27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

T he music at the pub was pumping when they pulled through the security gate back on the property. Justine rode with Bennett where he gave her the rundown of what had happened at the wedding.

She was gobsmacked. And unfortunately, really happy.

Karma, baby. It was a real thing.

They parked up top in the driveway, but neither of them got out. He reached for her hand across the bench seat of his truck.

"I'm sorry," he said, giving her fingers a squeeze. "I'm sorry for adding to your confusion and strife. For making you question how I feel about you. How much I want you." His mouth turned down into a frown and he glanced at their hands. "It might look like I've got my shit together, but I don't. Or at least, I didn't when Carla died. I was lost. She was an incredible, patient mother, and the girls took her death really hard. I had to mask a lot of my own grief and rally for them, help them make sense of things." He lifted his gaze again.

"And seeing how close you've become with them in such a short amount of time has been wonderful, but it's also made me worry. I know you said you wanted to move here, but it was so sudden that maybe you'd change your mind and leave. Breaking their hearts. Breaking mine." He swallowed. "I didn't think you were actually serious about moving to the island, particularly because the logistics are stacked against you. But then I realized how I can help you achieve that goal. And that by doing so, it might help convince you to stay—if you want to. I want to help you. If this island—this life—is what you want, then I want to help you. We all deserve joy. We all deserve for our dreams to come true. And I'm sorry if I tried to stifle and deter yours."

Her tears had only just dried up and now he was saying all the wonderful things again to bring them back. "I do want to move here. But I don't want to put you out or cramp your style. I don't want to be a burden."

"You're anything but a burden. You are … a blessing. A breath of fresh air, and we all need more fresh air."

That made her smile even wider. "I'm not done finding myself."

"That's okay. I'm forty-two and not sure I really know who I am either."

"You're Bennett McEvoy. Mr. Serious ly wonderful."

"And you're Dr. Justine Brazeau. Badass surgeon, amazing cake-baker, and outdoor-sex-against-trees enthusiast."

That made her snort. "I guess I am."

"If I have to rent another trailer, I will. Or you can stay in cabin five. Lord Fancypants and his Demoness won't be consummating their nuptials in there anymore."

"Yeah, I suppose not. Huh? The wedding from hell that never was."

Brooke pulled in beside them and climbed out of her car. Smiling like happy, lovesick fools, Bennett and Justine climbed out of his truck too. "Sounds like a real rager," she said with a grin. "Is that where Clint is?"

"Even the kids are down there," Bennett confirmed. "We've invited a bunch of islanders. A few wedding guests stuck around, but most made a run for it after shit hit the fan."

Brooke sidled up to Bennett. "Okay, I need to hear everything."

Even though she'd already heard the story on the drive home, Justine was no-less stunned the second time she heard it. Her and Brooke's jaws hung open by the time they reached the pub doors.

When Bennett swung them open, the music volume was like a punch to the ears.

But the laughter, happiness, and dancing inside quickly dulled Justine's instinctive reaction to flee such a raucous scene. People from the island that she recognized were inside. Naomi from the vineyard, Cameron Arendelle, Keturah Katz, and so many other familiar friendly faces. Including a few faces she recognized from the hospital in Seattle.

"Drinks?" Bennett asked over the music.

Brooke and Justine both nodded.

"Beer," Brooke said.

"I'll have a white wine," Justine said, wincing at the loud music.

The servers from the pub wandered around with trays of appetizers, and one of the servers—Gabby—stopped in front of Brooke and Justine. "Arancini?"

"Ohh. Yes, please," Brooke said, grabbing a little napkin, and a fried ball of risotto and cheese.

Justine nabbed one too.

Clint approached, wrapping a protective and loving arm around Brooke, and pecking her on the side of the head. "I take it you've been filled in on today's events?"

Brooke shook her head in disbelief. "Talk about plot twist. And here I thought how my attempted murder turned out was a plot twist."

"It was," he confirmed.

"I need this story," Justine said, accepting the wine from Bennett when he returned and thanking him for it.

