Page 92 of The Callahan Effect

***

The week leading up to my surgery passed beneath a constant weight of deception that grew heavier with every passing day.

Lying to Dad felt wrong.

Lying to Mason felt worse.

Medical conferences weren't unusual for senior students, particularly those already committed to a specialty, so neither questioned my explanation when I told them an otolaryngologist I'd met during one of my clinical rotations had recommended a two-day conference focusing on advances in reconstructive airway surgery. Dad actually encouraged me to attend, reminding me opportunities to learn from respected surgeons often opened unexpected doors later in a career. Mason agreed immediately, insisting I'd regret turning down something that could ultimately make me a better doctor.

The conference explained my absence to the people who mattered most, but the university required something different. A brief email to the course coordinator advising that an unexpected medical emergency required a short hospital admission ensured my professors understood why I'd miss two days of classes. They didn't ask for details, simply wishing me a speedy recovery and assuring me any missed material could be made up once I returned.

Every word of encouragement tightened the knot already sitting in my stomach.

If the operation failed, neither Dad nor Mason would ever know I'd spent those two days lying in a hospital bed recovering from surgery.

If it succeeded...

The thought never progressed any further because I refused to let myself imagine success.

Hope still frightened me far too much.

The morning I left, Mason walked me to my car before heading across campus for his morning lecture. Four weeks of steady rehabilitation had transformed his recovery. The limp that had followed him home from hospital had almost disappeared and, after being cleared to return to the ice for gentle skating the previous week, he seemed happier than I'd seen him since the night of the injury. He still had weeks to go before hockey became part of his life again, but for the first time he could finally see the finish line instead of simply trusting it was there.

Watching him recover reminded me daily why I'd refused every attempt he'd made to persuade me we could resume the physical side of our relationship before his body was ready. He teased me mercilessly about behaving more like his physician than his boyfriend, yet every time I looked at him I remembered the sight of him lying unconscious on the ice and knew I'd make exactly the same decision again.

He stopped beside my car and reached for my hand.

"You'll text me tonight?"

I nodded.

"I don't care if you're surrounded by a hundred surgeons discussing fascinating new procedures. I expect at least one message."

You'll be lucky to get rid of me after one message.

He stepped closer and kissed me slowly, his lips lingering against mine long enough to make climbing into the driver's seat unexpectedly difficult.

"I'm going to miss you."

I rested my forehead gently against his.

I'll miss you too.

He squeezed my hand once more, then stepped back so I could leave.

The drive across town seemed far longer than it actually was. Every mile placed another layer of distance between the lie I'd told everyone and the truth waiting at Providence Sacred Heart. By the time the hospital finally came into view, my palms had become so damp against the steering wheel that I found myself sitting in the car for several minutes simply trying to slow my breathing before forcing myself through the main entrance.

Caroline was already waiting outside Surgical Admissions. She'd arranged to take a couple of days off so she could be by my side.

The moment she saw me, she crossed the foyer without hesitation before wrapping me in a brief hug that somehow managed to calm the panic threatening to overwhelm me.

"I wasn't completely sure you'd come."

Neither was I.

She laughed quietly, although emotion softened her eyes almost immediately.

"I'm proud of you."