CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Mason

My eyes glaze over as I watch my brother serve his customers from my seat at the bar. I swirl the ice cubes in my water and wish that it was something stronger. Anything. I would even take a glass of Ally's bubbly rosé right now. That stuff was damn delicious, though I could never admit that to anyone but her. The memory of it makes my chest tighten, and I take a swig of my water to loosen it. I'm still on the clock. There's rarely a time when I'm off the clock now.

The Harvest Festival had been a huge success—the town thought so, Simone thought so. Hell, the Ministry of Health thought so, and I have money in the bank to prove it. Whatever Simone had written in her report had been enough to convince them to extend funding for another year and increase our yearly budget. The amount that they promised over the next year was astounding, enough to hire another nurse for the clinic. Now, I suppose, I'll have to hire two. Despite seeing the words in writing, that everything I've been working for has paid off, the success hasn't sunk in for me yet. There's still something lacking, something missing, and unfortunately, I don't think I can get it back now.

I thought that this would feel better, keeping the clinic running, keeping my dad's legacy alive. The pinnacle of everything I've worked for since I came back to Heartwood and took over the clinic. Here it is, handed to me with a giant bow on it. This victory, a triumph against all odds. So why do I feel like I've royally fucked up?

The blond woman seated with her boyfriend in the back booth throws her head back as she laughs at something Grady just said. Grady always has such suave and charm with his customers. He has an ease about him I wish I inherited. He got Mom's magnetism, I got Dad's gruff demeanour. Although people saw his gruffness as charming, whereas most people just think I'm rude.

The woman turns back to her boyfriend and leans her head against his shoulder. They're seated together on the same side of the booth, the same seat Ally had occupied the night she roped me into being her fake boyfriend. The couple is looking out over the rest of the bar like they own the entire world. I'm certain that's how they feel, too. I felt that way with Ally. Like I owned the entire universe, and Ally was my co-conspirator, making everything in our world come together for our higher good.

Get it together, you sap, I scold myself. Wallowing about Ally will not bring her back. Wanting her to come back now would be another colossal mistake, now that she had made up her mind and chose Nate. She wouldn't have up and left, gone back to Vancouver, if she had no intention of being with Nate. The scumbag would never leave her alone. She's made her choice, and now she'll have to live with it.

"Looking glum there, brother." Grady walks around the bar and starts preparing the couple's drink orders. He tilts a frosted glass against the beer tap and pours, a perfect head of foam forming on top. My mouth waters at the sight of it.

I grunt at my brother in return. Grady and I know each other inside and out, and he can tell when something is amiss even before I speak. The closeness I have with Grady feels too vulnerable today; I'm not prepared to talk about the thoughts that are plaguing me. Why I even came to the bar knowing that Grady would see right through me is beyond me. I consider for a moment that there's a part of me that wants to be seen, wants to be heard and understood. Ally has been the only person besides Grady that saw beneath the surface. She saw the mess that I keep hidden, the ugliness that lives in my mind, and she never shied away from it.

"I would have thought you'd be celebrating today, since getting the news about the clinic," Grady says, returning from dropping off the couple's drinks on the table. He picks up a glass from the sink behind the bar and dries it, not once looking at it but staring me down instead. I huff a laugh, realizing that I'm officially one of those sad, pathetic people who wallow alone at the bar and pour his heart out to the bartender. I wonder how often Grady does this for other people, if he lives up to the gruff-but-caring bartender stereotype.

"I keep thinking I should be happier, wondering when some sort of satisfaction or accomplishment will set in." I remember Ally's words from the other day, and the truth of them sinks into my bones as I repeat them. "Dad would be so proud right now, and that's all I've ever wanted."

"Until a month ago." Grady's gaze is now focused intently on the glass like he has just said something that would land like an atomic bomb and he's avoiding looking at the blast. A month ago. Not when Ally and I shared our first public kiss at the Harvest Festival. A month ago, when she first arrived in Heartwood.

Is it that obvious to everyone else? Has everyone else seen plain as day my feelings for Ally from day one? Jesus. Try as I might to keep my feelings locked up tight, to portray to everyone around me I'm not to be messed with, when Ally is involved, all that goes to shit.

"What happened a month ago?" It's obvious what my brother is getting at, I'm not a complete idiot, but I want to hear him say it. I won't offer my feelings up that easily.

"You can't be that fucking dense, Mason." Grady looks like he's about to throw the glass right at my head. "A five-foot-nothin' strawberry blond bombshell with cute little freckles and a hell of a smile. Ring a bell?

"Ally?" I try to play dumb. I don't want to talk about Ally yet. "That was just a ruse. It wasn't real. Ally needed her conniving ex to get out of town, and I played the part. Probably a little too well." Grady's expression and the way he's lifting one eyebrow say he isn't buying it. There's no way I can't pass off our kiss after the Lumberjack Games as fraudulent.

"Everyone in town saw the way you melted whenever Ally was around. Your feelings for her were never fake, Mason, and you know it."

I scoff and shrug off the comment.

