“We heard you needed us?” Ally asked.
“I’m okay, but we’re heading up to the NICU for a couple of hours. Any chance I could take some pain meds before we go?”
Ally nodded, already moving through the routine of documenting and scanning her wristband.
The only difference in the room this time was the sound of the TV playing. I barely glanced up—until I did.
The air in the room shifted, pressing in on me, thick and suffocating. My pulse slammed against my ribs, my grip tightening around the thermometer like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
“You a Soles fan?” Lindy’s husband asked, grinning. “Madsen just signed a hell of a five-year contract.”
I forced my lips to move. “Wow. That’s… great.” My voice wasn’t mine. It felt disconnected, distant—like I was hearing it underwater.
Lindy laughed, oblivious. “Figures we’d be watching baseball news right after having a kid.”
“Maybe it’s a good distraction,” I said, my throat dry as sandpaper. I locked my focus on her, anywhere but the TV, anywhere but on him. But it was too late. The damage was done.
“He is pretty to look at,” she added, smirking as her husband made an annoyed sound.
My stomach clenched. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover it. I knew every inch of him—his strong hands, the way his mouth had felt on my skin, the way his voice had unraveled me.Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him.
I risked another glance.
Bad idea.
Brooks was still impossibly gorgeous, his light brown hair a little shorter, his jawline sharper, his presence filling the screen like he had every right to be there. Heat crawled up my neck as memories I tried to avoid assaulted me.
“Anything else?” Ally’s voice cut through the haze, snapping me back to the present.
“No,” Lindy said. “That’s all, thank you.”
I was already moving toward the door, barely hearing the rest of the conversation. Outside, my eyes flicked to the clock. Fiona and Gideon’s engagement party started in an hour.
I was going to be late. Not fashionably late. Not oh-no-I-lost-track-of-time late. No, I was going to be full-on shitty friend late.
Fiona would understand. She always did. She knew how much nursing meant to me and how I couldn’t mess this up. It was my only escape. My only chance at the life I wanted.
I just hoped, when I showed up behind schedule, Fiona would still remember.
* * *
My dirty scrubssat crumpled in the passenger seat, a stark reminder of the eight-hour shift I’d just barely survived. I swiped on a quick layer of mascara, squinting at my reflection in the rearview mirror. The bags under my eyes looked slightly less pronounced—so, yay, small victories.
My outfit was nothing special. Simple jeans, a dark blouse, and—oh,shit.
My nursing shoes.
I groaned, staring down at the scuffed, sad-looking sneakers that had spent the day wading through God-knows-what in a hospital. And here I was, about to track them across what was probably a house so clean you could eat sushi off the floor. Panic shot through me as I flung myself back into the car, yanking my worn-out flats from the backseat.
I was mid-shoe swap, hopping on one foot like an uncoordinated flamingo, when the massive front door swung open.
“Michelle.”
Oh, no.
I looked up just as Brigham Monaghan took in the scene—me, teetering on one foot, one shoe half on, the other dangling from my fingers. His grin spread, slow and amused, like he’d just caught me sneaking in past curfew.
“Uh.” I cleared my throat, quickly shoving my foot into the flat and straightening like I totally meant to be standing there like that. My face heated as I met his gaze. “Brigs.”
