“Something like that.” I grab Briar’s arm and tug her away from the window. Harlowe and Sloane waste no time making themselves at home in the kitchen.
“A little self respect, Briar. There’s drool right there.” Harlowe touches the corner of her mouth, laughing as I pull the cord on the blinds, letting them drop with a clatter.
No way in hell I’m recapping the events that led us here, thank you very much.
Scooching between the girls as they work, I lift myself onto the counter and toss a lime in the air.
Harlowe catches it midair. “Have you come up for air since the last time we saw you? I heard you’re putting in sixty-plus hours a week lately.”
“You know how it gets.” I do the mental math on the last week’s hours. It’s big—so big I’m forced to stifle a yawn just from thinking about it. “Hospital staffing is a team effort in rural areas. Besides, I love my job. ”
“You gotta love yourself too, boo,” Sloane says from the cupboard where she’s grabbing glasses before getting started on making drinks.
“If anyone gets it, it’s us.” Harlowe slices into the lime.
I chew at my lip because the thing is . . . they’re not wrong.
The hospital absolutely takes advantage of my inability to say no. But I love the chaos, the purpose, the feeling of being useful.And it’s not exactly like I’ve exactly got a bustling social calendar waiting for me at home.
At least . . . I didn’t before Emmett.
Lately, I’ve been a little more eager to get back here.
“Absolutely not.” Briar shoves a jalapeño margarita into my hand. “We are not becoming women who apologize for being badasses.”
“Or for having careers,” Harlowe adds, grabbing the pitcher from Briar.
Sloane closes the cupboard a little softer than necessary, her expression turning thoughtful as she lines up glasses on the counter. “I’m not saying don’t work hard or chase your biggest dreams.”
My shoulders tense.
“Life is short, and after watching Harlowe go through everything with Canyon . . . and the fire.” She glances toward Harlowe before looking back at me. “I’m asking if you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
“Meaning?”
Sloane lifts one shoulder. “Meaning, are you doing it because you love it, not because the hospital keeps taking and you’re afraid of what happens if you stop giving.” Her gaze drifts out the window before coming back to me. “Staying busy can feel safer than standing still long enough to deal with things.”
A heated wave of prickles crawls up my neck instantly.
“I hate how emotionally perceptive you people are.”
“That’s because we’ve all been through some shit.” Briar grabs my hand and tugs me off the counter. “Trauma makes people either insightful or deeply weird. Lucky for you, we’re both.”
I let them pull me toward the couch, Sloane’s words are harder to ignore than I want them to be.
At work, I’m always needed. So I throw myself into saving other people, which keeps me from feeling useless. And when my mind is going a thousand miles a minute with every new patient or call, there’s not exactly time to dwell on other things.
“Okay.” Briar points at me before I can spiral any further. “That’s enough of the heavy existential bullshit for one night.”
Sloane settles onto one end of the couch while Harlowe drags over a massive knit blanket from the chair in the corner.
“Agreed,” Harlowe says. “Now, tell us why your new tenant required emergency tequila intervention.”
I tip my glass back. The drink is cool, and just sharp enough to make my skin buzz.
“Oh, no. Did he turn out to be a total weirdo?” Briar sips her drink. “It would be tragic if a man looked like that and turned out to be unfuckable.”
Sloane tosses a pillow at her. “Is that all you ever think about?”