"Another day," Brooke said. "Right now, we celebrate. The hellions are gone, we have their money and their food." She lifted her beer bottle into the air and cheered. "And, this woman cut open a woman's throat today and saved her life. She's a badass doctor!" Brooke was yelling that last bit and drawing a fair bit of attention.

Heat pooled in Justine's cheeks.

Clint gaped at her. "Did you cric someone?"

"She was in anaphylactic shock. I had to."

"That's amazing. Well done." He patted her on the back while Bennett just stared at her with so much pride in his eyes her belly did some seriously acrobatic flip-flops.

They mingled and ate, drank, and chatted. It was a wonderful party and the more people she spoke with, the more content Justine was with her decision to move here. These were her new people. This was her new home. She felt it in her heart, mind, and soul.

"Heard you performed an emergency cricothyrotomy today. That's impressive. And you used a kitchen knife and a pen."

Justine smiled at Dr. Paulette Ogden. She was a fellow surgeon and former colleague of Justine's at the hospital. "Trauma's not my strong suit, but I got by in a pinch. Instincts kicked in."

Paulette leaned in for a one-arm hug since her other hand had a champagne flute. "What happened, Justine? Talk to me. We were friends. Then you … just left."

"Well, Tad and Ashli happened."

"I know, and we all felt so bad for you. But that shouldn't have made you leave. You did nothing wrong." She batted thick lashes over her grass-green eyes, which popped from her plum-colored crushed-velvet dress. She was a very pretty woman in her late forties, with dark-brown hair in loose curls, and a tight and toned body from her very disciplined CrossFit regime.

"I killed a patient because of how I reacted when I found out about Tad and Ashli. I brought my emotions into the OR. I nicked the man's aorta and he bled out."

Paulette's eyes widened. "That's not what's in the autopsy report. Or what was discussed at the M and M."

Justine leaned in, her brain threatening to short-circuit. "What?"

Paulette rested her free hand on Justine's arms. "You didn't kill that patient, honey. He threw a clot and a fat embolism. And his aorta was shredded before your scalpel even touched it."

Justine shook her head. "No. No it wasn't. I don't remember that."

Paulette simply nodded. "It's true. Maybe you didn't see it because of the angle you were at, or there was too much blood. But he went into that OR a dead man. There was nothing you could have done. His aorta dissected and was irreparable. It was in tatters. You didn't nick it. Maybe you thought you did, but you didn't. An autopsy was performed to rule out physician error, and you were found innocent on all counts. You didn't kill that patient, Justine." Her eyes turned sad, and she squeezed Justine's arm. "Tell me you haven't been beating yourself up over his death all this time?"

New, hot tears stung as they tumbled down her cheeks and the crease of her nose. The lump at the back of her throat made it near impossible to speak. "I thought I killed him," she croaked. "I thought I killed him when I realized in the OR that Ashli was Tad's mistress and having his baby. I thought I killed my patient. I thought I killed Mr. O'Malley, and you're telling me I didn't? You're telling me I didn't kill him?"

"I'm telling you, you didn't kill him," Paulette said. Then she pulled Justine in for a hug, laughing as Justine laughed and cried. "You have one of the lowest mortality rates in the hospital. Nobody thought for a second that you did."

They pulled away and Justine chuckled through the tears. She used the hem of her T-shirt to wipe her eyes.

"When are you coming back?" Paulette asked. "I miss operating with you."

Justine glanced away, finding Bennett in the crowd, unable to ignore the surge of emotions that filled her, or the undeniable sense of peace that took over her body. She sighed and smiled. "I don't think I am. I want to stay here."

"You could pick worse places, I suppose." Paulette sipped her prosecco then gripped Justine's arm. "Change of subject, but did you see the chocolate wedding favors? They're shaped an awful lot like," her face pinched in thought for a second and she brought her voice down, "buttholes. Do you think that was an error?"

Justine grinned. "The only error that was made was Ashli sleeping with my fiancé and choosing to get married where my boyfriend works. I may or may not have suggested the chocolatier and the different shaped confections they offer." She winked which prompted Paulette to snicker and shake her head in appreciation and approval.

