As I scoop spaghetti onto plates for myself and the kids, I wonder if it’s too soon to tell Luke he’s working too hard. Even though we just got back together, our relationship feels settled enough for me to nag him about looking after himself.
And when he finally arrives, well after the kids are in bed, I’m fully prepared to nag. But when I see the look in his eyes, I realize this wasn’t just a long day at work. Something is very wrong.
I lead him through to the kitchen and put a plate of spaghetti in the microwave. “Pepsi or beer?”
“Pepsi,” he says quickly, and I pull a can from the fridge.
“Another bad day?” I ask sympathetically.
“You can’t imagine,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry.” I set the spaghetti in front of him and let him eat in silence for a few minutes.
“More?” I ask when he’s cleaned the plate. “Or some apple crisp?”
He shakes his head distractedly. “No, thanks.”
“What’s wrong, Luke?”
“I probably shouldn’t talk about it.” Luke runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “But what the hell. Ethan Atwell was operating drunk last night.”
“Shit, Luke.” I remember Dr. Atwell as he was when Claire had her anaphylactic reaction, and he’d seemed so capable then. Confident. Trustworthy. I can’t imagine him operating drunk.
Luke nods. “Yeah. Shit. That’s why I had to go in. One of the residents called, asked me to help.”
“Did the surgery go okay?”
“Yeah. It was a tough case, but the guy should be fine.”
“That’s something, at least.”
“Yeah,” Luke says wearily. “But I have to report Ethan, Milly. He could’ve killed someone last night.”
“Did you know he had a drinking problem?”
“Yeah,” Luke admits. “He’s being sued, and it’s driven him off the rails. You remember that night we were on the phone, and I had to go because Ethan showed up?”
I nod. I’m unlikely to forget that night; I’d heard his neighbor’s voice at the door and thought she was a booty call.
“He’d been drinking then,” Luke explains. “I tried to talk to him about it, but . . . I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair again, leaving a tuft sticking up in the back. “I should have tried harder. Made him get help.”
“Hey, slow down.” I pull my chair closer to his and put a hand on his arm. “You can’t make someone get help.”
Luke shrugs. “Maybe not, but I should have done more. His family’s in Montreal, and I was probably his best friend in Somerset.”
“Was?”
“I’m not sure we’ll be friends after this.”
“It’s not your fault, Luke.”
His phone pings, and he pulls it from his pocket with a grimace. “Ethan. He’s been texting me all day, begging me not to report him.”
“You haven’t yet?”
He shakes his head. “I was going to talk to Drew Malone, who’s the chief of surgery, but it turns out he’s at a conference in Boston until Saturday. I could tell him by phone, or talk to the chief of staff, who’s technically Drew’s boss. But . . .”
“But . . .” I say gently.
