Page 79 of Doctor Hot Mess

His reply comes back almost immediately.

Currently overseeing the dismantling of last night’s “greatest wedding of the century.” You’d have loved it. And even though I'm not supposed to tell, Brad Pitt and Ines de Ramón were at the wedding!

I grin, already feeling a little lighter.

Sounds amazing. Why didn't you tell me sooner? I would have crashed the wedding.

What R U dismantling on a Sunday? Did you build a mini Taj Mahal or something?

A moment later, my phone pings again.

Oh, just the small matter of taking apart a temporary scaffolding we built over the koi pond so the trapeze artists could perform. You know, normal wedding stuff.

I laugh out loud, shaking my head.

Brad Pitt, trapeze artists and what else? Amazingness comes in threes, right? Let me guess—there was a live tiger, too?

Don’t be ridiculous. It was a Bengal tiger. And I had to hire a professional handler to escort it off the property this morning. Truly a day of thrills for everyone involved.

I roll my eyes, smiling despite myself.

Wait, are you serious about the tiger?

Dead serious.

I shake my head. I love my insane, never afraid to go out on a limb friend!

Can I come see Mason the Master at work? I need to get out of here for a bit.

Come after 2. I should be done with my active work by then. I need to finish heroically saving this koi pond. We’ve got leftover champagne cocktails, macaroons, and petit fours. We can sip, munch, and oversee the minions finishing up.

Shit. What am I going to do for four hours?

I set my phone down and exhale, staring at the email sitting at the top of my inbox. The idea of telling Mason about Hawaii both excites and terrifies me. He’ll have opinions, of course—he always does—but it’s the thought of saying it out loud that will make it real.

TWENTY-NINE

Jonah

UAB Hospital

10:08 AM

I’ve been heresince six this morning. I was originally called in for an emergency appendectomy on a teenager, and it looks like I will put in a full day before I get out of here.

Sweet.

Just as I was finishing the surgery, word of a multi-car pileup on I-65 came through. Murphy's Law that my Sunday on-call would turn into an extra full ten-hour shift.

Now, the place is swamped. Gurneys line the hallway as paramedics relay information to the nurses at triage for multiple critical care level patients.

“Dr. Bellinger, incoming!” a voice calls, snapping me back to the present.

The double doors swing open, and a trauma team rushes in with a patient strapped to a stretcher. There is blood on the white sheets and an oxygen mask over his face.

The paramedic’s voice is clipped and precise. “Male, early forties, restrained driver. Blunt abdominal trauma, suspected liver laceration. BP’s dropping despite fluids. ETA from the scene was twelve minutes.”

I step forward, taking in the patient’s pale, sweaty face and the swelling just below his ribs. “Let’s get him to Trauma Bay Two,” I order, moving alongside the stretcher. “Page Radiology for a FAST scan stat and prep for surgical intervention. Carly, you’re with me.”

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