"It's a moot point now. Ally's gone back to Vancouver, and I have to focus on the clinic." Ally was a fun distraction, but it couldn't have gone on for much longer, anyway. The incident at the Harvest Festival was proof of that. I had a reason, and a good one at that, for shutting myself off to the idea of love for so long. I can't have both. It's a sad reality, but it's better that I've come to terms with it and accepted it now. I can't be a doctor and have a life outside of work. My father had tried and failed and left his family in the lurch. I refuse to do that to Ally. She would always have taken second priority to the clinic, and she deserves more than that. She deserves the moon, but I'm not going to be the one who can give it to her.

"You're not Dad, Mason," Grady says, as if he can see right through me and is rifling through my thoughts. "Dad tried to be everything for everyone, except the people that mattered to him. It's impossible to save everyone without sacrificing parts of yourself. You could learn from Dad instead of trying to be like him and realize that all you need to be is everything to you. "

It doesn't elude me that Grady never mentioned prioritizing Ally. He's talking about prioritizing myself. What would it even look like to prioritize my own needs?

Ally had a peculiar way of nudging me out of my comfort zone, of shedding the weight that caused me to be so stubborn and serious all the goddamned time. It never took away from my ability to do my job. In fact, it made me better . The morning after that first night at the cabin with her, I found myself more vibrant, more engaged.

I played with Mrs. Rose's granddaughter, something I never would have done with any of the children that visited the clinic. Whether that change of attitude was down to having a night off, or a night off with Ally , I can't say. What I know is that I had never considered taking time for myself before Ally came waltzing into my life.

Ally had made me a more well-rounded person. She had seen me for who I am, without the clinic as my entire identity. Embracing this newfound identity feels impossible to do without her, but I'll have to try. Ally is gone, and she has shown no intention of wanting to come back. She hasn't reached out once since she left, and she seemed pretty determined to move on with her life the last time I saw her. If there was something I could do to convince her to come back to Heartwood, I would do it.

Bleep. Bleep. I reach down to my pocket as my pager chimes, a jarring sound in an otherwise hushed bar, and interrupts my thoughts. The message that displays across the screen causes my pulse to quicken, my heart to thumping in my ears.

Clinic STAT .

Winnie hardly ever used the medical lingo that I'm used to, save for when she needs to get my attention and emphasize the urgency of a situation. That's what worries me about her message coming through now. My brow furrows as I stare at the text, not bothering to lift my eyes as I slide my glass across the bar toward Grady.

"Put my drink on my tab," I mutter, though all I've had to drink is water. My mind has checked out; it's already elsewhere, trying to parse through a mental list of scenarios I might encounter at the clinic and strategizing my first course of action. Check for a pulse, secure the airway, look at breathing. It's a script that I memorized years ago, one that allows me to go into autopilot and respond in an organized and systematic manner rather than succumbing to the adrenaline rush that threatens to derail my focus.

I let the heavy wooden door of the bar swing closed behind me as I take swift strides toward my truck. The tires screech as I stomp the gas pedal onto the floor and make a sharp turn in the clinic's direction.

Winnie is standing outside the clinic, awaiting my arrival. She has her coat wrapped around her as she braces herself against the wind and the rain that's rolling in, coming down almost sideways now. The rapid weather changes are the first sign of fall in the mountains, the yearly storms a harbinger of the harsh winter to come.

Concern shadows her face. More than concern. I recognize the wide-eyed look she is wearing as fear and a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. Winnie has been around the clinic much longer than I have. Though she doesn't have official medical training, she offers a second set of hands when needed. Winnie has seen enough throughout her career to know when a situation is cause for concern.

"It's Mrs. Hendrick's boy Charlie." Winnie doesn't waste another second informing me who I'm about to see as I throw open the clinic door. She doesn't need to say more to warn me, either. The face of the Hendricks' youngest son, Noah, is still etched into my mind, on my heart. A face that I can never unsee as the life left his eyes. The last thing anyone needs is a repeat of that fateful, deadly day. Before Winnie can brief me, I'm pushing past her through the front door, and she takes the moment she has to catch me up.

"He's had an allergic reaction. He's anaphylactic to nuts. Usually his EpiPen is enough to keep him from going into shock, but today it doesn't seem to be working." I roll up my sleeves as I cross the waiting room, heading for the first exam room where I can see Charlie sitting on the chair. I can see his chest heaving with every breath, even from out in the hall.

"Go get me the epinephrine kit, Winnie, and supplies to start an IV. He's going to need a line and we don't have much time," I instruct her.

Winnie doesn't hesitate before she scurries off toward the supply room tucked behind the reception desk to gather what I've asked her to.

I examine the small boy, talking him through every step and explaining what is about to happen. His mother, Susan, whom I've known since high school, is standing by with tears in her eyes. Charlie's breathing is ragged and laboured, his lips puffy and swollen. As I lift my stethoscope up to listen to his lungs, I can only hear minimal air moving. They're tight and wheezy, never a good sign. I wrap a blood pressure cuff around his arm. It's blotchy, a mix of pale skin with red, angry-looking spots. Hives on top of pale, poorly circulated skin.

