Chapter 52
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
preston
The day is busy in all the right ways. PT session before sunrise, because of course, Mia rescheduled everything at some point yesterday.
My muscles ache, but it’s the kind of ache that screams progress.
Therapy right after. I walk out of Beck’s office sharper than I’ve felt in months, but that clarity smears the second my worry for Mia’s time with us crowds in.
My to-do list is a mile long, but getting rid of that expiry date is the priority.
And it’s not just that. Mia flickers through every thought—between exercises, between conversations, in the spaces where I’m supposed to think about anything but her.
Her laugh. The curl that always slips from her messy bun.
Even her scribbled lists I find everywhere in my house.
Did I say too much the other night? Did I go too hard, too fast?
I know she feels something too. Difference is, I’m not scared. Maybe that’s where our ages show. I know how precious time is, and I’m not about to waste or gamble it. I know better by now.
Surviving losing Blake would look like a walk in the park compared to a future without Mia. She’s shown me who I want to be, not the hollow man I thought I had to perform as. The righteous one. The ghost in his own house.
Mia’s given me a taste of what life can be, and now I know what happy feels like.
And I want nothing more than to make my family happy.
I want Lily proud of my Sunday pancakes, of the many voices I pull off while reading her stories, not of my doctor’s accolades gathering dust at the hospital, while she falls asleep without me.
And I want Mia right beside me for it all.
By the time I walk into the hospital to check on Kate, I’m focused, but still checking the clock every ten minutes like some rookie intern counting down to lunch. Only I’m counting down to when I can text Mia without looking too desperate.
Kate’s propped up straighter, color back in her face. We talk, I scan her chart, tell her I’ll check in again after the physio sees her. She squeezes my hand and says she’s glad to see me. The feeling is mutual, and my smile genuine.
April tracks me down next, clipboard hugged to her chest like a shield. “Well, well, look who’s fitting right back in.”
“Don’t get too used to me,” I mutter with no bite in it. She’s held the fort just fine without me, and I plan to keep leaning on her. No more killing myself with crazy hours.
She quirks a brow. “Don’t even joke about it, Pres.”
“I’m back, A. Just… not doing the same hours as before. I’ll be delegating a lot more. Ready?”
“As ever.”
Wouldn’t expect any other answer.
Time for the board meeting. I brace for resistance—snide comments about my leave, digs about my stability—but instead, I get handshakes and nods. Relief and excitement.
“Good for the hospital,” one says.
“Good for the stocks.”
“Good to see Jett written on the surgery board again.” Someone grins.
My name, my career, reduced to a brand for these people. It used to bother me, but today it doesn’t sting.
Today I know where my real values lie, and they aren’t here, performing for suits.
The more they talk, the more my mind drifts to Mia.
Is she still in her pajamas? Did she braid Lily’s hair this morning or put it up in a ponytail?
How many hair clips did my kid demand? Are they scribbling birthday plans on that notepad she adopted?
I’m sure she named the thing by now. Each image works under my skin until the ticking clock drowns out their chatter.
I don’t want to be in this meeting. I want to be either there or with my patients.
Still the day drags. Meetings blur, one bleeding into the next. So much bureaucracy. Things improve once I get together with Kate’s physio, her neuro, and Kate herself. I show her the same respect and consideration I’d expect if I was her patient.
By the time I finally check my watch, it’s past the point of no return.
One last check-in with April and a goodbye kiss on Calista’s forehead that leaves her speechless for probably the first time in her life.
One can only hope Good Mood Pres won't stick as my new nickname.
I wrap things up and head out to pick up Lily, my priorities no longer screwed.
Anticipation turns my pulse wild. Tonight, then. Tonight, I’ll show Mia exactly what I mean—without scaring her off, without pushing too hard. Something between proof and temptation.
* * *
I make a quick pit stop before Lily’s school.
It’s the best-smelling shop I’ve ever walked past, yet I’ve never felt compelled to go in—until now.
The shop assistant overwhelms me with options, but I’m out in minutes, packing jasmine oil, jasmine bubbles, and a ridiculously expensive candle, big enough to outlive me.
It smells of orange and patience—a reminder of what I need now.
I smile at the glass jar, lift it to my nose, and breathe in.
The perfume steadies my pulse, and I imagine how the orange will mix with Mia’s own citrusy scent.
At home, the three of us end up in the kitchen.
Lily climbs onto her stool and reminds everyone she’s the official house sous chef at least ten times before we even decide on what we’re having.
Mia ties a dish towel around her waist, and Lily plays the part with full authority.
