The answer was immediate. Visceral.No.
"I didn't think so." His voice softened. "And Ava—you're not dragging anyone anywhere. We're choosing to be here. There's a difference."
"But—"
"No buts. You think Shane offered because he felt obligated? You think Garrett—Garrett, who barely talks to anyone—said he'd help because he had nothing better to do?" Brian's thumb traced across my knuckles. "You're not a burden. You're family. And family shows up. That's what we do."
Something cracked open in my chest. The place where I kept all my walls, all my careful independence, all the years of convincing myself I didn't need anyone.
I looked up and met his gaze. Held it.
"Okay," I said finally.
"Okay?"
"Okay. You can drive me. We vary the routes, we take precautions." I took a breath. "I won’t recant."
Something fierce flashed across Brian's face. Pride, maybe. Or something deeper.
"That's my girl," he said quietly. Then caught himself, color rising in his cheeks. "I mean?—"
"I know what you meant."
We sat there for a moment, hands still linked across the table, something unspoken humming in the air between us.
Everything changed after that.
Brian drove me to work every morning, timing his schedule around mine even when it meant getting up two hours early or staying up two hours late. He varied our routes. Never the same way twice, never the same streets. I didn't ask how he knewto do that. Some instinct born from years of running toward danger, I supposed. Knowing how to read threats, how to stay unpredictable.
He walked me to the ER doors every shift.
Watched until I was inside. Until the automatic doors closed behind me.
And every night, no matter how long my shift ran, he was there in the parking lot. Waiting.
He texted constantly. Not smothering. Just present.
Brian
Hope it's a quiet shift.
Brian
Watson says hi.
Brian
He's lying on your pillow again.
Small messages. Proof I wasn't invisible.
He checked the locks twice every night. I could hear him from my bedroom. The click of the deadbolt. The rattle of the chain. The soft pad of his footsteps, a tell that he was checking the windows. Then his bedroom door closed, but not all the way.
I should have told him to stop.
I was Dr. Ava Rothwell. I'd put myself through medical school. Survived residency, survived losing patients, survived cutting my family out, and building something new. I didn't need anyone to protect me. I'd spent my entire adult life proving that.
But when Brian walked me to the ER doors, I didn't feel smothered. I feltseen.
