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 nails with 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 would have 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—I refuse—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.
I have to 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.
“It’ll go great,” Isla says without hesitation. “You’ll fix it this time. You’ve got this.”
I know I will. I don’t take cases I’m not confident in. Still, I smile at her so that she doesn’t worry about me. And that’s the moment when the doors to the bar open, and my heart jumps straight into my throat.
Daniela walks in first with Lawson at her side. Behind them are her sister-in-law, Regan, and Regan's husband, Hayes Walker—my former boss and the chief of Whitewood Creek Community Hospital. And bringing up the rear, like some cruel punchline, is Jensen with Micah.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I hiss, leaning toward Isla. “They’re riding tomorrow. Shouldn't they be in Charlotte already?”
Isla’s gaze flicks from me to Jensen and back again, curiosity sparking.
Dani clearly hasn’t filled her in on my… situation. And now that I think about it, I haven’t updated Dani on what happened in San Jose. Or on the fact that it wasn’t just one in Denver, but that it was several times, including me going to Tennessee with him.
The look in Dani's eyes when they meet mine tells me everything. She didn't know he'd be here either. She’s just as caught off guard as I am.
“Hey, Catalina. Nice to see you again,” Lawson says, opening his arms wide when he reaches our table.
I stand and step into his hug and when he bends down, he whispers in my ear, "Sorry about this. Hayes didn't know Jensen was coming to town tonight either."
I’ve always liked my brother-in-law. More than liked him.
He’s good in the quiet, steady way—the kind of man who doesn’t need to be loud to be good.
And he’s perfect for Dani. Even though I’d cautioned her strongly against getting involved with another boss—her history hadn’t been kind to that pattern—Lawson is the best man she’s ever dated and has proven to be reliable and respectful.
“Nice to see you too,” I say, forcing a smile.
He smiles and steps aside, and I make my way down the line of guests—hugging Dani, Regan, Hayes—before ending at Jensen.
He looks about as uncomfortable as I feel, which makes everything worse. Because I'm the reason he's uncomfortable. I’m the reason he’s not his usual, happy, easy-going self.
He clears his throat and gives me a small nod. “Hello, Doctor Alba.”
I hate how that title sounds in his mouth. We’re not at work. I wish he’d just call me Catalina. Or even, Kitty... Except I told him not to. I was clear, ‘from now on I’ll be nothing but your doctor to you.’
It’s my own fault. All of this is.
“Hello, Jensen.”
His hands flex at his sides, subtle but unmistakable, like it physically pains him not to reach for me the way he used to.
I know physical touch is his love language.
A crueler version of myself might’ve taken satisfaction in that.
Might’ve imagined suggesting he date my little sister instead since on paper they’re more compatible.
But the truth is, the ugly, possessive truth: that the idea of Jensen being with anyone but me hurts.
Jealousy. Jealous over a guy who isn’t even looking my sister’s way. Jealous of a guy I pushed away. Jealous of a guy I let believe I was going on a date with my ex-fiancé simply because I thought it’d be easier if he moved on.
It wasn’t without reason, I remind myself. He did hurt me. And I hurt him back. That’s not maturity. That’s me not dealing with my own shit.
I tear my gaze away from him and turn back to the group who are currently watching our entire exchange with way too much curiosity.
I hate attention like this. I hate relationship drama. I hate that weird space where nothing was official, but everything hurts anyway.
It shouldn’t feel like a breakup. We weren’t dating.
We were friends... with benefits. Oh God, I think I might have been in my first ever friends with benefits arrangement and not even realized it.
Which, frankly, is a good reminder that Jensen and I were never in a relationship to begin with. He never said the words.
This shouldn’t matter.