elbow on the table and resting his head against his fist as he angles his head in my direction.

"He um…" Here comes my awkward, uncomfortable giggle. Shit. I clear my throat, willing it down as I stare at the pale-yellow liquid in my glass. "He was chief resident when I was a third-year medical student."

They all fall silent for a moment as Kenna and Keegan's drinks are delivered along with a first round of appetizers. I pick up a chicken finger and dip it in honey mustard before taking a crunchy bite.

"Okay. He was chief resident when you were a med student. So what?" Owen's eyebrows bunch together in confusion. "I was chief resident, and we had over a dozen medical students."

"Did he remember you?" Keegan presses, waving Owen away.

"Or not remember you?" Kenna jumps in.

"He remembered me." But I didn't know just how much until the very end.

"That's cool," Keegan exclaims, scooping up salsa with a chip and popping it into her mouth, talking as she crunches. "I heard he's a bit of a hard-ass and can come across as a jerk, so it's lucky that you already know him."

"Yes," I agree. "Lucky."

Owen is studying me. I can see him doing it out of the corner of my eye as I start attacking the spinach and artichoke dip with gusto. "Why are you still being weird? Was he a dick to you in the elevator or something?"

"No. He was fine," I remark brightly with a mouth full of carrots and dip. I never talk with food in my mouth, and everyone knows it, so I'm not helping my cause here. I swallow and wipe my lips with my napkin. "It was his third time getting stuck in an elevator and we joked about that a bit because, legit, who gets stuck in an elevator three times? We talked, and he did his best to keep me calm when I was anything but. He wasn't a jerk at all, and he wasn't when I knew him before, so I'm not sure why he has that reputation now."

"Again, what aren't you telling us? You're shit at hiding your thoughts and feelings, Katy."

I sigh, my head dropping to Owen's shoulder. I'm being weird about it, and I know I am. The truth is, it felt like he flirted a bit. Which I know is nuts. If we didn't have the past that we have, I likely wouldn't have thought twice about it. He was being comforting, not sexual.

My problem is I enjoyed it. The terrifying stuck in an elevator aspect notwithstanding, I enjoyed sitting in the dark with him and talking to him like that. It's been plaguing me all afternoon—more than the fact that I have now a not-so-friendly fear of elevators—because I shouldn't have liked it as much as I did. Not only is he my boss and quite a bit older than me, but there is also no room for those sorts of thoughts.

Not with him. Not with any man. At least not for the foreseeable future.

Owen blows out a breath. "What's up, Kit-Kat? Spill it already."

I look around the bar, making sure I don't recognize anyone since it's a popular spot for nurses and doctors to hang out. Especially on a Thursday night. "Back when I was a student, we shared a very drunken kiss one night at a party. It was his last night as a resident and my last night as a third year, and he pulled me into a corner and kissed me."

Kenna's eyes light up like sparklers, and she and Keegan exchange gleeful looks. "Oh. That's just too good. You kissed your hot new boss."

"Shhh," I hiss at Kenna. "Quiet your freaking megaphone voice down. I did not kiss my hot new boss."

Keegan cackles. "Ha! You just called him that."

I flip her off. "It was seven years ago, Keegs."

"Whatever. Tell us all about your hot"— She emphasizes the word while daring me to challenge her on it—"make-out session with him. Was he good? He looks like he'd be good. He has that tall, dark, and commanding thing going for him." She fans her face.

He was good. Very good. But that's neither here nor there and certainly not something I'm sharing with them tonight. "I didn't make out with him," I protest. "Not really anyway. It was a kiss and nothing more. He left the next day for a fellowship across the country, and that was that."

"Until now," she taunts.

That giggle finally breaks free.

"You're making your hyena noise," Owen accuses. "Why are you so nervous? Do you have feelings for him or something? Because I'll be honest with you, it was a kiss a long-ass time ago. You didn't fuck him, and if you think about the number of drunken kisses you've had in your lifetime, this isn't chart-topping significance other than the fact that he's your new boss."

He has a point. I've had a lot of drunken kisses. It was sort of my thing until my ex came along, and soon, I'll be trying to get pregnant, so it's definitely not my thing now.

So why does this one feel different to me when it shouldn't?

"You're right," I cede. "I don't know why I'm so nervous about it. It was just a kiss, and it was a very long time ago. My problem is that he's my boss. I think it's universally accepted that it's never a smart idea to have kissed your boss. This is a big year for me. I need him to recommend me for my fellowship and not care about the fact that I want to try and get pregnant and have a baby."

Owen sits up straight, forcing me to do the same. He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a stern, serious look. "Then forget about the kiss, shove it into the do not go there again drawer, and prove to him why you deserve that fellowship."

Again, he's right. I give him a sharp nod, determined to put my past with Bennett behind me. How difficult can that be?