Chapter 4 Crossing Lines #2
The moment he stepped into the treatment room, a nurse pointed toward an examination bed and informed him he wasn't leaving until someone looked at his shoulder.
Connor had personally delivered that instruction.
Which meant arguing was pointless.
The man could be remarkably stubborn when necessary.
An unfortunate quality.
Mason sat on the edge of the bed and carefully rolled his injured shoulder.
Pain immediately shot down his arm.
He winced.
Maybe sitting down wasn't the worst idea.
The construction collapse had ended nearly an hour earlier, but the adrenaline that carried him through the rescue operation was finally fading. Every bruise and ache was beginning to make itself known.
The shoulder hurt most.
A shifting support beam had clipped him while he pulled a trapped worker from a partially collapsed section of the building.
At the time, he barely noticed.
The trapped worker had mattered more.
Now the consequences were becoming difficult to ignore.
The treatment room curtain moved.
Mason looked up.
Then immediately regretted every life choice that had brought him here.
Adrian Kane entered carrying a tablet.
Of course.
Naturally.
Because apparently the universe found this situation entertaining.
The surgeon stopped when he saw Mason's expression.
"What?"
Mason sighed.
"I was hoping for somebody less judgmental."
Adrian looked unimpressed.
"I haven't said anything."
"You don't need to."
The surgeon placed the tablet on a nearby counter.
"I wasn't aware facial expressions offended you."
"They do when they're attached to trauma surgeons."
A nurse walking past the room laughed.
Adrian ignored her.
Mason noticed a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Not quite a smile.
Close enough to count.
The realization felt strangely satisfying.
Adrian picked up the chart.
"Shoulder injury."
Mason nodded.
"That's what everyone's telling me."
"Because it's true."
"Allegedly."
The surgeon glanced up.
Their eyes met briefly.
Adrian looked exactly the same as always.
Calm.
Controlled.
Composed.
Yet something beneath the surface felt different tonight.
Perhaps exhaustion.
Perhaps frustration.
Possibly both.
The long day had affected everyone.
Including him.
Adrian stepped closer.
"Tell me what happened."
Mason explained the collapse.
The rescue.
The shifting debris.
The impact.
The surgeon listened carefully throughout.
As always.
No interruptions.
No unnecessary comments.
Just attention.
When Mason finished, Adrian nodded.
"Any numbness?"
"No."
"Weakness?"
"Besides my personality?"
The surgeon stared.
Mason grinned.
Eventually Adrian sighed.
The sound carried familiar resignation.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"No."
"Fair."
The examination began.
Adrian moved beside the bed.
Close enough that Mason could smell coffee lingering on his scrubs.
Close enough to notice the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
The surgeon looked tired.
Not physically exhausted.
Something deeper.
The kind of tiredness that accumulated over years rather than days.
Mason suddenly remembered the little girl from several nights earlier.
The grief hidden behind Adrian's professional composure.
The memory softened something inside him.
"Raise your arm."
The command pulled him back to the present.
Mason attempted the movement.
Pain immediately protested.
The arm stopped halfway.
Adrian frowned.
"Again."
Mason tried.
Same result.
Maybe worse.
The surgeon stepped closer.
Much closer.
Then gently reached for the injured arm.
The contact shouldn't have mattered.
It absolutely shouldn't.
Yet Mason became painfully aware of it.
The warmth of Adrian's hand.
The careful pressure.
The focused expression crossing the surgeon's face.
Professional.
Entirely professional.
Mason's brain refused to cooperate.
The problem was proximity.
Definitely proximity.
Nothing else.
Probably.
"Does this hurt?"
The movement produced another sharp stab of pain.
"Yep."
Adrian nodded.
Then adjusted his grip.
The examination continued.
Each movement brought them closer together.
Each question required attention.
Yet part of Mason's focus remained stubbornly fixed elsewhere.
On Adrian.
The realization felt inconvenient.
Very inconvenient.
Because Adrian remained completely unaffected.
At least from the outside.
The surgeon moved through the assessment with practiced confidence.
Checking mobility.
Testing strength.
Evaluating the injury.
Every action remained efficient.
Precise.
Controlled.
The same qualities Mason had noticed from the beginning.
Eventually Adrian stepped back.
The distance helped.
A little.
"Mild shoulder separation."
Mason blinked.
"That's the official diagnosis?"
"There are more technical terms."
"You use those a lot."
"They're useful."
"I don't believe that."
Adrian almost smiled.
Almost.
The sight caught Mason off guard.
Not because it happened.
Because it looked good.
Dangerously good.
The realization arrived entirely uninvited.
A mistake.
Definitely a mistake.
The surgeon turned toward the computer.
Typing notes into the chart.
The moment allowed Mason to study him without being obvious.
Or so he hoped.
Adrian's sleeves remained rolled up from the earlier disaster response.
A faint scar crossed one forearm.
Another disappeared beneath the edge of his scrubs.
Old injuries.
Old stories.
Questions Mason suddenly wanted answers to.
The thought surprised him.
Not because he was curious.
Because the curiosity felt personal.
More personal than it should.
The surgeon finished typing.
Then looked back.
Mason immediately pretended he hadn't been staring.
A flawless performance.
Probably.
"You're not going back on duty tonight."
The announcement sounded suspiciously like an order.
Mason objected immediately.
"No."
"Yes."
"I feel great."
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
The expression communicated several opinions simultaneously.
None flattering.
Mason respected the efficiency.
"You're injured."
"It's barely injured."
"It isn't."
The argument continued for several minutes.
Neither side showed signs of surrender.
Eventually Adrian won.
Mostly because he possessed medical authority.
An unfair advantage.
The surgeon printed instructions and handed them over.
Mason accepted the paperwork reluctantly.
Like someone signing a confession.
"You're enjoying this."
Adrian looked genuinely confused.
"No."
"Liar."
The surgeon folded his arms.
"I don't enjoy treating injured coworkers."
The answer arrived quickly.
Too quickly.
For some reason, that caught Mason's attention.
The wording.
Specifically the coworker part.
Not patient.
Not paramedic.
Coworker.
The distinction felt strangely important.
Neither spoke for a moment.
The silence settled unexpectedly between them.
Not awkward.
Not comfortable.
Something else.
Something harder to define.
Adrian broke eye contact first.
A mistake.
Because it allowed Mason to notice something unusual.
The surgeon looked away.
Not because the conversation ended.
Because the moment itself seemed to affect him.
Just a little.
The realization sent a strange warmth through Mason's chest.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Neither man seemed eager to acknowledge it.
The nurse returned carrying discharge paperwork.
The interruption ended whatever had been building.
Professional distance returned immediately.
The walls went back up.
At least mostly.
Mason slid off the examination bed.
The shoulder protested.
Again.
He ignored it.
Again.
Adrian noticed.
Of course he did.
"Take it easy."
The advice sounded genuine.
Mason smiled.
A little softer than usual.
"I'll do my best."
Neither of them believed that.
The surgeon certainly didn't.
The expression on his face confirmed it.
Mason headed toward the doorway.
Then paused.
Looking back.
Adrian stood exactly where he had been moments earlier.
Calm.
Reserved.
Professional.
Yet somehow the room felt different now.
Smaller.
More complicated.
The simple examination had become something else entirely.
Neither man had crossed any obvious line.
Nothing inappropriate happened.
Nothing either could explain.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because as Mason finally walked away and Adrian returned to his charts, both carried the same uncomfortable realization.
The distance between them was becoming much harder to maintain.
· ? ·