“Not a syllable, a groan, a reference, or any type of communication, including Arabic, Kurdish, Farsi, Pashto, Spanish, Pig Latin, and even freaking ASL. Get your ass to the car.” Roan named the languages Tank had a working knowledge of, even if a rather significant amount of his vocabulary included ‘Open the damn door,’ and ‘shut the fuck up.’
“Really? Why?” Tank was obviously becoming more mystified with each minute.
“I’ll explain in the car.” Roan ushered him out the front door. “That’s your mission, should you choose to accept it.”
Tank shrugged. “Or this message self-destructs in five seconds? Fine. I’m in.”
CHAPTER 2
Tank pushed back his glass of Klingon blood wine to quizzically regard the man sitting across from him. “Allow me to review the sequence of events. You started sleeping with 'Ella' in September. Except right before she slept with you, she also slept with Satan from Orthopedic surgery, and the Man-Whore-Redhead from the ER.”
Neurosurgeon Alex Casserty hung his head, Roan’s fellow anesthesia attending, Andrew Crozier, who had asked to be called Drew, elbowed him on the shoulder. “Pretty much how I heard it.”
The two doctors were the friends Roan had texted to meet up at the Sci-fi themed North Star Cafe. Per Roan’s plan, the combination of quirky Sci-fi décor and Casserty’s messy love pyramid-square-dodecahedron had successfully occupied Tank’s attention for the past hour.
“Right...” Tank had gotten out a pen, drawing a tree with names on a napkin adorned with a combination of the logo from Star Trek, the Galactic Rebellion, and Battlestar Galactica. “In January, you found out you are one of the possible three fathers of the pregnancy. Which is confirmed to exist?”
“Confirmed.” Crozier answered for the neurosurgeon again. “Ultrasound proof by OB in the presence of the MetroGen ER and a mere fifty witnesses.”
“Since the baby is real, and, the dates check out, any of you could be the father,” Tank used the voice Roan recognized as his ‘are you sticking to this story before I break down your door’ voice.
“They do for me,” Alex said. The ‘Ella’ up for discussion was ENT Dr. Stella Magi.
“Thus assuming they do for the other two?” Tank guessed and took another long swallow. “You hate the Ortho Satan the most because he had sex with Ella again after you were ‘on a break’?”
Alex turned a shade of red. “It was cheating.”
Across the table, Crozier rolled his eyes. He too had heard this entire ‘cheating’ debacle recounted, gossiped, speculated, and repeated regularly over and over for the past three months from their positions behind the anesthesia curtain.
Whether or not Ross and Rachel from Friends were on a break had nothing on the MetroGen surgical staff.
“But Ella thought you were broken up?” Tank said, adding another note to the timeline. “Pre-Thanksgiving?”
“We weren't broken up. If we were, it was only fifteen minutes later,” Alex took a swig of his own Bloodwine. He and Crozier had arrived in separate Ubers and weren’t on call, thus not restrained from imbibing.
“Sure. Except she and Ortho Satan were longstanding fuckbuddies. Ella had abandoned him to be with you and went back to him after what may or may not have been your breakup. Redhead Man-Whore is more of a fling?” Tank continued his quest to gain comprehension of why Ortho was more hated.
Roan opted to cut in or else there was a good chance they’d never get past how angry Alex was with Glazier. “Yes, he does not like Ortho. ER guy less of an issue.”
“Big hate him.” Casserty grimaced, finishing the last of his Bloodwine. “To the depths of my soul.”
“Also, Ortho was his doctor for his leg,” Roan added, dropping his one remaining Alternative Time-Line Pancakes and Meteor Sausage onto Alex’s plate. A hungover neurosurgeon tomorrow would not be a net positive for MetroGen.
“Ahh, more betrayal. Awesome. Not for you,” Tank amended and consulted his notes. “None of you know who the father is, and she's not talking to any of you?”
“We get text messages from her ex-second-cousin-in-law,” Alex said.
“Ex-second-cousin-in-law?” Tank started to laugh. “He or she? Any Game of Thrones sisterly bed-hopping?”
“Don't worry about that detail. Eat.” Crozier helpfully followed Roan’s lead by pouring syrup on the pancakes.
Good thing, too. Happy as Roan was to keep Tank distracted, explaining who was married/related to who could keep this going for days. Clarissa was still at his house, in his study, not getting the sisterly bed-hopping.
“It gets worse,” Casserty said mournfully, eating another bite of the sausage and pancakes. “We’re having an ‘all-possibly-daddy’ meeting soon.”
“Ménage à trois?” Tank chuckled, resulting in Casserty’s sour expression.
“Hell, no.” Alex lifted his glass and determined it was, in fact, empty.
