Chapter 11
“G ood morning, Mr. Reyes,” I greet him, taking a sip of my much-needed coffee and ignoring how he’s staring at me in my scrubs. “How are you feeling today?”
He gives me a slow drag, a smile lighting up his face when he reaches my scrub cap. “Better now.”
I make an unimpressed noise. “Mr. Reyes, this is Dr. Jones. He’s going to be assisting me.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reyes.” Asher sits up and shakes Jequai’s hand, and I think Jequai is about to pass out in a puddle of fan-boy mush right here on the floor. “Do you mind if I draw on your shoulder?”
Asher blinks at him. “Like an autograph?”
I hold in my laugh. “Something like that. Only it makes sure we know which shoulder we’re cutting into.”
Asher wipes at his jaw. “Is that a problem around here?”
“Not for me, but it’s what we do to prevent any errors.”
Asher waves his hand at Jequai. “Go for it, man.”
“Did the nurses go over what you can expect before, during, and after your surgery?”
“Yes.”
“And has anesthesiology met with you?”
“Not yet.”
His short answers and stiff posture tell me he’s unbelievably nervous. I turn to Jequai. “Dr. Jones, would you go and make sure everything is prepped and ready in the OR?”
“Of course.”
He leaves us, and I close the curtain, coming over and sitting on the edge of Asher’s bed while making sure to leave plenty of space between us. “You doing okay?”
“Uh.” He laughs, running his hand back through his short hair. “Not really. I mean, yes, I’m fine. I’m not about to freak out or anything. But I’m nervous about what you’ll find when you open me up.”
I scoot a little closer. “Lean your head back.” He does instantly.
“Now close your eyes,” I tell him. I take a quick moment to observe him without his eyes on me, making my insides dance the way he always does, and wow, Asher Reyes really is a beautiful man.
“Now take a deep breath in through your nose and then release it slowly through your mouth.”
He does, his body already starting to relax.
“Good. Stay like that for a moment while I talk. I have performed this surgery well over a hundred times, and I have never had a negative outcome. I am not promising you anything other than I will give your shoulder every ounce of my focus and skill. Okay?”
“Okay,” he breathes out.
I open my mouth to say more and then hesitate.
I’ve been thinking a lot about his offer.
Weighing the pros and cons of it. I don’t particularly want to live with him, but that’s my own hang-up.
All I know is it won’t be forever. Neither of us wants this to come out during his season, so in order to protect my son and that secret, concessions and sacrifices must be made.
But once that’s over and it’s all out in the open, there is no reason I have to stay with him.
Yet another reason not to allow him to buy me the apartment.
I can get my own place with Mason, live close by to Asher, and then figure out a co-parenting situation that works for both of us if that’s what he wants.
For now… I lean in and whisper by his ear, “Mason and I will move in with you.”
His eyes flash open, and the biggest, brightest smile I’ve ever seen on him overtakes his every feature. “You will? You mean that?”
My heart thumps in my chest, and I bite into my lip, trying to squash the feeling. “Yes. We’ll move in with you for a while. Once your season is over and we don’t have to keep it as quiet as we do now, we’ll readdress it.”
He gives me that cocky, sure-fire smirk he’s famous for. “You’ll be in love with me by then, Doctor. No chance you’ll readdress anything.”
“That’s really not the type of woman I am.” I’m not sure if it’s a lie either. Before Mason, there was a reason I never dated much, and anyone I ever did date didn’t last very long.
He chuckles lightly. Contentedly. “Thank you. When will you move in?” His smile slips into a deep frown. “I won’t be able to help much now, will I?”
Before I can answer, the curtain is yanked open and I immediately draw back. Dr. Callan Barrows comes flying in before stopping dead in his tracks when he takes us both in.
“Hi,” he says, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
His eyes are on Asher for a moment, as if something is passing between them, and then he turns his full focus on me.
“Dr. Callan Barrows.” He extends his hand.
“We haven’t officially met yet, though I haven’t stopped hearing about you. ”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I laugh it off as I stand, shaking his hand. “Dr. Wynter Hathaway. I recognized you.”
His eyebrows bounce. “Oh, is that so? Don’t tell Asher that. You’ll break his heart since you didn’t recognize him.”
“The hell?!” Asher growls. “For real? You recognized him and not me ?”
I twist back to Asher with a grin. “What? I like drummers.”
