Page 64 of Rage

The familiar outline of the hospital looms ahead.My heart rate kicks up a notch.This is it.

Mason pulls into a spot near the entrance, engine cutting off abruptly.He doesn’t move, staring straight ahead.

“Mason,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turns to me, eyes blazing.“I don’t like this, Meadow.Not one fucking bit.”

I swallow hard.“I know.But I have to do this.”

Mason’s intense gaze bores into me, a storm of emotions swirling in his dark blue eyes.Anger.Fear.Frustration.And beneath it all, a fierce protectiveness that steals my breath.

“I know you do,” he says finally, his voice rough.“But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He reaches out, cupping my face in his calloused hand.The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the tension thrumming through his body.

Mason shadows me through the hospital corridors, his presence a constant, looming shadow.The weight of his gaze prickles the back of my neck.Every squeak of a gurney, every beep of a monitor, sets him on edge.His muscles coil, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger.

I try to focus on my rounds, but Mason’s tension is contagious.My hands shake as I flip through charts.Deep breaths.Center yourself.

A nurse sprints into the hall, face flushed.“Dr.Beckham!Emergency C-section in OR 2!”

Adrenaline surges through me.This is what I’m here for.I sprint down the corridor, Mason hot on my heels.

“Stay out here,” I order as we reach the OR.

His jaw clenches.“Like hell I will.”

No time to argue.I push through the doors, the familiar scent of antiseptic hitting me.Controlled chaos greets me, monitors beeping urgently and nurses prepping instruments.

On the table, a woman writhes in pain.Her eyes, wide with fear, lock on to mine.“Please,” she gasps.“Save my baby.”

I nod, snapping on gloves.“I’ve got you.Both of you.”

Mason hovers in the corner, a dark sentinel.I push his presence from my mind, laser-focused on the task at hand.

“BP’s dropping!”a nurse calls out.

No time for niceties.I make the incision, muscle memory taking over.Blood wells up, staining my gloves crimson.The metallic scent fills the air.

“Suction,” I bark.

Seconds stretch into eternity.My world narrows to this—the flash of steel, the give of flesh beneath my hands.

A cry pierces the air, and relief floods through me as I lift the squirming newborn.“It’s a boy,” I announce, passing her to the waiting pediatrician.

But we’re not out of the woods yet.The mother’s vitals are erratic.Blood loss, too much.

“She’s hemorrhaging!”

I work frantically, fingers flying as I suture.Sweat beads on my forehead, threatening to drip into my eyes.Can’t stop.Can’t falter.

“Come on,” I mutter.“Stay with me.”

The monitors stabilize.The bleeding slows, then stops.I exhale, shoulders sagging in relief.

I turn, catching Mason’s eye.The intensity of his gaze steals my breath.Pride and something deeper shine in those dark depths.

As I strip off my bloodied gown, exhaustion hits.But there’s no time to rest.More patients await.More lives hanging in the balance.

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