I season the chicken, pass ingredients around for chopping, and lean close enough to brush Mia’s arm, reaching for the salt.
And again on the way back. She pretends not to notice, but her pressed lips tell me otherwise.
“Dad, don’t your cheeks hurt?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, without giving it a second thought.
“You know, from smiling since you walked in?” Lily explains, flour smeared across her cheeks.
Mia turns away at the sound of her comment, rummaging in the cupboards for something I’m sure we don’t need.
“I’m smiling because I’ve got the best team in my kitchen, Lil.”
Mia comes back with a can of anchovies, shaking her head. But she’s smiling too, cheeks tinted pink, eyes refusing to meet mine.
“Ew, I’m not eating that. They’re smelly.” Lily recoils from the sight of a small can. “Dad, please don’t make me eat those!”
“What? Of course not. They’re not on the menu.” I turn to Mia, faking outrage. “Where did your mind just wander off to? Care to share with us?”
Her mouth drops open for a beat before she answers. “Not really, no.”
We cook. We eat. We laugh. The kitchen’s never felt this alive, this chaotic, or this full. Neither has my life.
Bedtime follows, Lily pleading for two stories.
Mia reads the first—dramatic voices, wild hand gestures—while Lily cackles under the covers.
At some point between sentences, I realize my daughter’s watching Mia more than the book.
I read the next book, and Mia slips slowly from the room, although no one asked or wants her to.
When I dim the lights down, Lily whispers, “I like this new you.”
My throat goes tight. I kiss the top of her head and tuck the blanket higher. “Me too, Lil.”
When I step out and find Mia leaning against the hallway wall, waiting, I know she’s the reason and inspiration. She’s it.
Time to put my plan into motion. I’ll enact the dream. Try it out in real life.
I’m so sure this will work, it takes no effort to lace our fingers together and guide her back downstairs. In front of the sofa, I pass her the remote. “Choose something for us. I’ll make tea. Chamomile?”
Her eyes narrow, but she never pulls away. “Yeah. That’d be great, thanks.”
When I come back, Mia’s curled into one corner of the couch with the TV menu still waiting for a decision she hasn’t made.
“Couldn’t find anything good. Want to give it a try?
” She hands me the remote and takes her mug from my hand, setting it on the table to cool.
I set mine beside it, take my seat, then tug her feet into my lap.
“Oh.” It slips out when I dig my thumbs into her sole and press upward. “Is there anything you can’t do with those hands, Doctor?” Her head has fallen back, and her eyes are closed.
Of course my mind goes there, but sex isn’t part of the plan tonight. “Don’t know, Miss Thorne, but I’m up for the challenge,” I say anyway.
She laughs—rough silk, private just for us both. I’d hoard the sound if I could.
“I saw Kate today. She’s doing better than I expected. She moved her big toe on command. Twice.” I try and fail to keep the pride out of my voice. It feels so good, sharing this with her. Natural too.
Her head snaps back up, and her eyes shine brighter than they normally do. “Pres, that’s amazing. And on your first surgery back. Wow.”
I pause, letting her praise sit with me. “You’re the reason I’ve got the fight back in me, Mia. Don’t ever doubt that.”
She looks at me like she wants to argue, but is holding it in.
So I don’t allow time for her self-doubt to creep in.
I gesture toward the stairs. “If you haven’t settled on a show, I started a bath for you.
Just need to top it up with hot water. Add some oils.
There’s a towel warming on the dryer.” Hope tugs at one corner of my mouth, but I rein it in.
“No strings. No expectations. Let’s call it… gratitude bubbles.”
Her lips part, unsure, but she smiles at the ridiculous name I made up.
“I’ve never had one of those before. What exactly are gratitude bubbles, Doctor?” She’s hiding in humor, behind flirtation. It only sharpens my resolve—how clearly I see through her.
“You, sinking into hot water and bubbles, wrapped in the fanciest jasmine scent I could find, while I work the knots from your shoulders and tell you more about my small wins today. I’d love to hear about your day too. Or your plans, if you feel like sharing.”
Her breath stutters. I’ve walked into a minefield. I see her mind reaching for excuses, so I press forward before she can run. “I’ve made a list of my own, you know.” Her chin tips up, curious. “Maybe you can read it in the bath?”
“Oh? Is it a dirty one?” Sweet Mia, still convinced she can flip this on me. My laugh comes out rougher than I intend.
I lift her foot and give her big toe a playful nip. “You already covered that so well, Trouble. So mine’s different.”