Page 150 of The Golden Hour

But until then, until she says it, he will continue centering her and Daisy.

It is becoming as instinctive as breathing.

Pressing a kiss to Daisy’s cheek, Honey holds up the ornament they’ve been working on for Mason to see. He smiles when he sees their daughter’s red handprint on the ornament with Daisy’s First Christmas written underneath in Honey’s neat, loopy cursive.

After Marlene wipes the paint from Daisy’s hand, Honey stands and brings her over to the tree Phil has finally secured. Mason gently takes the ornament from Honey’s outstretched hand, and the three of them stand together, trying to find a spot for it.

“Right here?” Mason asks Daisy.

She screws her face up and lets out a growling sound that has no business coming from a four-month-old little girl.

Honey giggles at it, the sound better than any of the Christmas music softly playing from the Hayes speakers.

“Here?” he asks Daisy again, in another spot, closer to the middle.

Daisy makes the same noise again. Mason looks between Honey and Daisy with a joking, accusatory look.

“Four months old, and already deadly serious about her Christmas decorations,” he teases. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“What do you expect?” Honey smiles, peppering kisses on Daisy’s cheek. “She’s Mommy’s girl.”

It’s like watching magic sometimes, the way Daisy’s eyes light up. The way she giggles those full belly laughs, all because of Honey.

She feels safe and at home in Honey’s arms.

And Mason is not jealous of his daughter, because that would be insane. But he knows the feeling of being home in Honey’s arms. He wants the privilege to be there once more.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint, as Mac had once told him. He kept those words very close to his chest, letting them comfort him in the middle of the night when he missed the rush, the feeling of constant dopamine hits that the ER used to give him.

He’s always been so forward-focused—the next case, the next big win, the next body that needed to be saved. His ADHD thrived in the emergency department, where chaos made sense to him, where pressure was just motivation.

This day-by-day shit could be really fucking annoying sometimes, but it's necessary. And like all things, it gets easier with time.

Time is something they have a lot of now.

When Agnes called for a recess last month, the lawyers got on the phone with the hospital administrators, and Mason spent that time holding Honey as she vomited into one of the toilets of the women’s room.

Mason held her hair back from her sweaty, heated face and, with two fingers, monitored her rapid pulse.

“It’s just the adrenaline, baby,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and steady. “It’s bleeding out of you, and it’s making you a little sick, that’s all. You just kicked all their asses in there. You’re okay now. Just breathe with me. In, out. Good girl. Follow my rhythm. In, out.”

He kept her back to his chest, their breathing in sync as he murmured soft words into her ear.

“I’m sorr⁠⁠—”

He suppressed his flinch at the words.

At the memory of waking up to the sound of her vomiting, and acting like it was a huge inconvenience to him.

“In, out,” he breathed, gently stopping the apology. “You’re doing amazing. Incredible. You are incredible, Honey. Daisy loves you, and I do too. Just breathe, sweet girl.”

Afterward, he sat her on the counter and ignored the confused looks from the women coming in and out of the bathroom, all of them wondering why the hell there was a man standing there. He focused only on wiping Honey’s flushed face with a damp paper towel and bringing her heart rate down slowly.

He didn’t want her to crash.

Honey watched him do this with wide eyes, her pupils blown completely, but no words needed to be said. He was just a man taking care of the love of his life. His duty. His honor.

Then they walked back into the room hand in hand.