Return To You - Leia Stone Page 0,3

the car north. For the next ninety minutes, I stay on the same interstate, watching the scenery switch from bustling city, to suburbs, to saguaros, to scrubby brush. Beside me, my sweet mom sleeps against the glass window.

I alternate between driving and glancing at her. My mom. My protector, encourager, and teacher. I cannot live without her.

Owen has to save her.

Chapter 2

Owen

I never knew what tired meant until I became a doctor. I imagine it's like having two newborns on opposite sleep schedules. Not that I would know from experience.

It's not really the hours I spend at the hospital that exhaust me. I'm fine on my feet for extended periods of time. It's the emotional exhaustion I'm referring to.

Working in oncology will do that to you. Having patients die regularly hardens your soul.

Especially this morning. I wish with all my strength that my ten o'clock appointment wasn't with Faith Cummings.

In med school, I'd heard of patients who became like family. But what about people who were like family and then became patients? Med school didn’t have a chapter on that one.

I was an intern the first time Faith was diagnosed. The second time, I was a resident. This time, I'm her doctor. As my career developed, so did Faith's cancer. The maudlin parallel isn't lost on me.

I'm not stopping at oncologist though. I'm in a surgical fellowship, and when it's over I'll be a surgical oncologist.

Which basically means I can remove tumors from patients here in Sedona instead of sending them down to Phoenix. Tumors have always fascinated me. When you resect the pink healthy tissue, there it is, like a wadded piece of gum, so clearly alien to its surroundings.

Before I can head into Faith's exam room, I need food and coffee. I have to fuel up before I see her, because each appointment with her leaves me emotionally drained. It’s not the fact that she looks so much like her daughter, a daughter who was simultaneously the great love and complete destroyer of my life—okay, it’s a bit that—but mostly it’s the fact that Faith is like a second mother to me and the pressure to save her life is so heavy … at times it crushes me.

"Hey, Theresa." I stop in front of the stout brown-haired woman sitting behind the nurses' desk. She looks up slowly from the computer, her chin leading the way and her eyes the last part of her face to rise.

"What's up, Doc?"

I want to make a joke about Bugs Bunny, but I don't dare. Theresa is no-nonsense. To be honest, she scares me a little. But what she lacks in warmth, she makes up for in ability. Nothing shakes her. If I needed medical care, I'd request Theresa as my nurse any day.

My gaze shoots down the hall, then back to Theresa's cool expression. "I'm mentally preparing for Faith Cummings' appointment."

At the mention of Faith, warmth trickles into Theresa's chocolate-brown eyes. Theresa loves her work, but she especially loves Faith. After all the years Faith has been coming here, they've formed a friendship.

She leans forward, her floral printed scrub top crinkling against the edge of the desk. "Don't tell anybody, but, about ten minutes ago, I put homemade cinnamon rolls in the staff room." Her tone is hushed when she says the words homemade cinnamon rolls. My palms meet in front of my chest, pushing together as if in prayer while I try to contain my drool. "Thank you," I mouth. Theresa is an amazing nurse but an even better baker.

She sits back in her chair and focuses on whatever she was doing at the computer, as if I never stopped by.

I leave, my steps quickened by the smell and taste of sweet cinnamon even though I'm not there yet. Funny how taste and smell can be burned into your memory. There's a certain someone living in Manhattan whose fault it is that I can still smell cucumber melon scented lotion without needing to be anywhere near it. But I don't think about that. About her. Those thoughts aren't allowed anywhere near me, because if I let them in, they won't stop. Like an angry mob at the closed gates of a kingdom, they will pound at my walls until they break in. Focusing on the taste of cinnamon rolls is much, much safer for the well-being of my heart.

I'm the third person to help myself to the pastry. There are only twelve in total, and the remaining nine will be gone