Chapter 18

18

M ason vows to find me someone, and I leave it at that. All I know is that it's time to get over my infatuation with Tinsley. And for most of my week, I'm feeling better about it. My hickey starts to fade, and I get lost in the day-to-day of work. That is until my luck runs out on day five.

A buzz brewing like strong coffee zips through the emergency department, perking people up and getting them anxious and excited. My teenage patients are the first to report it to me. I have three sitting in observation for various reasons, all telling me they have to be discharged or at least brought upstairs since now they're all besties after being stuck in here together for the last few hours.

"You're not supposed to be on your phone," I tell one of them. "You have a concussion."

"I don't care. My brain will heal. This is life or death."

"Same for us," one in the next room calls out. The walls here are a little too paper-thin for anyone's good. "If you bring her up, you have to take me too."

"What's upstairs? Other than the cafeteria and patient rooms." I lean against the door, my arms folded over my scrub top. I'm not discharging them. Two are waiting on beds upstairs and one is under concussion protocol and has another five hours here before I'll let her go.

"Tinsley Monroe is here," the kid across the hall gripes in that teenager, everyone is a drag way. "I heard one of the techs say she's going to put on a concert. Like an actual concert."

"I heard she's going to take pictures with everyone and hand out things to us."

"Tinsley Monroe is here?" I ask dubiously, though I don't know why. Nothing she does surprises me.

"Yes! OMG. Show him the picture, Abby!" That's the girl next door. The one who is about to be admitted for anemia.

Abby flips her phone around and there's a video of Tinsley hiding her face, heading into the hospital with security surrounding her, her guitar on her back. "My mom took that picture and just texted it to me."

Christ.

"Did your mom post that picture or just send it to you?"

"Just sent it to me. She was heading out to get lunch and saw her. Like this very second saw her. You have to help us, or I'll legit die."

"You won't die because it's my job to make sure you don't."

"Um, that's great and all, but can you help us or not?"

I pull out my phone and text Tinsley.

Me: Are you here?

She replies instantly.

Tinsley: Define here .

Me: My hospital. Are you at Children's?

Tinsley: I am, but you can't tell anyone.

I roll my eyes.

Me: Three of my teenagers already know. One's mom saw you walking in and snapped a picture.

Tinsley: Shit. Ask her mom not to post it on social media for at least four hours. And bring them up! I'm on the fifth floor in the auditorium.

I slide my phone back into my pocket. "If your mom doesn't post that picture for at least four hours, I can take you all upstairs. I have an in with the artist."

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

Her heart rate starts to spike.

"Only people with stable vitals get to go though," I call out to the three of them, raising an eyebrow at Abby.

"I can't help it!" She tries to climb off her gurney. "Tinsley is my absolute favorite. I've been to two of her concerts. She's everything."

Tell me about it.

"Do you actually know her?" Beth, the girl next door, asks.

"Yes. I know her. Very well," I tack on for no reason.

"He's Stone Fritz. He definitely knows her," Kateyln from across the hall yells. "His younger brother is Forest Fritz as in Tinsley's ex. I'm Googling it all now."

Thanks for the reminder.

"So, will you take us?" she continues. "For real?"

I sigh. It's going to be a long afternoon. "Yes. I'll take you up."

I think I'm their new hero with how loudly they scream, and I watch as Abby winces. Yeah, concussions suck.

"Put your phone away, or it's not happening."

She does so immediately and I, along with two nurses, wheel them upstairs, down the hall, and past a fleet of security. I show them my ID badge, and they let us all through. Tinsley has taken over a large auditorium we use for our M&Ms, or morbidity and mortalities. Her face shines like the sun as we enter, and she quickly catches my eye and throws me a playful wink.

She's wearing a green sweater dress that hugs her curves perfectly. Her hair is down in long, thick, silky waves, and her makeup is show-worthy, yet casual with red lips and black-lined eyes.

"Hey!" she calls out through her microphone. She's all the way down the tiered auditorium, sitting on a stool with her guitar in her hands and a microphone cued up in front of her. "I'm so happy to be here with you this afternoon. Boston, as many of you know, is where I'm from, and I still consider it my home. I wanted to come in and hang out with you all for a bit, but I need you to do me a favor, okay?"

She has the entire room wrapped around her finger. Including me.

