Not the endless charts. Not the red tape or the board meetings or the bed shortage battles. It’s this. Cutting through all of it—literally, today—to keep someone’s world from ending.
“That boy’s gonna live because of you,” Talia says beside me, gaze fixed on the doors that just swallowed them whole.
I shrug, pride and gratitude thrumming under my skin. “I’m just glad I was here.”
“You know Admin’s gonna chew you out. Procedure violation. Risk assessment. Liability this, liability that.”
“They can add it to my list,” I mutter, a half-smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
She snorts. “Better make it a spreadsheet at this point.”
We stand in silence a moment, watching the bay settle, the emergency swallowed again by routine.
As the moment fades, so does the pride and the purpose. The high never lasts.
All that’s left is this… weight.
This… lack.
A longing for… what?
This isn’t the kind of tired a night’s sleep could fix. Not something I could help with a tweak to my routine, because God knows I’ve tried. This is deeper, quieter.Like something gnawed through the wiring inside me while I was too busy running to notice.
And now I’m standing here with a hollowed-out chest, clutching moments like this one, praying they’re enough to fill the empty spaces.
I wonder if they ever were.
“Come on,” Talia says, nudging my arm. “Let’s go piss off some administrators.”
I crack a smile and follow her in.
CHAPTER TWO
Lucy
“Never realized how different it smells in Los Angeles. Like contract negotiations and concrete. It smells like home here.” I readjust my phone against my ear as I stroll down the sidewalk in ‘downtown’ Stillwater Bay, heat curling around my ankles like a clingy cat. “Sea salt, cinnamon rolls, a dash of emotional baggage… I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
Trish, my roommate back in Los Angeles, snorts on the other end. “Sounds delightful.”
Stillwater hasn’t changed much since I left. Quaint shops painted in cheerful pastels. Potted plants spilling with bougainvillea and hibiscus. A breeze stirs the air, thick with salt from the bay and something sweet from Holiday Coffee & Cake. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of Simon Holiday scowling at his espressomachine like it just insulted his mother. His wife, Violet, wields a frosting spatula like a magic wand behind the bakery case. They grew up here, went to school with my parents, and have been Stillwater Bay icons since they opened their bakery. I swear their marriage runs on caffeine and romantic gestures.
“I don’t know what you’re doing back in that Podunk place,” Trish mutters. “Florida is… well, it’s Florida. It’s a meme for a reason, Lu.”
Trish is intense. And wildly talented. And sometimes a little… stabby. She’s got so many walls built up around her, someone must’ve really wrecked her trust. No one gets in. Not fully. But there’s a good heart under the chainmail, so I try to show up with kindness, even when she’s prickly.
“I haven’t seen Stella and Gabby in, what? Four years?” I dodge a stray bicycle and wave at an older man sweeping his shop front. “They wanted to celebrate me finally landing this job. Martha’s bridal shower is this weekend, Stella’s planning it, so it all lined up. Felt too good to ignore so, boom! Here I am.”
“You know what they say when things are too good to be true.”
It’s pointless to argue on the days Trish is this cynical, so I simply change the subject. “Maybe after I tell my parents my news, Dad’ll finally admit I was right to bet on myself.”
Not likely, but hope’sstubborn.
Trish snorts. “Don’t hold your breath waiting on fatherly pride.”
“I’ll settle for not getting another lecture about my wasted potential.”
“You’re spending a lot of energy just to prove a point.”