"Excuse me," came a deep, dark rumble. "I couldn't help but overhear, but I've heard the tale of the woman in the white robe who performed an emergency cricothyrotomy today. I had to come and meet you." A tall black man with straight white teeth, a killer smile, and short black curly hair held out his enormous hand. "Dr. Grayson Malone."

She took his hand. His shake was strong and confident. "You're Dr. Malone!"

He chuckled. "I am. You've heard of me?"

"Just today for the first time. Ellie at the spa said you'd hire me on the spot."

His laugh grew deeper and more infectious. "Did she now?"

"She said you just lost a doctor who moved to Africa to fix cleft palates and that you need a replacement. Maybe I can be that replacement?"

"What kind of a doctor are you?" The twinkle in his light brown eyes said he'd already hired her. This impromptu interview was just for fun.

"Cardiothoracic surgeon, but I did a rotation in family medicine as well as one in emergency before I settled on surgery and specialized."

His brows hiked, but the half-smirk said he knew that.

"Come by the clinic tomorrow. Let's chat more."

"What time?"

"Ten-ish?"

"I'll be there."

With a smile that could make even a nun blush, he wandered back into the crowd.

"Okay, maybe I need to move here too. He is damn fine. I'd go all Grey's Anatomy in an on-call closet with him," Paulette said.

A peel of laughter fled Justine's mouth, and she clamped her hand over it. "Paulette!"

"What? I'm freshly divorced and back on the market. I need to see what's out there. And that man is definitely on my shopping list."

"You're terrible."

"I'm also horny."

They both giggled, but then Paulette's face turned serious. "I am going to miss you though."

"Why'd you come to the wedding?" That question ate at Justine the moment Paulette approached her. If they were such good friends, why'd Paulette RSVP "yes " to the union of the damned?

Paulette's face turned sheepish. "You and Tad are my friends. Or at least he was. I don't agree with what he did to you, and I've never liked Ashli. But as a surgeon, I respected him. I don't as a person anymore though. And I'm sorry if you feel like me coming here today was a betrayal to you. It gave me a chance to see you again though. And take that weight off your shoulders about your patient."

Justine did a big horse-style raspberry with her lips. "Yeah. There is that. I definitely feel lighter."

"Good." They hugged once more, then Paulette drifted off into the crowd.

The kids bounced between the beach and pub, chasing each other, then coming back up for food. There were other children from the island that Justine recognized from the funfair. She stood on the far end of the patio, her arms on the top rail, watching the children play in the sand as the sun began to sink behind the horizon.

A warm, strong arm wrapped around her from behind and she leaned into Bennett as he came up beside her. "You're sure you want to live in this desolate wasteland of angry, sad, depressed people?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the people on the dance floor. Keturah Katz was getting down with her bad self. She had a beer bottle in one hand and was holding the hand of an elderly gentleman with the other. Laughter competed with the music, and glasses constantly clinked in cheers.

"Yeah, it's a pretty sorry place to live," she agreed, leaning her head back on his shoulder. "But the people aren't so bad."

"Even Mr. Serious?"

She paused and pursed her lips. He playfully hip checked her.

"I saw you chatting with Grayson. Did he offer you a job?"

She smiled. "I think he's going to. Or he's already hired me."

"So you have the job now. And the trailer for a few more weeks. Then we'll figure out what comes next."

She nodded. "We will. I'm not worried one bit."

"And if we don't find a trailer to replace the one that you're in … there's always my bed."

She tossed him some side eye. "You don't think that's too soon?"

He shrugged. "I mean, you've already lived with us once."

"But would we be in the bed together? What will that say to the girls?"

"I can stay in the study if you'd prefer." His grin was cheeky.

"No!" she blurted out, which pulled a deep, sexy laugh from him. He kissed her forehead.

"We'll figure it out," he said. "I'm not worried. You're staying and that's all that matters. The rest will work itself out."

"The rest will work itself out," she repeated, just before he went in for a kiss.

She was lost in the passion and sweetness of his mouth, but the unmistakable gasp from below perked her ears. Followed by the excited holler of Aya, "Emme, they do have crushes on each other. Look!"