"You can record and take pictures, and I promise to take selfies with anyone who wants one, but please, please, please do not post it on any social media or even text it to your friends until an hour after I leave here. I'm not here for the press, I'm here for you, so if you could help me out with that, I'd be forever grateful."

The room is filled with about two hundred kids, all here for one reason or another. Many are with their nurses or aides. Most have oxygen tanks or IVs attached to them. They're sick kids and Tinsley Monroe is making their year by being here just for them. And fuck if it doesn't make me love her more.

But loving her doesn't change anything, and I have to believe eventually I'll get over it. People do. They do that all the time. They fall in and out of love and they move on. That's my plan. But right now, the woman down front is throwing a serious monkey wrench into that. Especially as she starts to strum on her guitar and sing to her fans.

"Did you know she was coming?" my father, Kaplan, who is a cardiothoracic surgeon here, asks me, clapping me on the shoulder as we watch Tinsley sing and perform. Something we've seen her do dozens and dozens of times over, but it never gets old. On his other side are Owen, who is a general pediatric surgeon, and my uncle Luca, who is a neurosurgeon .

"Nope. One of my teenagers told me."

"Mine too," Owen admits. "Rory is going to kill me."

I snicker, thinking about his six-year-old daughter, who is a huge Tinsley Monroe fan. "Can't you just ask Tinsley to play for her? Isn't that one of the perks of a friends and family discount?"

"Rory has seen Tinsley in concert about five times in her six years, and Tinsley always goes above and beyond for her. Still, I will catch shit if Rory hears about this, and I didn't drag her out of school for it."

The first song ends with a raucous round of applause.

"All right, my loves, who wants to pick the next song? This concert is about you, so tell me what you want me to play."

"Old MacDonald," someone calls out in front, being a total wiseass, and Tinsley cracks up.

"That's not one of mine, but I'm happy to oblige."

She starts to strum the chords, and everyone titters and giggles. She sings the lyrics and points to random children to fill in with which animal they want.

From there, it's one song after another. Some kids stay till the end. Others show up halfway through. Many have to leave for one reason or another. Tinsley makes a point to stop whatever she's doing and take a selfie with anyone who asks, and she plies them with kisses and hugs and signed T-shirts. She's a queen, and we're all here as mere mortal subjects.

"This is a song I wrote a couple of years ago," she says, strumming a song that sounds familiar though I can't quite place it. "It's called ‘Into the Storm.'"

"They caged me in the status quo, trapped me into saying yes when I should have said no. I became complacent, staring out at the world with too much impatience. Unfulfilled, it was the start of a deadly prequel, and with no surprise, I began to plot her demise. I'd come undone and chased the storm, sinking like a rock instead of skipping like a stone. "

The song continues, but I'm rendered speechless.

" Those sound like song lyrics."

"They might be, but how sad are they?"

They're a little different than what she said that night. More put together and complete. But I have no doubt it's them. I haven't heard this song. I couldn't do it. I couldn't listen to the album she released after that trip, but hearing the lyrics now, I know this song can't be about anything else.

It continues, talking about strength and rebirth. Flipping all those sad lines on their heads. The song ends, and her gaze flickers up to mine for a beat before she immediately goes into the next song. It was so fast that no one other than me would catch it. But I did, and I know she sang that for me.

It was a thank you.

It was a look at where those ten days got us.

My father trickles off, as do Owen and Luca. They have patients they need to get back to, but my shift ended over an hour ago. I haven't been able to force myself out of here.

Tinsley plays without a break for over two hours, and I stand in the back as she takes another hour with the kids, not rushing a single one, answering questions and smiling for pictures.

When it's finally done, when the last child is gone, and all of my patients are brought where they need to be by their nurses, she climbs the steps, her security hot behind her, and greets me with a timid smile that doesn't speak to the wild love she gave everyone else.

"Hi."

I smirk. "Hi."

"You're still here."

"My shift is over."

She likes this.

"I liked your song. "

She doesn't have to ask which one I'm talking about. "I played it for you."

I nod. I knew that.

"Walk me out?"

Anything , I nearly reply. And because I'm a fucking fool, I reach out for her hand. She takes it, and we walk across the empty floor to the elevators like this.

