I hate hospitals.

Everything about them gives me the creeps, from the harsh fluorescent lighting and the acrid scent of disinfectant, to the pervasive knowledge that within the very same building, countless people are critically ill—or dying. I've always hated them, and I hate them even more ever since my father's heart attack and subsequent recovery.

While Dean and Brendan go across the street to grab food, I decide to make myself comfortable—or try to—in the cramped waiting area. Easier said than done when the ER triage is crammed full of coughing, retching, and moaning would-be patients. It's like Coachella for germs. I was healthy going into this, but I'm not so sure I'll be able to say the same after.

There are only a few vacant seats, so I opt for the one in the corner next to a bald guy who appears to have some kind of arm injury or wound, which seems better than my other options of sitting next to the man vomiting into a paper bag or the blue-haired woman with the seal bark. While I wait, I catch up on overdue emails, check my social media notifications, and confirm a sponsored post I have going out later this week. I'm more productive than usual because I'm desperately trying to distract myself from where I am.

My phone lights up with a text from Brendan asking about Vidya. I give him a quick update, or non-update since she's still asleep, and attempt to return to my work. It's difficult when I'm sweating bullets over the fact that Dean is alone with Brendan. Has Brendan caught on? Has Dean blown our cover?

As I stare at my phone, the screen becomes a blur and shiver runs through my body at the thought of Brendan finding out. I shift in my seat, trying to quell the panic crawling through my brain. Dean can be pretty smooth, but I'm still concerned, especially after a night without sleep. One slip of the tongue could trigger Brendan's lawyer instincts, and if that happens it's game over for our little charade. That grenade is the last thing Brendan needs right now.

That begs the question of what the long game even is with Dean. No matter what the timing, revealing a casual hookup arrangement with Brendan's best friend won't go over too well for either one of us, and with Dean's track record, I'm sure that's all this will ever be. While some people aren't the marriage type, Dean isn't even the monogamy type. We might as well have an expiration date.

Panic begins to simmer in my stomach again, this time for a different reason entirely. Should I try to talk to Dean? Or should I put an end to things now before my heart is really on the line? My brain tells me the latter is the safest bet, but my gut isn't so sure. Last night he was almost... sweet.

Part of me wants to think this could be different—that I could be different—but everyone wants to be the exception.

Or maybe I'm just letting myself be dickmatized. I mean, I suspected Dean would know what he was doing in bed, but I didn't realize it would be the kind of hookup that makes you bite your lip when you play it back in your head later on. Nor did I expect him to talk so dirty to me that just thinking about it—even in the middle of this disgusting ER waiting room—makes my thighs clench a little.

It's hard to untangle my true feelings from the sex, especially when the sex is that good. Maybe the solution is no more sex. A sex hiatus to see if there's more there. But where's the fun in that?

I continue to obsess over the Dean situation for another ten minutes until the triage nurse informs me that Vidya is awake and escorts me down the hall to room 11.

Vidya is propped up in the hospital bed, wearing a blue hospital gown with her long raven hair splayed against the white hospital sheet. "Hey." She offers me a weak smile. Her warm brown skin has taken on a pallor and her lips are pale. I can see why Brendan was so worried about her.

"How are you doing?" I walk over and give her a hug, careful not to jostle her or squeeze too tightly. "Brendan just went to get something to eat. He asked me to stay here with you. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I'm glad he did. But I'm pretty hopped up on painkillers so I may not be very good company."

"I hope they're giving you the good stuff, at least." I ease into the blue vinyl seat beside her bed, turning it to face her. In the background, a code blue is announced over the intercom, and I suppress a cringe.

Vidya makes a so-so motion with her hand. "They take the edge off, but make me want to throw up. It's a wash."

"Can I get you anything? I don't know if you're allowed to eat or not but..."

"I'm okay, thanks. But I do need to ask you a favor."

"Sure," I say. "Anything." She probably needs me to go by their apartment and round up some clothes and toiletries for her. Or maybe feed Kibbles, their cat.

"Can you help take care of some of the wedding details while I'm stuck in here? It's not a lot, I swear. I've got the vendors picked out already. I just need help with the—ouch," she cringes, trying to shift herself into a more upright position. "Final selections."

"Um, sure..." I trail off, taken aback by the request. I hadn't even thought about the wedding in the midst of all of this. "I mean yes, of course. If you're sure you want me to handle that."

What I really want to say is, are you sure you want to leave the biggest day of your life in my hands? I can make a mean inspiration board, but I'll be the first to admit that planning and organization aren't my strong suits. None of my friends have gotten married yet, either, so I have no experience to draw on. In fact, the only nuptials I've attended in the past decade were my uncle's second wedding in his backyard.

"I don't mean to put all the work on you. The doctors said I need to rest." She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Residency and rest are mutually exclusive, but try telling them that."

Rest will definitely be a struggle for her; along with Brendan, she is one of the most ambitious, type-A people I know. Which is another reason that it's dubious as to whether she should trust me, the most type-B person there is, to assist with her planning. There is a strong possibility that I will end up disappointing her. It's basically a given.

"Plus, I waited six years to get this ring." Vidya holds up her left hand. "I'm going down that aisle if I have to roll myself in a wheelchair."

"It's no problem at all," I assure her.

Guilt grips me. I know how important this day is to both of them, not to mention our families. It doesn't matter whether I want to do this or I think I'll do a good job. I have to do a good job.

