Page 12 of The Golden Hour

He pointedly ignored those thoughts and focused back on the hand on Honey’s belly. And he hoped she would move for him, so he could feel their little girl for the first time.

Come on, Daisy. Give Daddy a little kick.

He waited with bated breath.

Nothing.

A heavy-eyed Honey must have caught the disappointed expression on his face because she placed her hand over his. She slid it over to the side, smiling slightly.

“She’s over here, but I think she’s asleep,” Honey rasped, gently pressing his hand into her belly until he felt Daisy in there.

His heart leaped into his throat. She didn’t move, but he could feel her. His daughter. Their daughter. Honey was growing their daughter.

He was a doctor. He had assisted in a delivery before. He knew all of this already. He knew the science. He knew the anatomy. He knew the way life developed inside a body, dividing cells and forming organs.

But this was Honey, his wife, the love of his life. This was their daughter, their little girl.

His family.

He looked at his wife in awe. Her eyes were closed, and her voice was slurred with exhaustion when she whispered, “Our daughter likes to sleep. Like Mommy.”

Our daughter.

Mason smiled at that thought.

Like Mommy.

His smile widened as he waited there and hoped.

Daisy didn’t kick. She didn’t move for him. He heard from his mother, his father, his in-laws, his wife’s cousins how they felt Daisy. But she wouldn’t move for him.

Because she doesn’t know you.

Honey drifted off to sleep after that, but Mason couldn’t rest. His heart kept twisting as he kept his eyes on Honey sleeping beside him. His beautiful wife. And all he kept thinking about was how much he missed. How he would never get it back.

And now he has the same thought—how much he had missed.

“You didn’t check for pneumo?” Dr. Weaver asks as she walks up to Mason, her tone almost scolding. She adopts her educator voice—something she had not used on him in a while. She didn’t need to. Not with him. “How did you miss it?”

“She didn’t present—” Mason starts to defend himself, but Dr. Weaver cuts him down the middle.

“No. Wrong answer. You always check, Carpenter. You’re better than this,” she glances down at her watch. “You’ve got six hours to turn this day around. Fix it. You’re better than this… or I thought you were.”

With that, she leaves him fuming. Mason’s jaw locks as he turns to the board of available cases. He looks for something juicy, something to turn this day around.

When he spots the head injury in Central 5, he jumps on it and heads into the room.

An hour later, he’s declaring time of death again.

“God fucking damnit,” he snarls into his locker, hoping it would muffle the sound. He had been sent here by Nurse Ellen after she caught sight of his enraged face following the patient's code. “Come on, you dumb fuck. Get it together. What kind of physician are you?”

“Rough day?”

He looks back to see Dr. Lewis walking toward him. She’s a second-year resident. Competent and efficient, that’s all he really cared about on his team. He sighs and grabs his water bottle from his locker.

“You could say that,” he mutters, taking a quick swig.

“You seem stressed lately,” she says, leaning against the locker next to his.