Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Jude
No matter what intentions I set prior, mornings after were inevitably awkward, even with a friend I liked as much as Carson.
Maybe especially with a friend like Carson, because I was so wary of ruining things between us.
While I’d liked everyone I’d hooked up with over the years, there was something about Carson that set him apart from other friends.
I liked him on a level that was more than a little scary.
Accordingly, when my phone alarm blared, we each stumbled around, not quite looking at each other, getting ready in a quiet that was slowly killing me.
“We should get breakfast,” I said as I buckled my belt, needing to break the silence as much or more than I needed food.
“Yeah.” Carson rolled his neck from side to side. “Here?”
“It’s included.” Like many chains, a basic breakfast buffet was included. Nothing fancy, but I was thrifty enough to take advantage when free breakfast was offered.
“Easy.” Carson shrugged like he had little opinion on the matter and finished pulling on his work boots.
He followed me to the elevator in more loaded silence. I pushed the button two times. Carson stayed my hand before I could do it a third time.
“Don’t be weird.” He met my gaze finally, a firmness to his eyes that reassured me.
“I’m not.” I was a terrible liar, and Carson chuckled and shook his head.
“We’re cool.” He gave me a fast pat on the shoulder as the elevator arrived. “Promise.”
“Good.” I was reassured that he wasn’t about to wriggle out of our friendship, but I was still hyperaware of his presence as we grabbed plates and made our way down the buffet set up in the lobby.
We piled our plates with sausage patties, scrambled eggs, and toasted English muffins.
Carson added a danish from a pastry case that I reluctantly skipped.
We found a table where we could sit across from each other. As I sprinkled pepper on my eggs, Carson added two packets of ketchup to his.
“You put ketchup on scrambled eggs?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Yep.” Carson continued right on doctoring up his plate to his taste. His casual tone made it clear he did this all the time. “Made chow hall eggs edible.”
“I guess that works.” I didn’t want to judge, but I personally found the idea unappetizing.
It also hit me that there was so much I still didn’t know about Carson.
And I wanted to. In fact, I wanted to know every little detail about him, from how he liked his eggs to what brand of shampoo he used.
I gestured at him with my fork. “Any other strange food preferences?”
“Hmm.” Carson finished his bite of eggs as he thought. “No olives. No pickles. No pineapple.”
“No pineapple?” I had noticed he usually picked burgers without pickles, but the pineapple thing was new. “On pizza or on anything?”
“Anything.” Carson made a sour face. “Makes my mouth burn.”
“Don’t want that,” I said before I could think better of it. Heat crackled between us, the memory of last night’s double header hanging between our linked gazes like a banner.
Carson was the first to look away, glancing down at his eggs. “Frosting is too sweet.”
“I’ll take your frosting.” I smiled, worried less about innuendo after the easy way he’d returned to the topic. He was right. This didn’t have to be weird. “Cake is merely a vehicle for icing.”
“Says you.” Carson’s tone was teasing, and the familiarity of this exchange pushed the last of the awkward tension from my chest. Carson stabbed a bite of sausage before continuing. “Don’t like soup.”
“Bah.” I faked disappointment at this difference between us. “I eat far too much canned stuff. It’s easy. I hate cooking, especially for one.”
“Never learned.” Carson’s eyebrows drew closer together. “Wouldn’t mind trying.”
A cozy scene of Carson learning to cook in my kitchen flitted through my brain. Warmth spread down my arms, hands clenching with how much I wanted that.
“I can grill though.” The urge to share that sort of domestic scene with him was so strong I’d happily buy him a stack of cookbooks. In the meantime, though, maybe I could lure him over to my place. “My offer of steak and gaming still stands.”
“Steak needs to be rare.” Carson nodded like his coming for dinner was a done deal.
“I can work with that.” I grinned at him, as happy as I’d been all morning.
“Then it’s a…” Carson paused, a muscle working in his jaw. Hell. I couldn’t tell whether he was struggling to find the word or simply didn’t want to say date.
“Hang out.” I broke my own rule of not filling in words for him.
“Sure.” Carson’s mouth twisted, but before I could overthink his expression, my phone beeped with an incoming message from the manager at the equine hospital. I typed a quick reply, then turned my attention back to Carson, who was finishing up his breakfast.
