Chapter 33 – Catalina #2
I knock once, then step inside after his admin waves me through.
“Oh, Doctor Alba.” He looks up from his desk and slips his glasses off, setting them aside. The same glasses he used to wear reading charts late at night in bed when I’d wish he’d been touching me instead.
The surprising thing is that none of those memories hurt me anymore.
I'm relieved he didn't do the things I wanted. They don’t make me angry. Or sad. Or even disappointed. Because if what happened between us hadn’t happened, I never would’ve done something as bold as joining the Iron Series as their team doctor.
I never would’ve stepped so far outside my carefully built life of surgery and clinical distance to try something wildly different.
I never would’ve fallen back in love with surgery because I took a break, not as routine cuts and closures, but as something sacred.
Something that restores. That gives people their lives back.
I would’ve kept telling myself I was cold.
Instead of finally seeing the warmth inside me the way that Jensen always has.
I shut the door behind me and stop in front of his desk instead of taking the seat he gestures toward.
“I won’t be here long.”
“Oh. Right. Olivia’s surgery,” he says like he'd forgotten all about it.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There’s no way he forgot about it.
It’s all the hospital has talked about for weeks.
'Great optics,’ the chief of medicine had said to me over the phone yesterday when I was waiting in my hotel room, preparing for the procedure.
As if this is a branding opportunity instead of a terrified family getting a second chance at their child’s life.
And once she’s healed—once her heart is stable—she’ll be back here again to fix her broken arm with Davis.
That part will be his to finish, but this is part is mine.
“I know why you went to the San Jose arena to examine my bull rider’s shoulder.”
His brows draw together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dawson, the trainer, he called you to look at Jensen Grant.”
He nods, unfazed. “Dawson. Yes. I saw Jensen’s fall in Denver on the recaps of his ride, pulled his scans, reviewed them and noticed you'd benched him for a few days. When he landed in San Jose, I contacted the team owner and offered a second opinion. Only if they wanted it, of course.”
The way he tries to brush it off like he didn't weasel his way into things makes my stomach churn. But I keep my facial expression unreadable. At least he admits he initiated it and not Dawson. He went out of his way to show up at the arena to make a point. To me.
I’d never believed it was Jensen that had reached out to him first, that fear was never real, but I’d doubted Dawson's intentions. Now it’s obvious.
Davis went to Craig. Craig leaned on Dawson to press him for a consult.
And Davis, the cold, calculated snake that he is, orchestrated the whole thing from a distance simply because he couldn't stand to see me thriving.
Couldn't stand to see me doing something on my own that didn't involve him.
I know the outcome of that second consult. It's the same thing I'd written down in my case notes for the Series. No need for surgery.
I draw in a measured breath. “You’ve always been jealous of me, haven’t you?”
His mouth tightens. "What? You're being ridiculous.”
“No. I'm not,” I say calmly. “It’s exhausting to live with someone who treats your success like a threat.”
“I never felt threatened by your success.”
I hold his gaze. “I don’t think that’s the whole truth.”
He exhales and leans forward, elbows on the desk. “You’re a surgeon,” he says slowly. “Not whatever it is you think you’re doing with this rodeo. And you're certainly not qualified to be making orthopedic decisions about an athletes shoulder.”
My chin lifts. “I know exactly what I am. I’m a good surgeon.
I also worked in sports medicine for years before switching to Cardio.
But that’s where we’re different. I’ve done more than one thing with my life.
I may not specialize in ortho like you, but I was hired as the series doctor for a reason.
Because I'm qualified and if I need a second opinion, I'm not too prideful to know where to go to outsource that. "
I step towards his desk. "I’m not saying I’m going to stay in the rodeo forever, but Davis, whatever I choose to do next, I give it everything—not for accolades, not for attention, and not for praise. I don’t need applause to know my worth like you do. And that's what makes you look small.”
He scoffs. “You’ll always care about the attention.”
I shake my head. “You know, for years I thought I was the cold one in our relationship. I thought if I’d been softer, maybe more affectionate, more expressive, sillier, that you wouldn’t have cheated.
” My voice stays calm. Unlike my conversation with Jensen, I'm not worked up.
I'm not upset. I almost feel like I'm talking to a stranger and not the man I spent over a decade with and almost married.
“I get awards for my skill. You get praised for your charm. And for a long time, I didn’t understand why I couldn't be more likable.”
I pause, then finish quietly, “I understand now it was never about my likability.”
His jaw clenches.
“I’m not cold,” I continue. “I’m careful.
I'm reliable. I'm slow to warm up. I'm observant. You’re the cold one. You step on people to get where you want to go. I never did that. You didn’t just end our relationship—you destroyed it in the most dishonest way possible, when all you had to do was tell me the truth and I would have let you go.”
I step toward the door. “I’m going to perform Olivia’s surgery now. Then I’m returning to the series to finish what I committed to because that’s what good doctors do no matter their specialties. But I’m grateful we had this conversation.”
He looks up sharply and scoffs. "Great."
I ignore his snide tone. “Because you've given me something I didn’t realize I needed,” I say. “Proof that I can be in a relationship without guarding my heart. Without waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I let that land. “That’s how I feel when I'm with Jensen.”
He stands so fast his chair scrapes and papers scatter across the desk. His eyes go hard. “I knew you were fucking that bull rider!”
I lift my chin. “There’s more to him than being a bull rider—just like there’s more to me than being a surgeon. Those are things you’ll never get to know about either of us, though, because you threw away your chance.”
I open the door and don't say goodbye. And then I walk out—lighter than I’ve felt in years—smiling all the way back down to the OR, ready to do what I do best.
Fix hearts.