Chapter 72
Houston, Texas—Elliott
Remy sent Elliott a text with explicit instructions: only Alistair, Skye, Charlotte, Meredith, Kenzie, and Elliott were to be present for his surgery.
It wasn’t difficult to understand why. They were his future father-in-law, the four women who anchored him, and the closest thing he had to a father.
Elliott respected that. When the warriors gathered in one place, they could be intimidating, and patients didn’t need added pressure in moments like this. Illness brought enough fear on its own.
Alistair met Elliott and Meredith at the entrance of the MD Anderson Mays Clinic. The hospital lighting turned his gray hair silver. He leaned in, kissed Meredith’s cheek warmly, and gripped Elliott’s hand with both of his—firm but unsteady at the edges.
“How’s the lad holding up?” Elliott asked, his voice low.
Alistair’s mouth tightened, forming a grimace that faltered halfway into a sigh.
The lines around his eyes etched deeper.
“When I used to watch Remy play with Skye’s band, you could always tell when something was wrong.
His brow would furrow just a trace—when a rhythm felt off, or a note went sour.
He’s been wearing that furrow for a full day now.
Keeps talking about his father’s death. I think it’s weighing heavily on him. ”
“Our past always catches up with us,” Meredith said, a whisper that seemed to echo down the long corridor. “My first husband had a long family history of heart disease. It finally caught up with him. He had a stroke that killed him. That’s when I learned we’re not invincible.”
“What?” Elliott gasped, staggering back a half step and clutching his chest in mock horror. “Ye mean I’m not invincible?”
Meredith didn’t miss a beat. She delivered a brisk, practiced elbow to his ribs—just hard enough to remind him she knew exactly where he was vulnerable.
“If your leg surgeries, your long-standing relationship with whisky and pain medication, your TIA, and your prostate cancer didn’t convince you otherwise,” she said coolly, “then nothing will.”
Elliott winced, more at the truth than the elbow, then laughed—a low, affectionate sound that carried no resentment at all. It was the laughter of a man who knew he’d been loved through every scar, every foolish choice, every brush with mortality—and was still standing because of it.
He slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her close, and pressed a kiss to the curve of her temple. His voice dropped to a teasing whisper near her ear. “I’d list a few of yers, lass, but we’d never make it upstairs.”
She elbowed him again, this time gently. Somehow, the older they grew, the younger they allowed themselves to be together—still sparring, still laughing, still choosing joy. And Elliott hoped, with a quiet certainty, this playful, hard-won grace would never fade.
As they meandered toward the elevators, Meredith asked, “How’s Skye doing? She texted me early this morning, but I couldn’t tell much, and I didn’t want to pry.”
Alistair pressed the elevator button. “She’s steady. If she hadn’t lived through Sheena’s treatments, I doubt she’d manage all this so well. She truly loves him—and he loves her. He even asked me for her hand.”
“He asked you? That’s wonderful! And of course, you said yes?” Her face lit up, delight chasing away the tension that had lingered there.
Elliott’s throat tightened unexpectedly, a wave of emotion welling up.
He couldn’t be prouder of the young man he’d once worried might never find his footing after the Army left him uncertain and adrift.
But somehow, through sheer will, love, and support, he’d grown into exactly the grounded man Skye needed.
“I said yes,” Alistair replied as the elevator dinged open, “but told him to wait a couple of years, let him finish the first part of medical school. He agreed. Skye might complain, but she’s forming a new band. That’ll keep her busy.” He gave a wistful smile. “Like her mother—she needs a purpose.”
“She’ll find it,” Meredith said with certainty as they stepped inside the waiting elevator. As the doors closed, she asked, “Has Remy said anything about building a house?”
Alistair nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “He and Skye have been looking at plans from Charlotte’s architect. They want to build a home—one with a place for me. I told them I didn’t need to live with them, but they insisted.”
Meredith laid her hand on his back, a quiet affirmation in her touch. “That’s lovely, Alistair. They’ll want a big family, and you’ll be a tremendous help. But promise you’ll still carve out a life for yourself, too. You deserve that.”
He looked away, blinking fast. “Sheena was my only love.” His voice cracked slightly.
“Don’t close that door,” Meredith whispered. “Happiness has a way of finding people when they stop chasing it.”
The elevator dinged. They stepped out onto the outpatient surgery floor.
Alistair led them into the waiting room, where Charlotte, Kenzie, Marcelle, and Skye sat clustered over an iPad, their hunched shoulders a picture of nervous anticipation.
Skye looked up first, her face brightening as she spotted them.
She shot to her feet and threw her arms around Meredith, holding on longer than a simple greeting required.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice trembling.
Then she turned to Elliott and hugged him, too. “Remy wanted me to tell you he’s doing fine. He thought if he saw you before surgery, he’d get sentimental—and he didn’t want to do that.”
Elliott smiled, patting her arm. “Aye, that sounds like him.”
“He wants you there when the doctor comes out after surgery.”
