Page 109 of One Last Rodeo

She studies me for half a second. “So, apologize. He seems very understanding. Because you already know I’m going to say go for it. That man's built like a tree on the outside, but his inside is all gooey caramel. You should have seen him with Olivia and her parents.”

I shake my head. “I don’t have any hesitation about Jensen. I know the kind of man he is.” My voice steadies. “He’s the best.”

“Good,” she says. “Then what’s the problem?”

I straighten, spine locking into place. “There’s something I need to settle first. To be fair to him. I need to take care of this, so that I never bring my past into my future again.”

She nods like she understands what I have to do. “I’ll page you once Olivia’s in the OR and anesthesia begin their prep.”

“Thank you.”

Then I take off, moving down the hall, toward the elevators, toward the orthopedic floor. It’s a longer walk than I expected, my thoughts racing ahead of my feet. By the time I reach Davis’s floor, I briefly wonder if I’ve miscalculated everything—if he’ll be scrubbed in and unreachable. Thankfully, I notice his light is on under his door. Because this is a conversation that can't wait until after surgery.

I knock once, then step inside after his admin waves me through.

“Oh, Doctor Alba.” He looks up from his desk and slips his glasses off, setting them aside. The same glasses he used to wear reading charts late at night in bed when I’d wish he’d been touching me instead.

The surprising thing is that none of those memories hurt me anymore. I'm relieved he didn't do the things I wanted. They don’t make me angry. Or sad. Or even disappointed. Because if what happened between us hadn’t happened, I never would’ve done something as bold as joining the Iron Series as their team doctor.

I never would’ve stepped so far outside my carefully built life of surgery and clinical distance to try something wildly different.

I never would’ve fallen back in love with surgery because I took a break, not as routine cuts and closures, but as something sacred. Something that restores. That gives people their lives back. I would’ve kept telling myself I was cold. Instead of finally seeing the warmth inside me the way that Jensen always has.

I shut the door behind me and stop in front of his desk instead of taking the seat he gestures toward.

“I won’t be here long.”

“Oh. Right. Olivia’s surgery,” he says like he'd forgotten all about it.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There’s no way he forgot about it. It’s all the hospital has talked about for weeks. 'Great optics,’ the chief of medicine had said to me over the phone yesterday when I was waiting in my hotel room, preparing for the procedure. As if this is a branding opportunity instead of a terrified family getting a second chance at their child’s life. And once she’s healed—once her heart is stable—she’ll be back here again to fix her broken arm with Davis. That part will be his to finish, but this is part is mine.

“I know why you went to the San Jose arena to examine my bull rider’s shoulder.”

His brows draw together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dawson, the trainer, he called you to look at Jensen Grant.”

He nods, unfazed. “Dawson. Yes. I saw Jensen’s fall in Denver on the recaps of his ride, pulled his scans, reviewed them and noticed you'd benched him for a few days. When he landed in San Jose, I contacted the team owner and offered a second opinion. Only if they wanted it, of course.”

The way he tries to brush it off like he didn't weasel his way into things makes my stomach churn. But I keep my facial expression unreadable. At least he admits he initiated it and not Dawson. He went out of his way to show up at the arena to make a point.To me.

I’d never believed it was Jensen that had reached out to him first, that fear was never real, but I’d doubted Dawson's intentions. Now it’s obvious. Davis went to Craig. Craig leaned on Dawson to press him for a consult. And Davis, the cold, calculated snake that he is, orchestrated the whole thing from a distance simply because he couldn't stand to see me thriving. Couldn't stand to see me doing something on my own that didn't involve him.

I know the outcome of that second consult. It's the same thing I'd written down in my case notes for the Series.No need for surgery.

I draw in a measured breath. “You’ve always been jealous of me, haven’t you?”

His mouth tightens. "What? You're being ridiculous.”

“No. I'm not,” I say calmly. “It’s exhausting to live with someone who treats your success like a threat.”

“I never felt threatened by your success.”

I hold his gaze. “I don’t think that’s the whole truth.”

He exhales and leans forward, elbows on the desk. “You’re a surgeon,” he says slowly. “Not whatever it is you think you’re doing with this rodeo. And you're certainly not qualified to be making orthopedic decisions about an athletes shoulder.”

My chin lifts. “I know exactly what I am. I’m a good surgeon. I also worked in sports medicine for years before switching to Cardio. But that’s where we’re different. I’ve done more than one thing with my life. I may not specialize in ortho like you, but I was hired as the series doctor for a reason. Because I'm qualified and ifIneed a second opinion, I'm not too prideful to know where to go to outsource that."