Dr. Yao sighs. “Give me the email address where I can send it. But you and I need to have a long talk when you get back tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Shit, I’m supposed to be back at work Monday night.
“Ah, about that . . .”
Another sigh. “Right. You know you’re lucky you’re my star resident, Nicolo. Take whatever time you need, but keep me posted. I have to answer to you-know-who. It’s bad enough the old man is on me about Mrs. Santos every day. If he gets wind of Black and I’m not prepared with an answer, my ass is on the line.”
“I will. How is Mrs. Santos doing, anyway? Mason could use some good news.”
“She’s improving a little every day. We should be able to bring her out of the coma by the end of the week, if her progress continues.”
That is amazing news, and I’m in a much better frame of mind after ending the call than I was when I started.
After delivering the records, I manage to talk my way into accompanying Mason through every test, but run into resistance when I try to insinuate myself into the operating room when they determine he needs surgery. One of the screws holding his damaged vertebra together has worked itself loose. It hasn’t impeded on his spinal cord itself, but the resulting swelling has, and it won’t fully abate until the screw is taken care of.
My relief must be apparent because he visibly relaxes as they wheel him in, and even gives me a wink and a cocky smile as the door closes behind him. I’m allowed into the gallery at least, though it’s all I can do to avoid falling apart, now that I have a moment to myself with nothing to do but watch. I text Nina, hoping like hell she’s awake, even though visiting hours are over at the hospital and I doubt she’s still here.
Surprisingly she messages back within seconds, and when I tell her where I am, she arrives less than five minutes later.
“I’m not sure I want to know how you talked your way in here,” I say after hugging her.
“I know people,” she says with a shrug. As a shrink immersed in the medical community in Denver, Nina’s skills at talking her way into places like this are legendary. If I ever had wanted to move back to Denver, she’d have made better introductions than Barnaby to land me a good position here.
She redirects her attention beyond the glass that separates us from the OR where Mason is currently face-down with a surgeon poking around his spine. “Talk to me, sweetie. What the hell happened?”
I know she isn’t asking for a literal rundown of my evening, but that’s what I start with anyway, explaining Mason’s crisis of conscience over his violent tendencies and everything that followed.
“This has got to be a pretty big wake-up-call for him,” she says when I finish. “Not that he deserves the suffering, but he probably believes he does. So be prepared for a declawed version of your man once he recovers.”
“I never saw him as violent, though,” I argue. “Is that crazy? There were signs. He showed up with a black eye and bruised knuckles when I first saw him again last week. God, has it only been a week?”
“The important detail is that it matters so much to him that he changed his name. That’s no small thing, Callie.” She goes silent as she watches me, and my neck starts to prickle a little under her scrutiny.
“What?”
She slowly shakes her head. “I’m just thinking about how your respective relationships with your fathers have affected you each so differently. Adrian Nicolo’s attention is all you’ve ever wanted, but the man routinely abandons you. Yet you chose to take his name rather than keep your hyphenated version, or even just use your mom’s. And Mason . . .”
“He hates his dad so much he’s been running from that name for three years,” I finish. “Do you think it means we’re wrong for each other?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Not at all. I think you two can learn a lot from each other. It’s a strange and kind of perfect parallel, to be honest. Besides, I know you with men. Me saying I think he’s wrong for you isn’t going to make a difference if you’ve already made up your mind about how you feel.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want your opinion, you know. So lay it on me.”
“Fine,” she says, twisting in her seat to face me, her eyes narrowing. “First, just tell me one thing: tell me how you really feel about him.”
“As if it isn’t obvious?” I ask, gesturing toward the OR and the fact that I’m even here in the middle of the night. I’d be in there doing the surgery myself if I could, even though I know it’s outrageous to want that.
“Say it out loud, or I’m getting up and walking out that door and going home like I should’ve done three hours ago when Wyatt fell asleep.”
Her look challenges me to equivocate, but I know better. And it isn’t as if the answer is difficult anyway.
“I’m in love with him, Nina. This isn’t a feeling I’ve ever had before, and it kind of scares the ever-loving shit out of me.”
To my surprise her eyes go glassy and she reaches out a hand to me. “Then I think you already have your answer. Welcome to the club, sweetie. Welcome to the club.”
I grab hold of her hand, and we sit like that without another word for the rest of the surgery.
33 Mason
I come to in a haze of sedated bliss. I’m in a dimly lit room, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor
