Page 107 of One Last Rodeo

Chapter 33 – Catalina

“Here,” my surgical tech Jordan says, falling into step beside me in the cold hallway of the hospital where I've practiced medicine for over a decade. “You look like you need this.”

She presses a coffee into my hand, and I take it without protest. I haven’t had coffee in… a very, very long time. And she knows that. I’ve never needed it. I used to roll out of bed already wired, adrenaline humming in my veins just from knowing I’d get to do the thing I love most: operate. Cut into bodies. Repair them. Fix what was broken. Ilivedfor it.

But today's different because last night I didn't sleep. I was up replaying every detail of Olivia’s last surgery and preparing myself to do it right this time, so she’ll never have to be cut open again. I must get it right this time. There’s a different fuel pushing me forward today. Passion, yes. But also, a hunger tomake her whole. A hunger to prove to myself that I can still do this.

Part of it is Olivia, this little girl who never deserved the path she was handed.

Part of it is finishing what I started here years ago, long before Jensen ever stepped into my orbit.

And part of it is the clock that's ticking in my chest, counting down the hours until I can get back to Jensen in time for his finals in San Diego.

I’ve never felt this anxious before a ride in my life.

I know Jensen’s shoulder is good. I know his heart is strong. I cleared him myself. But the way we left things unfinished and unspoken has me spiraling with the quiet fear that if something does happen to him… he wouldn’t know how deeply I care. How completely he’s lodged himself inside my life, and the way that I want him to stay there. Telling someone how I really feel about them has never mattered to me like it does right now. I have to get to him in time. I have to apologize.

I have to tell him I love him.

I take a long sip of the coffee. It burns all the way down, sharp and bitter. How do people drink this every morning? It's disgusting.

Jordan’s eyes widen. “That was a test,” she says.

I cut my eyes at her, schooling my face into my most severe, don’t-mess-with-me expression—then let it soften when I notice there’s something different about her today. Her hair. It's shorter. She got it cut. And I wonder how long it’s been like that? If I’ve just been gone for too long or too wrapped up in my own head and problems to notice the people around me.

“Your haircut looks good,” I say. "Brings out the shape of your eyes."

Her eyes widen even more. “Oh my God, now you're complimenting me? Is this about a boy?”

“No.”

Maybe. Yes.Definitely. A man. A big, broody cowboy.

I stop outside Olivia’s room, draw in a steadying breath, bracing myself to face her parents again—the people who trusted me with their entire world wrapped up in one tiny, adorable human. Then I glance back at Jordan.

“Yes,” I admit softly. “It is about aman. And before you think I’m rushing it, or that he’s not good for me, I promise you, he is.”

She nods like she already knew. “You didn’t have to explain. I know that he's one of the good ones.”

My brows raise. “How?”

She just smiles, pushes open the door, and says softly, “Come see Olivia.” Then lets me walk into something I could have never prepared for.

Olivia is sitting up in bed, her back propped with pillows and wearing a wide smile across her adorable face. And the room... wow. It's overflowing with flowers—so many that it looks like she’s been dropped in the middle of a greenhouse. The air smells sweet and alive. Get Well cards are taped to the walls, handwritten notes dangling from strings, words of encouragement strung everywhere I look. Love is everywhere in this room to the point that you can feel it like something physical.

It's only been a few days since I saw her last, but she looks infinitely better despite the procedure not being a full success. Istep toward some of the flowers, getting a closer look, and that’s when I confirm my suspicions.

The flowers are not just any flowers, they’re mostlyCatalinas.

He sent flowers named after me.

“Wow,” I say softly to the little girl. “Someone must be thinking about you.”

She beams, glancing at her parents, who look nervous but hopeful.

“Yep! Aren’t they pretty, Doctor?”

I smile. “They are. And how are you feeling today?"