“RC’s pathology results are back. And neurology wants to meet with us before the luncheon.”
“Good.” Carson nodded at this news. “What did pathology say?”
“Benign. Thank goodness.” I exhaled. Equine cancer was rare, but the consequences and hard conversations were something I was only too grateful to avoid. “The team wants to discuss removal versus watchful waiting.”
“Great news.” Carson sped through the last few bites on his plate.
After breakfast, we made our way to campus and the equine hospital. Because today was a Saturday, there was less activity at the hospital, but plenty of people remained around. Because sick horses could need round-the-clock care, staff rotated shifts throughout the week.
Further, since it was an alum weekend, more folks were working prior to the luncheon at noon, including the head of neurology.
Like Scott, she was from my graduating class, but thankfully, I didn’t know her well beyond being aware that she’d graduated at the top of the class and had gone on to specialize in equine neurology with an unparalleled reputation.
“You’ve brought us an unusual case.” Dr. Cross, who insisted we call her Cynthia, met us in a small conference room.
She was a small woman with delicate features and long auburn hair gathered into a bun.
She projected a series of MRI images onto a large wall-mounted screen opposite us.
“I’ve never seen an MRI quite like this. ”
“Tumor?” Carson asked, squinting at the various images of Linus’s brain.
“No, but there’s clear evidence of prior damage, like a stroke or some sort of injury.” Cynthia used an enlarged mouse cursor to point to the areas she was most concerned with, zooming in on a few spots.
“Knew it.” Carson gave an emphatic nod.
“You were right.” I released a heavy sigh. This wasn’t something to celebrate, even if I was happy to prove Scott’s initial assessment wrong. “I was hoping you weren’t.” I shifted my attention back to Cynthia. “How bad is it?”
Cynthia launched into the medical specifics, showing which areas had the most damage and explaining the evidence of a prior significant brain hemorrhage. It was honestly a wonder the horse had lived through it, let alone that he was still upright and had at least some ability to walk.
“With a case this complex, we need to discuss options.” Cynthia took on a solemn expression. “Quality of life becomes a consideration.”
“Not giving up on him,” Carson answered before I could.
“I don’t want to either,” I agreed. If Linus had lived through the initial stroke, I wanted to give him a chance to make a recovery.
I also wasn’t going to have any quality-of-life discussions without reviewing the information with Kat.
Carson’s attachment to the horse aside, Linus was the ranch’s property, and they would need to have a say as well.
My job at the moment was to collect as much information as possible, so I leaned forward in my chair. “Talk to us about rehab options.”
“It’ll be quite the investment of time and energy, whether here or at the ranch,” Cynthia warned. I knew full well how tricky rehabbing even basic horse injuries could be, but I made a go-on gesture before she continued, “And it might not yield the desired results.”
“I’m in.” Again, Carson was quick to answer before me. “Tell me what to do.”
“I’ll be sure and tell Kat that you want to take point on his rehab.” Softening my gaze in his direction, I tried for a gentle reminder that the ranch had final say. As much as I admired Carson’s commitment to Linus, my heart already ached with the possibility of an outcome he wouldn’t like.
However, I also wanted to hear all of Cynthia’s recommendations, so I took careful notes as she reviewed options for both in-hospital care, like hydrotherapy, as well as physical therapy exercises Carson and others could try on the ranch.
As we neared the appointment time to discuss RC’s condition, Cynthia offered to take Carson for a demonstration of some of the treatments she’d mentioned, so I ended up going alone to the review of RC’s pathology report.
Which was fine. Absolutely fine. No need to stress over seeing Scott again. Naturally, no matter how much I told myself this, my brain stayed on red alert for conflict.
Dr. Song ran the meeting, and she was a consummate professional as she went over options.
We brought Kat in on speakerphone, so she could weigh in on whether to have the mass removed or to continue to watch it.
Because Carson and I were due to leave the next morning, scheduling was an additional consideration.
If RC had surgery, he likely wouldn’t be in any shape for transport tomorrow, and I couldn’t guarantee when I’d next be in the Denver area.
Luckily, however, Dr. Song presented the option of doing the surgery on Monday and having RC transported back to the ranch the following week. The field team at the equine hospital had some appointments around Durango and was willing to transport RC after he had time to recover.