Page 25 of The Golden Hour

“I love Honey. She—or you—don’t need to worry about me stepping out on her,” Mason says. “She’s my wife. The mother of my child..”

Ellen shakes her head like he’s missing something.

“That’s great, but are you even spending time with her? Because I can tell you one thing as a mother: when little Daisy comes, those moments are going to be few and far between. Honey’s already a mother. Her body is sustaining your daughter.” Ellen leans closer, voice dropping into something sharper than yelling. “What the fuck are you doing to sustain her?”

Mason doesn’t answer.

Can’t answer.

Because the answer is nothing.

And deep fucking down, he knows it.

He hasn’t done anything to help Honey through this pregnancy, so focused on himself, on his residency, on being the best doctor, on the next case, the next save, the next hit of praise.

It’s what he lives for now.

That used to be Honey and his family.

What happened to him?

“I’m going to run out for a smoke,” Ellen says, reaching into the bottom drawer where she hides her cigarettes from Dr. Weaver. She isn’t scared of the Chief, but she just doesn’t want to hear the DARE pitch about smoking. “Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

Mason nods.

“Priorities, Mason. Figure yours out, but if you want a hint—this is a job. They could fire your ass tomorrow. But your family? Your wife and daughter?” Ellen’s expression softens in the worst possible way. “A lot more delicate than you think.”

With that, she leaves him alone.

Mason tries to push the conversation from his head, because he cannot tangle himself up in those thoughts while he’s at work. He can’t focus with them swirling around in his skull, poking at a wound he already knows is bleeding.

He drums his fingers on the desk and stares up at the board, willing for something exciting to come in. Something juicy to distract him. To keep him here. To give him that rush he’s chasing.

Addict.

Dr. Lowell comes up to stand next to him. He’s been a bit of a shadow since he started, wanting to jump on every case Mason is on. He honestly reminds Mason of himself two years ago.

Mason likes it, being the senior resident—the one with the knowledge, the one people turn to when in trouble—and has been treating Lowell like a bit of a protégé.

“Dr. Carpenter,” the younger man says, and Mason tilts his head to let him know he’s listening but keeps his eyes on the board. “Do you think you could show me the REBOA when you get a chance?”

“Sure,” Mason says easily. “I had baptism by fire with REBOA. On my first day as an intern. By some miracle, I did it right.”

“Wow…” Lowell shakes his head. “I think I would lose it.”

“Almost did,” Mason chuckles lightly.

It’s funny now; back then it was terrifying.

Even though this is a teaching hospital, Dr. Weaver has a very liberal approach to teaching. She explains it once and expects perfection the very first time.

“But failure is not an option here,” Mason says. “You’re an emergency physician, be an emergency physician.”

Lowell has stars in his eyes as he asks. “How do you do it?”

“What?”

“Keep a cool head.”