His blood pressure takes forever to read, and when the numbers finally display on the screen, it's worse than I had anticipated.

Winnie returns and hands me the IV supplies and the epinephrine kit, which I take from her first.

"I'm going to need you to mobilize the helicopter; he's going into shock, and he'll need to be transported to the children's hospital." Winnie's mouth forms a thin, grim line.

Outside, the wind howls, and Winnie and I stand in the door for a moment, a silent understanding between us that this situation is dire. The helicopter is the fastest way to the hospital, but its ability to fly in inclement weather is less than ideal. Winnie nods once before retreating to the reception desk to make the necessary phone calls.

I get to work administering another dose of epinephrine, starting an IV, and hanging a clear bag of fluid. Colour returns to Charlie's face, but I know that it'll only be a matter of time before the symptoms return. His condition is severe, and the epinephrine injections that he's had already can only do so much. His blood pressure is improving with the fluid, but not by much. I take a moment to make an epinephrine infusion, which will keep his blood pressure more stable until he arrives at the children's hospital. My hands tremble as I draw the medication out of the vial. Anything I do here is only a temporary fix until we can get the patients to a higher level of care.

"The helicopter is on its way," Winnie informs me from where she's standing just outside the exam room. "They aren't far away, they were about to make a stop at the ski resort but dispatch sent them here instead, They can fly in, but the storm is only just ramping up, so it may be a challenge to get him out."

"We're going to find a way. I can only do so much for him here, and if his allergic reaction continues to progress despite the epinephrine, we're in trouble …" My voice trails off.

"You can help him, right?" Susan's voice is panicked, the words are the same ones she cried as I struggled to save Noah.

"We'll do everything we can, Susan. First, we need to focus on getting him to the children's hospital," I explain. "The epinephrine I gave him is buying us some time, but he needs to be closely monitored for a little while."

"Go with him, Mason. Please." I can see tears welling in her eyes.

"Susan, I don't know if—" I glance towards Winnie, who is giving me a warning glare, as Winnie does.

"You have to. I can't leave Lainey alone, and I doubt they'll let me bring her." Susan gestures to a toddler sitting in the corner of the exam room. Her white-blond hair is tied up in two curly pigtails and she's playing with a baby doll, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room.

"Isn't your husband around to come and get her?" I suggest, but Susan shakes her head.

"He's out on tour, logging over two hours from here this time." Her voice quakes. "You have to go with him," she repeats. "I don't want him to be alone if …"

I don't even want to go down the road of imagining the worst, but it's impossible. The clinic, this exam room. The very expression on Susan's face is a stark reminder of what could happen. Not even a year ago, Susan's eldest son had lain in this very exam room when he had died. There was nothing I could have done for him. This time is different, I tell myself, and I'm determined to make sure that it stays that way.

It feels like hours pass, but it's only been about twenty minutes. I've stabilized Charlie for now, with fluids and the epinephrine infusion, but he'll need more care than what I can offer. I hear the familiar beat of the helicopter rotor hovering over the clinic roof before making its landing in the field out back. Winnie runs to meet the crew at the back door, holding it open as they roll the stretcher through.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to come with him," I say to the flight nurse. She's wearing navy blue flight coveralls and has her dark hair slicked back into a low bun. I've always thought the flight crew looked like they belonged in the military, but she smiles at me sweetly.

"That's not necessary. We can take it from here. He'll be at the children's hospital in no time." She tries to dismiss me.

"You don't understand. I need to come. I need to make sure he's okay." I won't let him go alone. I refuse to let Susan down. She's been a constant in Heartwood, and my heart already shattered for her once as I held her while she sobbed on the worst day of her life.

"Are you sure about this, Mason? The storm is getting worse, and I would worry about you being up there if you didn't need to be." The centre of Winnie's brows furrows with worry.

"Don't worry, Winnie. I've been up in the helicopter with patients many times before. Today is no different." I worry that today is, in fact, different. The trees around the helicopter pad out back bow with the force of the wind. The pilot said that it's only the surrounding area affected at the moment, and it isn't severe enough yet to prevent take-off. I just pray that we can stay ahead of it.

"Call Hudson, Winnie. Tell him I'm taking a patient to Calgary. He'll be able to cover any other emergencies if something comes up," I instruct Winnie. It's not an ideal solution. Ideally, I wouldn't be leaving town at all. Hudson has enough first-response training, having been with the fire hall for almost ten years now, that he can handle anything that might arise while I'm away. At least for a little while.

The crew straps Charlie onto the stretcher and loads him up into the helicopter. The flight crew climbs aboard, and I hoist myself in after them. I turn and look out the window as the helicopter leaves the ground to see Winnie standing in the back door of the clinic, her face fraught with concern. It doesn't help the sticky, drowning fear that I'm barely holding back. I gulp it down, bring my focus back to the task at hand. Charlie needs me. Susan Hendrick needs me. And I need to make sure that everyone is okay.