Page 132 of Deacon

Something about Garrett had caught under his skin anyway. Maybe instinct. Maybe old history Ink wasn’t interested in naming.

I clapped his shoulder once as I passed. “Then we watch him.”

Ink nodded, and that was enough.

Vise muttered from near the cabinet, “This should go well.”

I almost smiled.

Garrett had walked into Last Rites with a good portfolio and nothing Ghost had found yet that gave us a reason to worry. That should have been enough. Ink’s silence told me it wasn’t.

35

Lila

Mason Reid’s name lit up my phone in the middle of an afternoon supply review, and I knew before I opened the message exactly why he was texting. Blue had reached out to him about one of the attending positions at the new ER. Hearing from him should have felt like another item on a very long hiring list. Instead, seeing his name pulled my attention away from everything else on the table.

Mason: Blue said you’re part of the hiring mess now too. Thought maybe we should get coffee and make sure this won’t be weird.

I read it twice. Mason had always been good at making things sound reasonable enough that saying no felt heavier than saying yes. That ease was part of why our arrangement had lasted as long as it had. He had been funny, uncomplicated, and available during a period when uncomplicated was exactly what I wanted.

Life had apparently decided uncomplicated was temporary. I typed back.

Me: Sure, coffee sounds good.

His answer came almost immediately.

Mason: There’s a place near the site. Tomorrow after lunch?

Me: Okay.

That should have settled it. Instead, the meeting stayed in the back of my mind for the rest of the afternoon, irritating mostly because I could not find a good reason for it to matter this much.

The next day, I left the trailer office just before one with Blue asking if I wanted company and Evan apparently planning for combat by baked good. “I’m serious,” he said as I grabbed my bag. “A blueberry one to the temple would humble most men.”

“I’ll be fine, we just need to talk things out, I don’t need a body guard.” I slung the strap over my shoulder, already regretting telling either of them where I was going.

Evan looked deeply unconvinced. “That’s what a woman walking into danger always says.”

Blue glanced up from the paperwork spread in front of her, concern quieter than Evan’s theatrics. “If it gets weird, text us.”

I gave her a look. “It’s coffee with a man I used to casually sleep with, not a hostage exchange.”

Evan snorted. “You say that now.”

I rolled my eyes and left before he could inventory the trailer for throwable pastries.

The coffee shop sat close enough to the construction site to catch hospital staff and contractors, but far enough away that the noise faded behind the door. Inside, the lunch rush had thinned to a steady stream of scrubs, work boots, laptop bags, and people trying to buy ten quiet minutes with caffeine. Mason was already there, sitting near the front window in a button-down with the sleeves rolled, relaxed and polished in the way he always had been. Clean-cut, all-American handsome, the sort of doctor families trusted before he said a word. His smile reached me first.

Then I noticed the drink waiting across from him, and I slowed. It was exactly what I used to order, specific enough that the fact he remembered caught me off guard more than it should have.

Mason stood when I reached the table. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I glanced at the cup before setting my bag beside the chair.

He followed my eyes. “I remembered right, didn’t I?”

I gave a small nod. “You did.”