Page 104 of The Golden Hour

Lowell’s face softens and there’s a small smile on his face.

“Hey, Dr. Carpenter,” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“How’s your wife?” he asks, his voice hesitant, but genuinely warm. “And your daughter?”

Mason smiles, the way only his girls can make him.

“They’re doing well,” Mason says before adding, “Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad. That was really scary.” Lowell’s eyes go wide. “I mean—obviously, they’re your family, I just meant⁠⁠—”

“It’s fine, Lowell,” Mason says, brushing him off because he really does not want to think about that day, even if his mind never lets it travel far from his thoughts. “Get out of here. I’ll handle the handoffs.”

Lowell grins.

“Thanks. Have a good night, Dr. Carpenter,” he says, tossing a wave over his shoulder as he walks into the locker room.

For the next half-hour, Mason does the handoffs to the night crew, and then sits at the front desk doing his least favorite, but very important, task of charting. While in the past, he had done just enough to keep admin off his ass.

Now he takes his time to make sure all the information is accurate and thorough. Honey’s chart on the flash drive is safe at home, in Daisy’s changing table. That thought burns through him as he finishes one note and opens another.

One battle after another.

“Carpenter! I’ve got an MVC coming in, multi-car, drunk driver. Multiple criticals, real juicy,” Dr. Samuel, one of the night residents, rushes toward the desk. There’s an excited glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips as he wiggles his eyebrows. “You want in?”

His tone is excited, and Mason’s gut twists when he recognizes it as the same tone he would use.

And to his shame, there is that familiar feeling that crawls up his spine.

A voice whispering in his head, like he’s fucking Gollum.

MVCs are always fun.

Maybe one of them needs a cricothyroidotomy, you haven’t done one of those in a while.

Maybe one of their limbs needs to be amputated.

Maybe internal bleeding.

Maybe REBOA.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

His phone lights up on the desk next to him, the alarm he set for when his shift is over going off. He presses a finger down on the end button, and then freezes.

The lock screen photo stares back at him.

Honey and Daisy, at home, waiting for him to be a father. And a husband, even if Honey doesn’t consider him as such.

He looks at his girls, and that feeling doesn’t fade, but it becomes quieter.

“No,” Mason says, his tone kind but firm. “I have to head home to my wife and daughter.”

Dr. Samuel’s excited face drops, and he looks almost appalled.

“See if Newsom wants it,” Mason says, placing his fingers back over the keyboard to finish his charting.