"Roni is transitioning," Bridget said as Turner picked up the phone. "I have him down in the clinic, so come down when you get here."

"I'll do that. Do you want me to pick up something to eat on the way?"

"Sylvia and her mom brought us dinner, and there are plenty of leftovers. Good home-cooked stuff you can't get in a restaurant."

"Should I bring champagne?"

"No way. It's bad luck to prepare for a celebration prematurely."

He chuckled. "I didn't peg you as superstitious."

"I'm not. But I rather not tempt the Fates."

"If you say so."

Lucky kid, Turner thought as he put down the phone. Bridget sounded happy and unconcerned, meaning that Roni's prognosis was good, and he was going to come out of it immortal and not dead.

Turner imagined the clinic full of Roni's friends, rooting for him, praying for him, united in their concern and their hope. People, humans and immortals alike, were pack animals. They needed others to share their burdens with and to celebrate their achievements with.

For most of his life, Turner had believed himself a different kind of animal.

He didn't need anyone to share his concerns with because there was no point. By the time he was done explaining the complex problems he was dealing with day in and day out, people's eyes would glaze over and he would get annoyed for having to explain things that his brain processed lightning fast. He had no time or patience for it.

And as to his celebrations?

A mission accomplished was all the reward he needed, and the monetary compensation went without saying.

So why was he envious of Roni?

What was different about this situation?

The answer eluded him, and it annoyed the hell out of Turner that there was a puzzle his analytical mind was having difficulty solving.

It had to do either with the cancer or with Bridget.

The cancer had pushed his mortality to the forefront of his mind, forcing him to reevaluate his life. Until that had happened, shaking the routine which he'd been quite comfortable in, Turner hadn't pondered the meaning of his life, or whether something was missing from it or not.

His routine was satisfying.

He excelled at everything he did. His work was providing crucial services to people in desperate need, and he was the best of the limited number of outlets offering them worldwide. He'd completed several degrees at the top of his class and had earned black belts in several martial arts disciplines.

Some might frown on his decision to let another man raise his son, but Turner didn't regret it. The other guy was much better at being Douglas's parent, and Turner was better at providing the financial means to get Douglas the best education. As far as he was concerned, it was an all-around win-win. Everyone benefited from the arrangement.

He'd done the right thing.

So why at the ripe age of forty-six did he find himself envying a nineteen-year-old kid?

Looking back, Turner would have done nothing differently. Every decision he'd made had been the right one under the circumstances, and he wasn't the type who dwelled on what could've been under different ones.

Bridget.

She was the key to this.

He'd missed her when he was in South America, and not just the incredible sex. He'd missed being with her, talking with her, working with her.

Hell, they were practically living together already, and astonishingly, he wasn't looking forward to alone time away from her. On the contrary. He dreaded the day he would have to leave and go back to his lonely existence.

Turner could imagine himself starting a new chapter with her, maybe even having kids with her. After all, Bridget was an immortal, so it was never too late for her.

But it was even more than that.

He wanted her huge, caring family to adopt him as their own the same way they had Roni. Except, the only way that fantasy could materialize was if he transitioned successfully.

Should he just go for it?

Or should he wait a little longer and enjoy the fantasy?