Callan barks out a laugh, taking the chair beside Asher’s bed.
Asher leans back, covering his face with his hands. “You’re killing me with that, Doctor.”
I shrug unrepentantly. He doesn’t need to know that I looked him up after I found out who he was.
“Will you be taking Mr. Reyes home after his surgery?” I ask Callan.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Did you want to observe it?”
Both Callan and Asher sit up straight, exchanging looks. “Can I?” Callan finally asks.
“If you’d like. But only from the gallery.”
“You cool with that, man?”
Asher scoffs. “Of course I’m cool with it. At least if you’re watching, then I know she won’t stab me with a scalpel or cut off my balls or something.”
“I can promise you, Mr. Reyes, I won’t ever be touching your balls.”
He tilts his head and grins in a way that makes his chin dimple pop. “Don’t make promises like that, Doctor. It’ll only make you a liar later.”
I shake my head. A player is going to play. I just refuse to be his game. “I’ll see you in there.”
I leave the two of them and head to the OR.
My heart starts to pound out a heavy, steady rhythm as I begin the process of scrubbing in, and then once that’s done, I enter the room.
There are only two places in this world I feel in control.
Here and on the ice. They’re the places I am most at ease, most confident.
I see all those moms whose hair and makeup are always flawless, and they never have a splatter of anything unwanted on their pristine, trendy clothes.
They’re living their best lives while juggling their babies on their hips, as they dominate the world on their phone while sipping their organic caffeine-infused herbal whatever, and have everything planned out and organized down to the second.
I am not that mother. I am the textbook definition of an overachieving hot mess who can’t stand the wild chaos of her hot mess life.
Except in here.
“Good morning, everyone,” I greet. “How are we today? All set?”
“We are,” Chandra, the scrub nurse tells me. “Just waiting on our celebrity patient.”
“Good stuff.” I thank her as she gowns and gloves me up. I head over to the table, going through everything with the staff and Jequai and making sure we have everything we need. A minute later, Asher is rolled in, wearing a mesh cap over his head and a petrified expression.
“Mr. Reyes, are you ready to get started?”
“Sure. Looking forward to it. I’m already a bit high from whatever this guy put in my IV.” He bobs his head toward the anesthesiologist as he scoots over onto the surgical table, and the anesthesiologist adjusts him until he’s where he should be.
“That was Ativan,” the anesthesiologist supplies.
“Right. It’s good stuff. I’ve never done drugs before. Not even when I was touring the world with the band. I’m starting to see the appeal.”
“Lie down, rock star.” Asher lies back on the table, staring up at me with the world glowing in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
“I prefer it when you call me player.”
“I’m sure you do,” I quip. “I think I like you on drugs better than when you’re sober.”
“If I forget to tell you later,” he murmurs just before the propofol is pushed into his IV. “You’re unbelievably sexy right now—even with your mask and hair thing on—as you tell everyone what to do and run the whole show. I might have a very serious thing for you, Doctor.”
Everyone laughs, including me, and then the bright white liquid is pushed through his line, and a few seconds later, he’s out.
“Well, he’s a charmer,” Chandra exclaims.
“You have no idea,” I tell her. We run through our Time Out, making sure we have the right patient, the right surgery, and the right part of his body that we’re operating on, but before I make the first incision, I call out, “Alexa, play Central Square.”
“You are not!” Jequai gasps.
I wink at him. “Oh, I am.”
My gaze shoots up to the gallery where Callan is watching, and I see him shake his head at me with a wry grin on his lips. I return the gesture with an unrepentant shrug and then ask for an eleven-blade as the pop-rock beat led by Greyson Monroe’s croony voice fills the room.
“Let’s fix the player up so I can be done with football.
” I open Asher’s shoulder up and start inspecting my field.
“Can you abduct and externally rotate the arm for me, please?” The circulating nurse springs into action, and once that’s done and I get a clearer look…
I squint. And recheck what I’m seeing. Then, no joke, I make sure I’m in the correct shoulder, because I should not be looking at what I’m looking at.
“Oh, aren’t you a lucky man,” I muse, pleasantly delighted.
“What?”
“Dr. Jones, take a look and tell me exactly what you see.”
Jequai stares at the field. “Um. I’m not sure.”
“Oh, it’s there. Our MRI painted a completely different picture than what we’re seeing here.”
“Wait!” He stops me. “No labral tear! No AC joint separation either.”