"I'll do what I can," she adds, "but I won't be at full capacity. I just have a few vendor appointments I need someone to attend. You wouldn't mind, would you? I know it's probably not your cup of tea."

"No, it'll be fun," I lie. As long as no one goes without a meal on the big day because of something I've screwed up.

"Great." She heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much."

"What kinds of things are left?"

Vidya pauses and thinks. "I'll have to check my spreadsheet. All of the RSVPs are in and I finalized the seating chart two weeks ago, so at least that one is out of the way. But we have a tasting with the caterer booked for Tuesday and I don't even think we can reschedule that."

On New Year's, she mentioned that the caterer tasting involved choosing hors d'oeuvres for cocktail hour, plus salads and entrees for the dinner. She said there was something like 4 appetizers to be selected, plus 2 salads and 3 main courses. My high school math is a little shaky but that's a lot of potential ways to screw up and pick the wrong things.

"Brendan and I will do a bang-up job." I think I'm trying to convince myself as much as her. But then another pang of guilt hits me; Brendan told me their caterer goes all out making a fancy meal for the tasting appointment. It feels wrong that I get to go enjoy a free meal while she's stuck at home.

"If you can get him to leave my side. He said he's going to camp out on those chairs tonight if they don't discharge me." She points to a set of vinyl padded chairs by the window. They're barely big enough for me to sit in, let alone for my 6 foot tall brother.

I'm about to respond when the neurologist comes to examine Vidya to determine whether she's ready to be discharged. With a quick wave, I head into the hall and wait out there, leaning against the white wall. Moments later, Brendan and Dean appear through the swinging doors. When my eyes land on Dean, my heart does hopscotch in my chest. I'd like to say it's because I'm worried about being found out, but there's probably more do it than that.

Aside from the fact that Dean looks almost as disheveled as my brother, they seem okay, so I assume there weren't any major slips of the tongue during breakfast.

"Did Vidya talk to you about the wedding?" Brendan asks, breaking the silence. His voice is raspy from lack of sleep.

Dean and I exchange a quick glance, but I can't get a read on his expression. Then my gaze falls to the missing button on his shirt and heat rushes to my cheeks. I clear my throat, quickly looking away. I couldn't be more awkward if I tried.

"She did," I say. "I can help you out with the planning." We all know I have lots of free time to fill.

"Damnit." Brendan leans his head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. "I have so much other stuff to deal with. The insurance company wants me to fill out a million forms, they're talking about suing the other party who hit us, and the police need me to make a statement so they can file charges... Plus, I can't afford to shit the bed right now when I just made junior partner."

"Okay, you handle that stuff for the time being. But you can come to the tasting appointment Tuesday evening, right?" There's the cake tasting the week after, too, which involves choosing the wedding cake flavors. No pressure there. I mean, not like it's the biggest day of their lives or anything like that.

Brendan pulls out his iPhone and scrolls, frowning. "I forgot about that. I am booked solid all day, followed by a dinner meeting with the senior partners. Plus, I need to make it home to see Vidya at some point."

My throat tightens. "What if you hate what I choose?" Not to mention, the logistics of going alone to this appointment; maybe I can bring Charity or Peyton so I'm not at a nice dinner by myself. Table for one seems kind of sad, especially since this is for a wedding.

"Come on, you have great taste," Brendan says soothingly.

When it comes to fashion, sure. But my decision-making skills leave much to be desired. I mean, I can't be trusted to pick a cable provider, let alone someone's wedding cake.

Overwhelm slams into me. I fidget with the strap of my purse, trying not to have a full-on meltdown around Dean, who's observing from the sidelines.

"You know that I'm totally willing to help, but I can't pick the entire menu by myself. That's way too much responsibility. Can you reschedule the appointment so you can come?"

Brendan's brow knits together. "No. This caterer is in crazy high demand. Tastings book six months out or more. Even then, you have to get on a list. Vidya practically jumped through hoops to book them."

"What about mom? Could she come with me?" But then I remember that this is divorce season—according to her—and the chances of her being able to take off large chunks of time during the day are are low. Sometimes I forget that most other people don't have the same freedom I do, especially on such short notice. Most people, except for me and... Oh, no.

Recognition dawns on Brendan's face at the same time as my own, terrible realization.

"Dean can go with you." He nods at Dean, who raises his eyebrows. "You two have, er, flexible schedules." Dean and I exchange another glance, but his poker face is still in full effect.

"Dean?" I repeat. I don't know whether that would be good or bad. Probably both. There's a good chance we won't be overly productive, either. Even right now, all I can think about is how his five o'clock shadow felt against my inner thighs.

"Sure," Dean agrees, shooting me a nearly imperceptible 'shut up' look. "We'll take care of it. I already told Brendan I'd deal with the money and budgeting."

I open my mouth to argue and close it, wordlessly, nodding. There's no denying that those aren't my forte, and I could use the help. Hell, I just admitted that I need help. But Dean is a bad idea on several levels. Not only can I not tell Brendan why, I can't add to his stress levels right now.

Forcing a smile, I meet his gaze evenly. "Okay."

His eyebrows hit his forehead. "You didn't even say anything snarky. I take it to mean that you two will put aside your differences for this?"

"Sure," I say. "I think I can manage that."

"Great." He gives me an impressed look. "Just keep the gloves on, you know?"

"We will," Dean and I both say at the same time.

And hopefully, our clothes.

Any bets on the last part?