The voicemail she never returned. The way she disappeared without a goodbye. The empty ache in my chest that settled in and made itself at home.
The weeks it took to scrub her scent out of my life just so I could sleep.
But I also remember the look on her face today. The hollowed-out grief in her eyes. The way she collapsed into me like she didn’t have the strength to keep running.
“She’s not okay,” I say, quieter now. “Whatever happened out there after she left… it broke her. And if she’s come back, it means there wasn’t anywhere else left. You know what that feels like.”
Cassie rubs her temples, pacing a slow line. “Beck, I get it. I do. You have this thing where you see someone bleeding and you want to be the one to patch them up. But Lo Marsh? She’s not just a paper cut. She’s a damn open wound.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“No more than one night,” she says, grabbing her bag again. “I mean it.”
There’s a beat of silence as we stare each other down, the memory of too many fights simmering behind her eyes.
Then Rosie pokes her head out from the living room. “Mom? Are we going to Winterfest now? You said we could go and get snow cream after…”
Her gaze flicks to the bags on the floor, like she’s reminding Cassie why they stopped here at all.
Cassie’s smile falters. She’d clearly hoped they could stay home. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go get some snow cream.”
Rosie squeals and runs to her mom, practically vibrating with excitement. Cassie pauses on the way out, turning as if she’s about to say something, but she swallows it back.
Then they’re gone, the front door slamming behind them.
Not even two minutes later, three firm taps rattle it again.
Dr. Jasper Quinn.
I open the door, and there he is, neatly pressed slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, messenger bag slung across oneshoulder—where it always is, as if he’s on call twenty-four-seven. His glasses slide down his nose as he takes me in with that clinical gaze.
“You look like hell,” he says, dry as ever.
I step aside, voice flat. “She looks worse.”
He doesn’t waste time. Already halfway down the hallway before I can close the door, moving with that quiet, contained urgency that always made people trust him. The scent of antiseptic and eucalyptus follows in his wake.
“She conscious yet?”
“Not really.”
He nods once, already pushing open the door to the spare room. He stops at the threshold, eyes moving over her carefully.
Lo hasn’t moved.
Still curled tight on her side like she’s bracing for another impact. One arm tucked against her ribs, the other curled under her head. Her curls are damp with sweat. Her breathing’s slow, a little uneven.
“She’s hurting,” Jasper murmurs, stepping in. “Any signs of head trauma?”
“She hit the driver’s side window when the car spun out. Was dazed when I found her. Couldn’t stay on her feet. She passed out not long after.”
Jasper crouches beside her and starts his exam, checking vitals, gentle pressure on her arms, her ribs. He doesn’t flinch at the way she shies from his touch even while unconscious. Just keeps his tone low and calm.
“She’s dehydrated, probably concussed, and bruised to hell. Her left side’s stiff, likely took the worst of the impact. Nothing seems broken, but there’s some swelling around the ribs. Could be a hairline fracture.”
“Is she going to be alright?”
“She needs rest. Fluids. Time. It’s a miracle she didn’t roll that car or worse. From the look of her, she’s been running on fumes for a while, even before the accident.”