"You look happy," she notes as we wait for the elevator to come. One opens, but it's full of people and we decide to wait for the next one.

I laugh. It's an absurd statement, but despite the fact that I haven't had the girl, I've had everything else. "I am. I'm in a good place. The place I wanted to find and be in. What about you?" We haven't caught up. We haven't exchanged stories after the ten days. We fought and we fucked, but we didn't have the quiet after. The one we always had without fail.

"When I got home, I immediately fired my manager, Apollo, who didn't take the news well, but the relief I felt in firing him was immense. I never felt comfortable with him. He gave me sleazebag, creepo vibes, and then as if to prove my point, he went around and trash-talked my name all over town. Thankfully it backfired on him, but still, it wasn't fun. After I got rid of him, my agent and label followed. I had a heart-to-heart with my parents. I had always been reluctant to use the label my dad did. I thought it would feel like I was trading on his name, but the truth is, Eden Dawson is the best, and so is Turn Records. I hired a new agent and manager and signed with Turn, and all three have been the best decisions I've ever made." She pauses. "Other than breaking and entering on a ship that wasn't mine."

My hand holds hers a little tighter. I knew some of this. Sort of. It was all very second and third-hand. But hearing her say it and seeing the gleaming, contented smile on her face is everything. It's what I wanted for her, even if I couldn't share in those triumphs and this happiness with her .

"What made you come here today?" I ask as the elevator doors part, and her team lets us go in one alone. I wish they hadn't. I want to kiss her senseless and wouldn't even consider it if they were in here with us.

"I do this in LA every six months or so. I love kids. I love being with kids. Sick kids break my heart, but they need the most love, and concerts aren't always accessible for them. I do the same thing at women's and children's shelters when I can."

And with that declaration, I bring our joined hands up to her face, spin toward her, and take her lips with mine. It's not even intentional. It's just a have-to sort of gig. Immediately, I part her lips with mine, understanding how we're on stolen seconds. She kisses me back, and it fuels me. I press her into the side of the elevator, my free hand on her hip, squeezing and pulling her into mine.

She feels me—all of me, every hard inch she's turned me into—and I revel when she gasps, only to tear myself away the moment the car slows and before it dings to sound our arrival.

Still, I don't let go of her hand. I should. I need to. But I don't. I walk her out the front of the building, her security back by our side, likely having taken the stairs, and we head outside into the cool Boston afternoon.

"Next time, pick a day I'm not working," I tell her. "Seeing you only makes me want you, and I'm trying very hard not to want you."

She looks down at the ground between us, and I play with her hands, holding her close only to freeze. The fuck?

"Are you engaged?"

"What?" Her head snaps up, and I raise her left hand between us, the one sporting a huge rock on it. "Oh." She laughs. "We filmed the engagement scene today. I must have forgotten to take it off before I raced over here. I'm still wearing my set outfit too." She reaches up with that hand and smooths out the crease between my brows. "Did that bother you? "

I clench my jaw and snatch her hand away, holding it firmly and rolling the fake diamond on her finger in vicious circles. "Considering I fucked you less than a week ago and just kissed you? Yeah, you being engaged would have bothered the hell out of me."

"Good thing I'm not then." She shrugs, with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a smile curving up her lips. "Since it matters so much to you."

"You're being a tease again."

"Maybe. It's a beautiful fall afternoon, and I'm riding a post-performance high. Plus, I made out with a hot guy in the elevator today."

"Did you now? I hear he's a good kisser. And amazing in bed."

She snorts. "Is that so? And how do you know who I'm talking about? I could have kissed a dozen people in the elevator today."

"True." I lean in and whisper by her ear. "But I bet I'm the only one who made your panties wet."

"You're flirting," she accuses, and I laugh.

"I'm definitely flirting. It's harmless though when we both know it won't go anywhere and I won't see you again."

"I hate that we do that. I wouldn't mind being your friend, though I suppose we were never that before."

"No. We weren't."

And I can't be her friend now.

We pause. Stare. And finally, I utter, "Bye, Tinsley."

"Bye, Stone." She leans in and kisses my cheek. "For the record, I checked with the emergency department. I knew you were working today." I get a wink and she steps back, releases me, and walks away with her security detail.

It isn't until I get home an hour later that the news breaks.

Tinsley Monroe Engaged to Ex's Brother.