Page 84 of One Last Rodeo

The shutters are back up around my heart, slamming into place so fast it makes my chest ache. Where I was looking at a man I was actively falling for just minutes ago, now all I see is pain. Another man who chooses someone else, or something else, overme. Another man who sees my small stature, my soft curves and thinks I can easily be dismissed.

“You never really saw me as your doctor, did you?” I ask.

“What?” He stares at me in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

I laugh, but it comes out thin and brittle. “My word was never enough. You’re just like every other man I've ever encountered. I can have the credentials, the accolades, the experience—but it isn't enough for you. I might know your body better than anyone else, I might have fixed your heart, but you’ll still need a second opinion before you feel confident.” I swallow hard. “I’ll never be smart enough for you. And fuck, I’ll probably never be good enough for you.”

I hate the way it sounds when it’s spoken aloud. Hate how small it makes me feel. I’ve never said words like that to a man before. I’ve never let them have that much control. But I’m not naïve enough to think this is only about Jensen. He’s just pressed on the wound harder than anyone has in a long time.

Maybe this is old pain resurfacing—unhealed, untreated—left behind by Davis and now festering in whatever Jensen and I were building. I see it then, like lightning cracking the sky—the exact moment my words land. The moment understanding registers.

“Dawson set that up,” he blurts, extending his arms wide to point at the room he just left. “I trust you, Catalina. I trust you completely. I told him I didn’t need a second opinion. My shoulder feels strong.”

I lift my hand to stop him. “You should have shut it down. You should have told him you were already under another doctor’s care.”

“He knew,” Jensen insists. “Dawson knows you're my doctor for the Series. He just wanted the opinion of this fancy ortho doc that works in town or some shit and happened to be at the ride tonight.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t even hear Davis’s name right now. Worst of all, I can’t hear about how he justhappenedto show up at the rodeo like it was a case of chance and not pure calculation.

Davis knew exactly what he was doing. He always does. He heard I was the series doctor. He heard me when I shot him down today at the hospital for dinner and drinks. Heard I’d be the one performing another high-profile operation in two days on Olivia. And he couldn’t stand it—not being the hero. Not here. Not there. So, he went behind my back and made sure he was seen. Made sure I remembered him by going to one of my riders.

“Catalina, please believe me,” Jensen says, stepping closer but stopping himself. “I didn’t ask to see Doctor Davis. Dawson just dragged me in here without telling me why.”

“You should have stopped him the second you found out,” I say quietly. I’m so hurt I can’t even yell.

“Kitty—Doctor Alba—Please. Help me understand. I don’t see what the problem is. Why does it hurt to get another opinion?”

Of course he doesn’t see the problem.

I hold up a hand, my laugh hollower this time. “If you don’t get it by now, you never will.” I inhale slowly, grounding myself. “You think my problem with you is that you’re reckless. Impulsive. That you don’t think about consequences, or the people who lie awake every night wondering if you’ll come back in one piece when you get on a bull.”

I meet his gaze stronger.

“But that’s not all of it. I’ve come to terms with the fact that you don’t remember this. But I do.” I draw in a sharp breath. “After performing your heart surgery, when you woke up, you looked me straight in my eyes and the first words you said to me were‘Where’s my doctor? I want to shake his hand and thank the son-of-a-bitch.’”

His jaw clenches.

I don’t blame him for those comments. He doesn’t remember saying it. Most people don't realize what they're saying fresh out of anesthesia. But it wasn’t the first time someone had said something like that after I performed heart surgery on them. After I saved their life.

And every time they assume I’m not their doctor, it’s like a knife in my chest. A reopening of a wound.

And this brings me to the third thing that I hate most in life other than nose rings and tattoos. It's thatpeople never assume I’m their doctor.

I’ve been mistaken for them all. An intern, a nurse,the freaking janitor iseven more believable to them than the person who just saved their life when they were bleeding out after the worst trauma anyone can experience.

And it’s not because I don’t respect those positions—God knows they carry this entire broken healthcare system on their backs with no credit—it’s because of the bias underneath the assumption that I couldneverhave been the one who performed their surgery simply because I’m a woman.

“No one ever looks at me—five-foot-three, brown skin, dark curls,woman—and thinks: cardiothoracic surgeon.No. I get the polite smile, the “Is the doctor coming soon?” And it grates every time. That it would be that surprising and out of the norm forthe first assumption to be that I’m their doctor. That I’m the one who’s going to fix them up.”

And that’s exactly the transgression that Jensen provided to me the moment he opened his eyes after I was finished delicately reconstructing the heart that’s beating inside his chest. The transgression that I’ve looked past because I know, rationally, that he hadn’t meant to offend me in that way. Because I know that most people don’t mean harm when they ask that question.

And the transgression that I ignored because I also really thought, in some foolish part of my mind, that he saw me as both his doctor to respect, and his friend who was becoming something more... maybe even someone he could love.

But now, seeing him consulting with Davis on an injury I’ve already thoroughly examined, treated and signed off on just reinforced what I feared all along. That tiny insecurity inside of me that I hide that's really grown like a weed, with its tentacles wrapping around every part of my mind. That even Jensen might not respect me as much as he says he does. That even he might not trust my skills and experience.

That once again, Davis wins and I lose.

He took my pride. My relationship. My future. Shook my sense of safety and stomped on my heart. And now he’s taking Jensen from me before I've ever really had him.