Page 75 of One Last Rodeo

“This pussy’s mine tonight just as soon as I finish my ride.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s just clothes, and I let my hair down."And red nail polish that matches the bull rider who fucked me this morning, and makeup."C’mon—take me to this consult and update me on the way.”

Without missing a beat, I slide right back into surgeon mode. Jordan keeps pace as she rattles off stats, and it feels almost like old times—late nights, adrenaline, the quiet dance of knowing a person’s life depends on your next move and not taking that lightly.

God, I miss it. Okay, maybe just a tiny bit.

But there’s something heavier beneath the nostalgia I’m feeling, settling deep in my bones as we move past familiar faces and the antiseptic scent that used to cling to me for days. A voiceinside me whispers:This will always be here. But a real life with people who are looking forward to you getting off work will not be.

Every day, every night, I’d show up, fix valves, patch up hearts, hand people second chances, and lecture them not to waste them. The irony is that all along I was wasting my own and never seemed to realize it until my heart got broken and I took a step away from it all.

Maybe leaving this hospital really was my second chance and I should take my own advice.Don't waste this second chance.

“So, who called the consult?” Jordan asks as we reach the chart outside the room. She yanks it off the wall and starts flipping through the paperwork rapidly.

I inhale. Slow. Controlled. Fully knowing that she's going to hate this maybe even more than I will.

“Doctor Davis,” I say.

Her eyebrows slam together. Jordan is one of the few people in this building who never liked my ex-fiancé—the esteemed Chief of Orthopedics. Honestly, it was always one of my secret favorite things about her even when I'd chastise her sternly and reminder her that he was my fiancé, and a gifted doctor.

I think it's because everyone saw him as sunshine and light, a healer of bones, and me as cold and closed off. Which is ironic since I was healing the thing that pumped life through their veins.

He got the glory, even if his surgeries weren't necessarily lifesaving. I got the awards because they had no choice but to give them to me. I certainly didn't earn any personality points with the board. During one of my reviews, it wasstronglyencouraged that I try to smile more. I told them all to fuck off and let me do my job.

“He probablyhatedcalling you and admitting that you're the best heart surgeon in the country,” she mutters.

“Maybe,” I say, aiming for indifferent and landing somewhere closer to tired, because when he called me this morning, he actually sounded thrilled to hear from me. Which is somehow much worse.

Her eyes sharpen. “Or maybe… He enjoyed it? And now he’s doing this to win you back?”

I shoot her a warning glare. She throws her hands up. She knows everything—how he betrayed me, how he got his mistress pregnant, how I walked away from the life I thought I was building because of him. Butnotbecause of him. Just like I told Jensen, I refuse to give him the glory for changing my life.

Even if his motive to get me here is for selfish reasons—which it isn’t—it doesn’t matter. He might be a homewrecker, and she might be too, but I’m not. And I refuse to be the reason some child grows up confused about where they belong because he tried to bring his ex-fiancée back into the fold.

No, he chose this woman; he's going to follow through. Even if I have to force him to.

I push open the patient’s door, a practiced smile settling on my face semi-naturally. This used to be the worst part of the job for me. Selling the surgery, comforting the fear, playing the role of empathetic, concerned doctor. I always cared, but my facial expressions and emotions didn’t always convey that.

With a patient like Jensen, it was easier. He didn’t need convincing when he was flown to my hospital. He trusted me, or maybe his trainer who’d recommended me had. I didn't evenmeet him in pre-op. They knew I was the best and they wanted the best for their star cowboy.

Today, I can already tell there won’t be much persuading. My sweet patient, a tiny thing with round hazel eyes and bangs she clearly cut herself, is sitting up in bed with monitors stuck all over her tiny chest. Her arm’s in a cast, and there’s a teddy bear squeezed tightly to her ribs. I smile at her, and that’s when I realize she’s talking animatedly to my ex-fiancé who's holding a gigantic, brown, stuffed puppy dog in his hands, smiling like he's the funniest person on earth.

Something sharp twists beneath my ribs as I watch them together. Maybe there was a time when I wasn't sure I wanted kids, but a small part of me had still imagined what that life might look like with Davis. I always knew he'd make a great father. The kind who'd turn every ordinary moment into an adventure. Now he gets to be that man with someone else. Someone who isn't me.

I'm happy for him. Relieved, even, that I found out the truth. But that doesn't stop it from hurting to be reminded of the life that was taken from me.

“Hi, Olivia,” I say as I round the bed.

I don’t look at Davis, but I feel his eyes on me with every step. It’s a weight that I can’t explain. Almost like he’s surprised by my appearance. Guess I'm shocking everyone today with my new style.

I force another smile. “I’m Doctor Alba, and I’m here to check on your heart.”

Chapter 23 – Catalina

"Hi Doctor Alba!" The sweet girl waves at me as I crouch down next to her bed. The two other adults in the room step up next to me.

“We’re Becka and Mauris Ventura—Olivia’s parents.”