Page 96 of One Last Rodeo

I’m not done fighting for her. I’m not done fighting for us.

Chapter 29 – Catalina

I roll my glass of red wine between my palms, watching the burgundy liquid catch the light overhead.

The color is too familiar.

Every shift of the glass sends the wine glinting beneath the lights, and I can't stop seeing the photo June sent me three days ago. Jensen's nails. The same deep, unforgiving shade of red. He'd painted them red for me.

If you'd told me a year ago that a man would paint his nailswith me, for me,because he knows it's my favorite color and wants to match me,I wouldn't have found it romantic. I would have thought you were joking, and then I would have wondered what the hell is wrong with the guy?

Guess I've changed more than I realized. Because when that photo of his hand came through, I cried. Another thing I wouldhave never imagined doing. Maybe it was the timing of the image that had me emotional.

“Catalina, are you even listening to me?” my youngest sister, Isla, asks gently. Her brown eyes, exactly like mine, narrow just a touch.

I force a smile. “Yeah. Sorry. Just a little distracted by the surgery and... everything.”

Distracted by Olivia. Distracted by my hurt. Distracted by the way I hurt Jensen.

She reaches across the small, restaurant table and squeezes my wrist. We might’ve been raised by the same parents, but our love languages couldn’t be more different. My sister, Dani, is all words—affirmation, praise, encouragement. I think that's why she gravitated to marrying the guy she worked for who hardly ever passed out a compliment to her. Because once he did... she lit up.

Isla’s love language is physical touch. Constant, grounding. It’s always looked natural for her.

The age gap between us means I missed a lot of this when she was younger. I’d already left for med school, residency, boards, then straight into life living with Davis. Every time I’m around her now, it hits me how much she wants to connect physically when having a conversation. And though in the past this always made me uncomfortable, even with family, I find myself leaning into her touch tonight. Probably because it unfairly makes me think of Jensen.

I miss him.

“Tell me again what happened,” she says softly. “Only if you want to.”

I draw in a breath and take a longer sip of wine. The Iron Horn Series semi-finals are tomorrow evening in Charlotte. And despite Jensen practically telling me I could quit, move to Antarctica, and it still wouldn't be enough distance from him, I couldn't bail.

Not on Craig. Not after he took a chance on me.

Not on Hayes, either. He'd put his neck on the line with the series manager to get me out of Whitewood Creek and into this wild adventure of a job.

And not on Jensen, or the rest of the guys, who’ve all accepted me and made me part of their little rodeo family.

“Everything was going well with the procedure…”

Until it wasn’t.

There was blood. Panic like I've never, ever felt in surgery before. And then more blood. That sharp, hollow moment where the room shifts and everyone looks at you like you’re either about to save this person or ruin it is what I keep remembering.

I stabilized Olivia, of course. Fixed most of the defect. But not all of it. There's still work to be done until she's better. And I refuse—Irefuse—to send her back into the world with anything less than a perfect heart. She deserves a full life. A long one. This happening to her is downright cruel, but not her legacy. I want her to be back in school with her classmates by this autumn. Playing the same games as them and growing to see graduation from high school one day.

I wet my lips and take another sip, letting my gaze drift around Whitewood Creek Brewery. It’s Dani’s husband’s family place. The Marshall family started with an egg farm a few miles from here in Whitewood Creek, raising chickens sustainably,ethically, organically, before expanding to selling their eggs across the country.

About a decade ago, they branched into whiskey, then other spirits, and not long after the youngest Marshall brother, Colt, was released from prison, he opened their first restaurant and brewery in Charlotte. The success of that location eventually circled back here, to their hometown. Which is where I am tonight. Crashing at my youngest sister’s condo before we head up to Charlotte tomorrow for the series semi-finals.

I could have stayed with the rest of the team in Charlotte tonight, but after everything that happened with Jensen and I last week, and Olivia’s failed heart surgery, I found myself needing to be around family. An urge that I've never felt so strongly in the past.

Isla squeezes my hand again, tighter this time, and it takes me a second to realize she never let go. I don’t pull away from her. I don’t bristle. It feels… nice. Safe. Like this is what touch is supposed to feel like. She’s providing me support without judgment or pushing. She looks like she genuinely wants to know how I’m doing.

I take another, slower sip of wine and press my free fingers to my temples. “I’m working the semi-finals tomorrow, then I fly back to the West Coast for the redo surgery. We’re giving her a few days’ break to rest. The procedure and anesthesia can be a lot on a child's heart so I’m trying not to over-tax her system. But this next time…”

I don’t finish the sentence. She already knows. Ihaveto get it right. There's no space for panic. No room for mistakes. Olivia can’t afford them, and I'll never live with myself if I don't fix her perfectly. Because this should have been a straightforward case, but things got complicated when I got in my head, saw the blood and started to wonder if I’d lost my touch.

I have no one to blame but myself for that. I’ve been a mess since I pushed Jensen away, and I haven’t had a chance to think about the wounds that I’ve never closed from Davis.