He held her gaze, steady and unwavering.
“What you lost doesn’t define you, Randi. It’s your heart… and the woman you are inside.”
A faint, teasing smile touched her lips.
“You are quite the man and doctor there, Clay.”
He chuckled at the reference, but the sound faded quickly, his expression turning more serious as something deeper settled in.
“After your final checkup is completed with me…” he said quietly, “I’ll be just a man then, Randi Caleb.”
The words lingered between them.
And for the first time since he’d walked into her room, Brew felt the full weight of what that could mean.
Because this was no longer just recovery.
And whatever was growing between them… neither of them would be able to walk away unchanged.
CHAPTER 8
Discharge day arrived with a strange kind of stillness.
Randi sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in the loose clothing Elena had helped her arrange the night before, her small duffel resting beside her. The room looked almost untouched now, stripped of the fragile sense of shelter it had carried over the past several days. What had once felt terrifying had become familiar. Predictable. Safe, in its own sterile, confining way.
Stepping back into the outside world, even just her small cottage, scared the dickens out of her. The accident changed her life, her routine, her ability to take up her painting forever. Her world had spiraled, topsy-turvy and out of control.
How will I ever get it back?
She glanced about her room. It had become her haven, a safe place. Now it was simply a place she was expected to leave.
She glanced toward the window, where a pale spring light filtered through the glass, then down at her hand. The heavy dressing was gone now, replaced by lighter bandaging and protection that exposed more than she was ready to see. The sight of it still unsettled her, no matter how many times she forced herself to look. Healing had begun, they told her. Progress had been made. The words sounded encouraging enough when spoken aloud.
But healing was ugly.
Healing was loss made visible.
She reached for the zipper on her bag with her left hand and fumbled with it, her movements awkward and slower than theyshould have been. A flash of irritation tightened her mouth as the zipper caught and refused to move.
“Of course,” she muttered.
She tried again, angling the bag differently, finally forcing it shut with an awkward tug that left her breathing harder than it should have. Frustration simmered immediately beneath the surface.
The smallest things felt impossible now.
The smallest things reminded her.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her pulse shifted before she could stop it.
“Come in.”
Brew stepped inside, and though his expression was composed as ever, something in his eyes softened when he saw her sitting there, dressed and ready toleave. He closed the door quietly behind him.
“So it’s official,” she said, trying for lightness. “You’re getting rid of me.”
His mouth moved, not quite a smile.
