Page 77 of One Last Rodeo

I remember the Iron Horn Series, and Craig, and the way he slid that clause into my contract like it was nothing after I told Hayes that I wanted to have an out in case rodeo life wasn’t for me.

“If any urgent cases arise, Dr. Alba may step away solely to perform the surgery before rejoining the current series location.”

At the time, it felt like a courtesy he was doing because Hayes insisted. Now it feels like a premonition that a patient would be sent to me like this, and I'd need to step away. Because working at Whitewood Creek Community Hospital, and working on the Series has been a distraction, but I think I needed this reminder that I’m still a surgeon, even while living out of suitcases and arenas with the bull riders.

That I'llalwaysbe a surgeon.

We’re close to the end of this run anyway. The guys are strong, healthy, no major injuries except Jensen’s shoulder—but he’ll be fine. He'll ride tonight. And he’ll be riding in Seattle in three days. Unfortunately, that ride is one that I’ll need to miss so I can take care of Olivia.

I make a mental note to text Hayes later and thank him for the foresight.

I nod. “I’ll be there.”

Jordan runs through a few last notes. As I turn to go, she adds, “Drinks soon? To catch up?”

I blink. Then nod. And it hits me—almost embarrassingly. Maybe I haven’t been friendless this whole time like I told Jensen so confidently. Maybe Jordan was always my friend. Maybe people cared about me beyond the title and awards I won.

The thought squeezes something tight in my chest. My loose shirt suddenly feels itchy against my skin as I walk down the hallway, past faces that once knew me, past the ghost of who I used to be. I round a corner and press my back to the cool cement wall, pulling in a deep, steadying breath where no one can hear me fall apart for six seconds.

And I do. With one hot tear trailing down my cheek, streaking the mascara I put on this morning for no other reason than I wanted to feel pretty when I see my parents later at the rodeo. Let's be real, it was for Jensen, too.

I take another shaky breath, allowing myself one more moment of silence before I slip back into work mode. Except on the next exhale, I realize I’m no longer alone.

“Hey.”

Davis appears slowly around the corner like he’s been rehearsing this conversation, stepping far too close before leaning hisshoulder against the same wall I’m pressed against so he can look at me.

I roll my head to the side to glance at him, then immediately return my gaze to the far, more appealing, slab of concrete that’s across from me. I press my palms flat into the wall behind me, grounding myself for whatever insane thing’s going to come out of his mouth next.

He clears his throat. “You look good, Doctor Alba.”

My eyes shut. I let out a breath that feels like dust shaking off old bones.He doesn’t deserve an ounce of my emotional energy or attention.

“Would you maybe… want to… grab dinner tonight? While you’re in town. I’d like to talk,” he continues.

My head rolls to face him again. Slow and disbelieving, I ask, “You want me to have dinner with you and Liza?” The idea alone feels like punishment.

He shakes his head. “No. Just you. Or… we could have dinner after Olivia’s surgery in two days. We can catch up.” He tugs at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I've missed you."

I blink. Once. Twice. Is he serious?

“Where’s Liza?”

“We’re taking a break.”

My jaw drops. I push off the wall and face him. “She’s pregnant, Davis. Isn’t her due date in—what—the next two weeks?”

He drags a hand through his sandy hair—the same haircut he’s had since before med school. Clean-shaven face, no bull tattoo on his chest, no nose ring, no bite marks on his shoulders, no single hand painted red with my nail polish just because he wants to match me. No chaos. It's all so predictable. Safe. Clean.All things that Iusedto value in a man. Everything about it now feels… dull.

He’s still handsome. Objectively. But now, all I can see is the empty interior. The polished exterior. The lack of fire, grit, and edge.

The only surprise that Davis has ever given me has been hurtful. He’s nothing like Jensen. Davis is soft on the outside and hard on the inside. Jensen is the opposite—armor on the surface, molten warmth where it counts.

I’ll take the molten man every time.

A humorless laugh slips out of me. “Don’t do this to her.”

He shakes his head quickly. “I’m not doing anything. We’re just taking space before the baby comes.”