Page 40 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

I look around the tavern, at the warm faces and easy laughter, at the mountains visible through the windows even in the darkness.

"Instead, I'm sitting in a small-town bar, planning to spend tomorrow showing my best friend around a place that feels more like home than anywhere I've ever lived."

Piper's expression grows thoughtful. "You really love it here."

"I do." The certainty in my voice surprises even me. "I love waking up to mountain views instead of sirens. I love knowing everyone's name. I love that my biggest medical emergency this week had me strapped in a helicopter for fucks sake."

"And Jamie?"

"Yeah. I love him too. More than I thought I was capable of loving anyone."

"Far out. So what's the plan then?" Piper asks, cutting into her burger. "When are you coming back to Chicago?"

I pause, my fry halfway to my mouth. The question should make me panic, should send my mind racing through logistics and obligations and all the reasons I can't just abandon my carefully constructed life.

Instead, I start laughing.

"I'm not," I say, the words feeling like the most natural thing in the world. "I think I'm staying here. Permanently. If they'll have me of course."

Even if they don't want me at the station beyond my contract, maybe I'd be happy working alongside Chloe? The afternoon I spent there volunteering for something to do was amazing.

Piper's face changes, her fork stopping halfway to her mouth.

"Brooke," she says carefully. "We need to talk."

The warmth drains from Piper's face, replaced by something that looks almost... guilty.

"What do we need to talk about?" I ask, though my stomach is already dropping like I'm back on that helicopter.

Piper sets down her fork and reaches into her purse, pulling out her phone. She scrolls through something, her perfectly French-tipped nails tapping against the screen.

"Brooke..." she starts, then stops. Takes a breath and shows me her phone. "The hospital wants you back."

"Wants me for what?" I laugh, but I'm staring at a vacant job advertisement with my old workplace's logo front and center. "Piper, what is this?"

"Head of Trauma Surgery."

I actually lean back in the booth, my hand dropping to the table.

"That's... that's impossible. They don't want me. They're the ones who basically told me to leave. They asked you to push this temp job on me, didn't they?"

"Yes. To rest," Piper corrects firmly. "But now... God, Brooke. Your Chicago work, your publications, your surgical outcomes… they're all legendary. Dr. Hughes is retiring early, and he says the board has specifically asked for you. Not just any trauma surgeon. YOU ."

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Head of Trauma Surgery.

The position I've been chasing since I was nine years old, curled up in that uncomfortable plastic hospital chair beside my father's bed, my small hand clutching his while machines beeped their mechanical lullabies around us.

Through broken dreams that ended way too soon that night, I promised him through tears that I'd save everyone I could. That I'd be the doctor who never gave up. Who never let families feel the crushing weight of helplessness that was suffocating me in that moment.

This job would be the golden pinnacle of everything I've sacrificed, bled for, and lost sleep over… all handed to me on a silver platter.

Piper takes my hand from across the table, sensing my deflated state.

I shake my head as I look at her. "But I just said I'm staying here..."

"I know, babe. But I had to at least tell you."

"Yeah, I guess."

Piper leans forward, her eyes bright with excitement that I should be sharing but somehow can't.

"The salary alone is staggering. Plus performance bonuses.

That college research funding that you always wanted.

I heard they even gave the last department head a luxury apartment allowance.

You know that penthouse overlooking the city?

The one we used to walk past after our shifts and joke about living in someday? Yeah, that's his."

The cozy tavern suddenly feels too small, too warm. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, drowning out the country music and friendly chatter around us.

This is my dream job. The pinnacle of everything I've worked toward. The position that would make my father proud, that would justify every sleepless night, every missed meal, every relationship I never had time to build.

Everything I thought I wanted.

"They need an answer soon," Piper continues, misreading my stunned silence as excitement. "I know it's fast, but opportunities like this don't come around often. Like, ever. Department head positions at General don't open up for decades, and for good reason."

My phone buzzes against the table, the profile name of Mountain Daddy lighting up the screen.

The nickname that used to make me grin now makes my chest ache, remembering how smug he looked when he changed it, like he was claiming me in the most ridiculous, wonderful way.

Hope you're having fun with Piper. Can't wait to hear all about dinner. I love you.

"I told them you'd be interested. I mean, this is everything we dreamed about in medical school."

I stare at the message, at those three simple words that have become the foundation of my new life. Then at Piper's expectant face. Then out the window at the mountain silhouettes barely visible in the darkness.

Fuck. This sucks.

How do you choose between the dream you thought you wanted and the life you never knew you needed?

"Brooke?" Piper reaches across the table, touching my hand again. "Say something. This is good news, right? This is what you wanted?"

I think about Jamie's sunrise deck, about the way the whole town rallied around the winter festival, about how Chase sometimes brings me gummy bears just because he knows I had a bad day.

I think about Jamie's mom offering to share her family recipes, about feeling useful without feeling destroyed, about waking up next to someone who thinks I'm worth cherishing.

I think about my father, and wonder what he'd want for me now.

"When do they need an answer?" I hear myself ask despite knowing Piper has already mentioned it. My head is a whirlwind.

"Two weeks," Piper says, relief flooding her features. "But honestly? The sooner the better. They're already talking about transition timelines."

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Mountain Daddy: I was thinking… would you care if we shared our sunrise spot with Piper? Up to you, babe.

The sunrise spot. Our place. Where he told me he was falling in love with me, where I realized I could honor my father's memory without sacrificing my own happiness.

Piper squeezes my hand.

"Well… what do you think?"