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“No,” Lydia pressed. “Get your ass out and start moving on and having fun. Don’t bury yourself in work and then one day surface only to find you’re eighty-three and still all alone. That’s the road you’re on, and I suggest you get off it ASAP.”
“You’ve sat with me for almost two hours and concluded all that from a casual conversation about how I’m dealing with life?”
“No,” she smiled. “It’s the fact that you don’t even want to have fun with a man who took it upon himself to boldly approach the table where you’re eating with your family. Where’s the adventurous Mickie we remember from back in the day?”
“Paying off student loans,” I teased. “Fine,” I conceded, knowing my sister was half-right about this. I had no friends to speak of, and I wasn’t even trying to have a life right now. “I’ll enjoy things a bit more and not be quick to turn everyone down.”
I had to hold to that because I knew I was guarded and would bury myself in work because it was safe there. The last I saw of Jesse, he wasn’t stopping and looking back. He wasn’t willing to try to fight for the relationship, and neither was I. That chapter in my life was over, and it was time to turn the page and start a new chapter.
Chapter Thirteen
John
It had been two days since I’d rudely interrupted Mickie and her family at dinner—forty-eight long-ass hours of me beating myself up for my impulsiveness. Who the hell had I turned into to do something so obnoxious? I had no answers, only remorse and embarrassment.
Only after I decided to impress them with my douchebaggery did I realize that Mickie had never said anything about her family—any of them, including her hot sister—living here. So, they must’ve been here visiting from God knows where after not seeing each other for who knows how long. But I just had to stroll over and interrupt what limited family time they probably had together, not to mention the hours Mickie had been pulling at the hospital. It was hard enough to find any personal time with that workload, and then I had to go and act like the clown of the century by busting in on her.
The icing on the cake was that I was too full of myself to realize Mickie probably thought I followed her to the restaurant to see who she was with, making me appear to be a full-blown stalker. I couldn’t have made myself look more foolish if I tried.
Collin, Jake, and Sam all gave me hell about it, and even if I wanted to hide that the woman I was struggling with rejection from was Mickie, those bastards knew she was who I was whining about at dinner.
The worst part was that I hadn’t had the balls or time to apologize to her. I could’ve called or texted, but I was too chicken shit. I’d quickly realized that Mickie was my Everest, and I might’ve been in over my head.
As expected, I did what I always did when situations overwhelmed me or stressed me out. I shut it down, looked in the other direction, and acted like nothing happened. If Mickie were pissed, she’d bring it up, right? That’s what women did. They voiced their opinions when things didn’t go their way, and that’s why most husbands hated their marriages—can we all see why John Aster doesn’t do relationships now? God, I was so inside my head about this. Thankfully, I had Ashley Mitchell’s total hysterectomy set up for today, and that would make me focus and think about things I could actually do correctly.
I arrived at the hospital at six in the morning, changed into my scrubs, and was scrubbed in and ready to operate within the hour.
The sterile operating room was prepared down to every detail, ensuring patient safety throughout the procedure. It would be the first time I saw Mickie since that night at the restaurant, as I’d asked her to attend me in this surgery the week prior, hoping it would ignite her interest in Gynecology Oncology.
I was not trying to pressure her, but I knew she could be a considerable asset and was wasting her genius by not pursuing it. I had a knack for sniffing out talent, and Mickie had it all.
She wouldn’t know what I knew unless she got her feet wet and experienced that this was not a specialty to fear but one to excel in and save lives beyond preventative healthcare.
With my mind fully engaged in surgeon mode, I nodded at Mickie, who stood beside the surgical table, scrubbed and gloved, while I prepared for the procedure. The monitors were our only sounds as Dr. Mitchell’s wife, Ashley, lay under the soft glow of overhead lights with the anesthetic-induced slumber masking her features.
I watched as Mickie glanced at the monitors displaying Mrs. Mitchell’s vitals, and then her eyes met mine. She nodded, signaling our readiness to begin the surgery. I was in my element now, where I excelled at everything. I pushed away the last of my internal chatter, entering an almost meditative state as my medical skill took over. The room seemed to hum with a mixture of anticipation and focused determination from all the medical staff who were ready to help this brave woman.
“Scalpel,” I requested, holding out my hand. As the shiny instrument was placed into my palm, I made a small incision just below the navel, carefully navigating the layers of tissue. I remained supremely focused on where my scalpel was placed while my gloved hands moved deftly, assisting with each precise cut.
With the incision made, Mickie and I moved on to the next step, gently retracting the abdominal muscles and exposing the reproductive organs. Next, I guided a laparoscope into the incision, allowing us to view the internal structures on a nearby screen.
“All right. Let’s begin by carefully isolating the ovaries,” I directed, my voice calm and focused. Mickie and I worked together to separate the ovaries from surrounding tissues using delicate instruments, ensuring minimal disruption.
As we progressed, I felt Mickie’s eyes on my hands as they moved with precision. She was instant in assisting with each movement I made. As odd as it may seem, our synergy was a seamless partnership that one might think had been built on years of training and experience. It was only our third surgery together, and being able to work so flawlessly as if we could read each other’s minds was extraordinarily convenient and totally unheard of.
“Left ovary successfully isolated,” I announced, my eyes fixed on the monitor to confirm.
Mickie and I continued the process on the other side, meticulously working to remove the cancerous growths while preserving the integrity of the surrounding structures.
Once the ovaries were removed, we moved on to the next stage of the procedure. I worked to manipulate the uterus gently, exposing the cervix and upper vaginal area. The room was filled with the steady hum of equipment as we worked in sync, methodically progressing toward the final phase of this surgery.
“Clamp, please,” I requested, and as if I didn’t even need to ask for it, Mickie gently placed the clamp in my hand.
I carefully secured the blood vessels and ligaments, ensuring controlled blood flow and preventing unnecessary complications.
Finally, we reached the point of removal. With precision and a final shared glance, Mickie was the one who made the necessary incisions to release the uterus while I continued to manage the blood supply.
“Uterus removed successfully,” Mickie confirmed, her voice carrying a note of steadiness and relief. The malignant presence that had threatened Ashley’s health was now eradicated.