“When did they take him back?” Elliott asked, his voice low as his glance drifted toward the double doors at the far end of the corridor.
“Ten minutes ago,” Charlotte said. “Dr. Kawaja said it should take about ninety minutes.”
Meredith perched on the arm of a nearby chair, her hands clasped in her lap. “And afterward?”
“I’ll stay with him tonight,” Charlotte replied. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “He’ll fuss and swear about it.”
“When has he not sworn?” Kenzie asked dryly.
“When he’s sleeping,” Charlotte shot back without missing a beat.
That earned a quiet smirk from Skye, though her fingers kept worrying the hem of her sleeve. The fluorescent light washed her face with a pale glow.
“This isn’t his first recovery rodeo,” Charlotte went on, her tone gently teasing. “When he got shot in the rear end… I still remember the language. He was creative.”
Skye’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no.”
Charlotte’s smile softened. “He’s always rough when he’s hurting. I used to think it was frustration, but now I think it’s fear instead. He hates feeling weak.”
Kenzie swung one leg over the other, resting an elbow on the chairback, the faint creak of leather breaking the quiet. “Nothing new,” she said. “Even half-dead, the man’s all attitude.”
Laughter rippled through the group, softening the sterile stillness.
Elliott leaned back, one knee bouncing with restrained tension.
He said little, just listening—content to let them talk, to feel the normalcy of family noise.
There were stories he could tell, ones steeped in risk and brooch travel and danger, but not here. Not today.
Exactly ninety minutes later, Skye’s phone buzzed. She went rigid. “It’s from the nurse,” she said, reading off the screen. “They want us in the conference room.” Her voice faltered. The blood drained from her cheeks.
Charlotte stood immediately, looping an arm through Skye’s. “He’s fine. Breathe.”
Kenzie sprang up beside them. “Come on, ladybug. Let’s go see what they did to your man.” Her grin flashed like mischief. “You’ve heard the family rumors, right? Big hands, big—”
“Kenzie,” Meredith hissed.
Kenzie raised both palms innocently. “What? I’m just saying the XL jokes aren’t new.”
Skye’s blush spread right to her hairline, but the laugh that slipped out was real. The tension broke. Meredith caught Kenzie’s eye over Skye’s shoulder and mouthed, Thank you.
They followed a nurse down a muted corridor, the squeak of shoes against tile echoing in step with the faint beeping of machinery behind closed doors. Inside the small conference room, they waited barely a minute before a polite rap came at the door.
Dr. Kawaja entered, spotless in his scrubs, clipboard in hand. His eyes creased warmly as he greeted them. “Mr. Benoit’s surgery went well,” he said after introductions. “There were no complications. The prosthesis is in place. He should recover without problems.”
Skye pressed a hand to her chest and whispered, “Thank God.” Then, after a breath, she asked, “What about wound care? Is there anything specific I need to do?”
He smiled gently. “The nurse will go through all that when you receive discharge papers. You’ll have full instructions, including your next appointment for pathology results.”
“They can go over the instructions with me,” Charlotte said.
“I’ll let them know,” Dr. Kawaja said.
“Can we see him now?” she asked.
“Shortly,” the doctor replied. “He’s in recovery, but you’ll be called as soon as he’s awake.”
He turned to Elliott, who had risen to his feet. Their handshake was firm.
“Thank you for looking after the lad,” Elliott said quietly. “I’m rather fond of him.”
Dr. Kawaja smiled. “He spoke fondly of you as well, Dr. Fraser.”
“Ye know I’m not a real doctor.”
The surgeon’s smile widened. “You’re an excellent veterinarian, and your reputation in the racing world precedes you. I’ve followed your horses for years.”
“I hope ye haven’t lost money on them.”
“On the contrary,” Dr. Kawaja said with a chuckle, clapping Elliott’s shoulder, “I only bet on yours. They rarely let me down.”
When he left the room, the air seemed to deflate. Shoulders dropped. Sighs escaped.
Charlotte stretched her back and gave Elliott a knowing smile. “You two heading home tonight?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Better to wait until morning. Let the lad get his bearings.”
Skye nodded quickly. “He’ll be glad. He misses his bed—and the food.”
Elliott laughed, the tension finally breaking from his chest. “Charlotte’s chef could win Michelin stars in any city. That’s why Mere and I refuse to leave the plantation.”
“I thought it was my company keeping you,” Charlotte said, eyes twinkling.
They waited about thirty minutes until a knock at the door interrupted the laughter. A young nurse peeked in. “If you’re ready, you can come see Mr. Benoit now.”
Skye reached instinctively for Marcelle’s hand. The two of them followed the nurse down the corridor, their shoulders almost touching. Charlotte, Kenzie, and Alistair came next. Meredith moved quietly beside Elliott at the rear.
He walked slower than usual, eyes lowering for a moment. Please, lad. Don’t scare Skye. But deep down, he knew. No matter the pain, the sarcasm, or the bluster, once Skye appeared at his side, Remy would soften. She had a calming effect on his inner turmoil.