Page 47 of Dr. Stone (Billionaires’ Club #9)

FORTY

Jace

I was forty-eight hours into a seventy-two-hour shift, and this damn place still hadn’t given me a breather. Since I’d walked through the doors, it had been trauma after trauma, hallways buzzing with urgency and overhead pages firing off like clockwork.

Normally, by this point, I’d be running on fumes and autopilot. But tonight was different. I was wired—in the best damn way. Hell, I felt like a rookie again, fired up even while getting my ass handed to me.

In the chaos, my mind kept flashing to Andie. I pictured her on her evening walk with that shithead Duke and my new little buddy, Brandon. Or maybe she was on her patio, watching the sunset roll in with the breeze.

What I really wanted to imagine was her and Brandon safe and happy at my place, waiting for me to come home. But I knew I was steamrolling things and needed to chill the hell out. As much as I wanted to ask her to move in already, I also knew I had to slow down.

Still, I couldn’t help it. I was thrilled at the possibilities, and somewhere along the way, my usual patient, steady self had disappeared right along with the man I used to be.

“Dr. Stone,” a nurse said in a flirty tone, “sure you don’t want me to grab you a coffee? Maybe a neck rub?”

I glanced up from finishing a patient’s chart and spotted Kayla, one of the new hires.

A month ago, I probably would’ve welcomed the attention.

Maybe even flirted back, just to feel something during a long shift.

But now? Nothing. Her pretty face, puppy-dog eyes, and overly done makeup for an on-call shift barely registered.

If anything, it made me cringe.

“I’m good, thanks,” I said, dismissing her ulterior motive with my tone.

“You do look exhausted,” Tasha added—another nurse who never seemed to take the damn hint. Her tone made it clear that if I gave them anything else, I’d be stuck in this conversation all night.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Thanks.” I handed off the chart to the receptionist. “Enjoy the quiet while it lasts. Something tells me it won’t be long.” I forced a polite smile and walked away before they could say anything else.

None of it landed the way it once did. I used to eat up the attention—it was a quick way to stay sharp and keep the night moving. But now? My mind was locked on the only woman who mattered, the one who left me more fulfilled every time I was with her.

I needed a power nap, though, because it wasn’t a lie when I told them this reprieve wouldn’t last. Hell, I was shocked an emergency hadn’t been called in the last five minutes.

The on-call suite Jake and I shared was more like an upscale apartment than a hospital crash pad—leather couch, blackout curtains, even a rainfall shower. Perks of Jake’s brother being the guy who practically owned the place.

I kicked off my shoes, lay back on the couch, and thirty seconds after closing my eyes—buzz. Pager lit up.

Of course.

I sat up, scrubbed a hand over my face, and marched down to the cardio ER wing. On the way, I read the page, bracing myself for whatever was about to hit.

Male, approx. mid-seventies, sudden collapse at private residence. BP 85/56, HR 52 and irregular. Unresponsive on scene for 1 min. Confused on arrival. Transferred to Saint John’s ER under cardiac alert.

Holy fuck! I thought as I stopped in my tracks.

The name hit harder than any trauma page I’d ever received.

It was old man Sebastian Aster—one of my dad’s good friends, and the father of my childhood friends, Sebastian and John.

Jesus Christ. He was practically an uncle to me growing up.

My brother had always been closer to him, sure, but I still loved the man.

I couldn’t believe I was seeing his name on that goddamn page.

I changed direction immediately, cutting through the garden corridor and moving fast. My badge beeped me through the trauma access doors, and I rushed into the ER, heart pounding.

“Are vitals holding?” I asked.

“Barely, doctor,” the charge nurse answered, walking at my side. “HR is at forty-nine, his BP is slipping into the seventies systolic. Patient had an irregular rhythm on arrival. No history of heart conditions on file.”

“He collapsed at a private residence?”

“Yes, his son’s home. His son, Sebastian, called it in. The paramedics said he was passed out cold.”

As we waited for the arrival, I grounded myself, forcing my emotions into check and focusing solely on the task at hand. This couldn’t be Mr. Aster to me right now. He had just to be the next patient I would bust my ass to save tonight. And I would save him.

I sucked in a breath, my control faltering the second the trauma doors burst open, and he was wheeled in.

A wave of paramedics rushed through, pushing a gurney carrying him, looking pale and drenched in sweat with an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

I swallowed hard, gave a brisk nod, shoved my emotions down, and moved to his side.

“You’re in good hands, sir. I’ll have you feeling great in no time,” I said mechanically, feeling only determination to save his heart and life.

His eyes fluttered. “Jace?” he rasped. “Was…supposed to be a quiet dinner.”

My throat locked. For half a second, the boy in me wanted to crumble, but the surgeon didn’t let me. “Yeah, well,” I forced a smile, “you always did command the attention of every room. This was a bit over the top, though, don’t you think?”

Then I flipped the switch. The man I loved like an uncle had disappeared, and all that remained was the patient. Male, late seventies, suspected multi-vessel disease. A heart I was about to save.

I turned to the team, ready and waiting to get things moving forward and figure out what was happening with Sebastian’s heart.

