Page 12 of One Last Rodeo

“Good,” she says. “That’s how all my scars look.”

“Because you’re so perfect,” I mutter.

Her lips twitch into an almost smile but she doesn't respond. For a moment neither of us says anything. It’s just her eyes on my chest and my eyes on her face, and the bartender somewhere in front of us pretending they’re not listening. I think it might be the quietest moment I’ve ever had with another person in a long time without overthinking it.

“So, what’s your deal with me then?”

“My deal…” She starts, but the bartender sets our drinks down, interrupting her. She takes a long, heavy sip of her blood redwine before finishing. “…My deal is that you had open heart surgery five months ago and you’re back on a bull like that didn’t happen. Back to doing the thing that’ll most likely kill you. You aren’t appreciating the second chance you’ve been given.”

I lean back, eyebrows climbing. “That’syour problem with me? That I’m still riding?”

'Don’t waste this second chance.’Her words echo in my mind.

“One of many, yes. But probably the main one right now. You’re not thinking about whoever’s at home watching you and holding their breath every eight seconds, because they didn’t get a say in the risk you’re taking with your health.”

I lean forward, close enough to catch the scent of her—sweet, warm, cocoa butter. Something soft that shouldn’t fit with the razor edges she’s showing me. Maybe it's her lotion. Maybe it's her perfume. Hell, if I know, but she smells good.Like warmth.Like someone who cares too much about her patients.She's sharp and beautiful. Smart but a whole lot guarded. And she's not trying to flirt with me just to earn a ride on this cowboy like most women would be.

If she wants to pretend like she’s carved from ice, indifferent about most things, I know she’s not. No one does what she did for me and stays cold inside. No one heals people’s hearts every day and sends them on their way with a quiet warning whispered through their drug daze and doesn’t care about their future beyond the table.

Catalina cares.

Maybe more than she even realizes. She cares so much that I don’t have the heart to tell her thatno oneis at home holding their breath for me unless you count my eighty-year-old grandma. And yeah, she’d be devastated if something happenedto me, but it’s the cold truth that she’d also understand if that’s how I went out. She won’t be far behind me anyway.

I look at her. At the real worry that’s sitting behind all that frost. Something in me wants to tell her she doesn’t have to worry about how other people spend their second chances. I wonder if that’s what she’s doing here in Austin If she’s living her own second chance out. I wonder if that’s why she walked away from surgery.

“I am appreciating it,” I say quietly. “And that’s why I’m still riding. To show my appreciation for the second chance I’ve been given. Bull-riding is how I show my appreciation.”

She scoffs. “You don’t appreciate the time, experience, and professional wisdom I have that tells you to stop. You riding shows that you don’t respect what I did for you. It tells me you don’t respect your own life. But worst of all, you don't respect the people who care about you. The ones who worry every night you get on that animal.”

That has me seeing red.

Chapter 4 – Catalina

Jensen glares at me.

I blink back at him, feigning my most bored expression while taking another slow sip of wine. I don’t care if what I said was harsh. I'm used to people telling me I'm too direct to the point of coming across as rude.

Do you want your doctor to sugar coat your diagnosis or give it to you straight so that you know just how long you might have left? Would you rather your doctor treat you like a child or the adult that you are who needs to come up with a plan and handle your shit?

It wasn’t harsh. It was factual. Necessary. It’s what every one of my patients needs drilled into their skulls. You’ve had heart surgery; therefore, you need to take it easy for the rest of yourlife. You're at a higher risk for complications, especially when you're not even a year out from it. That’s the rule. End of story.

Only fools ignore sound advice.

I expect him to tell me to fuck off, maybe toss his bar napkin on the countertop and storm out. That’s what most people would do when I tell them the truth they didn’t ask for. When I press on the broken parts of them that they try to pretend don’t exist. And why am I telling him the truth? Perhaps it's because most people think I'm repeating a line from a manual. That I'm so obsessed with science and case studies that I can't think for myself outside of a textbook.

The truth is that I know I care even when I shouldn’t. Youcan'tcare about every patient who comes through your OR. I learned that early in my career. Regardless of how I learned that lesson, I still do. I always have. It's been my biggest blessing and curse and the one thing I’ve kept hidden in the back of my mind, pretending it doesn’t exist.

Jensen sits back, leaning a little on his bar stool. He’s studying me critically. And his stare isn’t lazy or disinterested. It’s focused, lingering, like he’s trying to peel me open layer by layer.

I hate that. I hate being read. Assessed. Parsed out like a puzzle. He won't find the answers he's seeking anyway. I've been taught by the best how to conceal and never reveal. I don’t let my discomfort show anymore. I’m excellent at keeping things locked down.

I’m the oldest of three daughters to immigrant parents—armor wasn’t optional. It was the only way through. It was about survival. My sisters got to stumble, experiment, break the rules and learn their limits. I had to set the example and model good behavior even if they didn't follow my lead.

I had to be perfect.

Every day, every breath, every thought had to have purpose. It was my duty to show my parents that their sacrifices weren't for nothing. That at least one of us would make their American dream come true.

My sisters have gotten there on their own timeline. It's just taken them a bit longer with a few more mistakes along the way. But not me. Mistakes aren't something I make.