“Get an EKG now,” I snapped. “Push fluids, drop troponin,” I continued, barking orders and commanding the scene. “I want an echo in trauma bay two. Stat.”

Everyone moved in tandem like a well-oiled machine while I stayed by Sebastian’s side. I wasn’t going to lose the old bastard, whom I was fighting to dissociate from, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to lose my edge as a brilliant cardiac doctor by letting my emotions get in the way.

The moment we stepped into the cath lab, I turned my feelings off like flipping a light switch. Sebastian was no longer one of my father’s best friends, or the man who taught me how to play polo, or gave me my first taste of scotch when I was too young.

He was simply a male in his late seventies who’d collapsed at a private residence with suspected multi-vessel coronary artery disease. The next patient in the line of patients I’d been saving since I got on shift, and I was about to save his ass.

I locked eyes with the cardio team. “Let’s move. We’re going femoral with local anesthesia and fluoro live. Someone please notify the cath attending that I’ll be leading this.”

We all moved quickly and precisely, our hands and voices remaining calm. I fell into a sterile rhythm, as if it were second nature. Like I always did.

His heart didn’t care that we had a personal history. His arteries were closing off, and he was minutes away from becoming a ghost in a bespoke suit, and it wasn’t my job to feel that shit.

“Angiogram shows severe narrowing…LAD and right coronary,” the interventionalist confirmed.

“Balloon both,” I ordered. “We place two drug-eluting stents. We’re not waiting for a second hit.”

I guided the wire in with perfect precision and without so much as a tremor in my fingers. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation, and every move was clean, laser-focused, and professional. I watched as blood flow returned and his rhythm steadied while his blood pressure climbed back into the safe zone.

“Two stents deployed,” my nurse said. “Flow restored, and rhythm is normalizing,” she nodded after eye contact with me. “We’re clear, doctor.”

I stood there for a moment, just breathing. This could have been so much fucking worse, but thank God, it wasn’t.

I listened as the monitor settled into a strong, stable rhythm. All vitals looked perfect. This was fucking textbook .

Sebastian was still unconscious, lightly sedated, and the post-op nurse would wheel him down to post-op while I met with his family and whoever else was here with them.

I walked through the hallway, still keeping all emotion buried while I spoke with my family’s friends and alerted them that Sebastian was alive and recovering.

The waiting room came into view. It was quiet and dimly lit, tucked in behind frosted glass doors reserved for the families of high-stakes patient emergencies.

I saw them through the glass, first Darcy, Seb’s fiancée, who was near the corner with a pale face and arms tightly folded together, but still composed.

Seb was pacing in stiff, frantic loops, always commanding, even when fearful.

Then there was Margot Aster, who was like a rigid aunt to me, standing elegantly with her hands clutched together.

She was regal, as I had always known the woman to be, even though I knew she was terrified.

I blew out a calming breath and then walked in.

“He’s stable,” I immediately said, sparing dramatics and giving answers first. “There were two severe blockages, one in the LAD and the other in the coronary artery. We placed two drug-eluting stents, and blood flow is fully restored,” I smiled at the relief in everyone’s expressions. “He responded well.”

Sebastian dropped into a chair as if his knees gave out, and Darcy rushed to support him, but Margot didn’t move. Her eyes stayed on me like she didn’t know how to respond.

“He’ll be moved to step-down cardiac recovery within the hour,” I continued calmly. “If all continues smoothly, he’ll be up and walking tomorrow and back home by the end of the week.”

She stepped toward me as Sebastian and Darcy rose, their expressions filled with extreme relief. “And you?” her voice trembled. “You’re the one who operated on him, Jace?”

I nodded, “Yes, ma’am. I was the one on-call.”

Unexpectedly, she reached out and touched my arm. “Oh, dear boy,” she said. “You just saved my husband’s life.”

Then, as most lifesaving surgeries went, I found myself being hugged with utter gratitude by the patient’s spouse. Once I let my emotions return, I fully accepted Margot’s embrace and informed everyone that they could see him once he was awake.

That’s when the unexpected invitation came, and if it had been announced by anyone but Margot, the matriarch of the Aster family, I would’ve brushed it off as nothing more than the emotional high of relief and celebration.

But Margot never said things she didn’t mean, especially when it came to invitations.

“I’ll be hosting a formal dinner in your honor to celebrate you and your skills. Invitations will be sent, and you will be there, young man,” she smiled, and I looked at Sebastian with the only look that would make the man go from being severely concerned to humored.

He shrugged while Darcy cringed, and just like that, I was facing another damn elite soiree.

One that wouldn’t just force me to mingle in their circles, but also put me in the spotlight, being acknowledged like I was some kind of celebrity.

I would’ve politely declined, but no one turned down an invitation from Margot Aster.

That’s why Sebastian wore a sympathetic, yet slightly amused look on his face.

Oh, well. Maybe this was the part where I would blow their fucking minds with my new girlfriend and her son.

That should make for some stellar entertainment, especially since, not even a week ago, my girl was at one of these exact events, surrounded by all the assholes Margot would invite—including my parents—and every one of them last saw her on Hawk’s arm.

This was bound to be a masterclass in managing world-class awkwardness…should be fun.