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I blink. “She said that?”

“Yeah.” Abby shrugs with a smirk. “Then she’d go on a rant about how infuriatingly charming you could be when you actually tried.”

I rub the back of my neck, strangely warmed and gutted all at once. “Well… that guy clearly hasn’t made an appearance in a while.”

Griff raises his beer. “Might be time to bring him out of retirement.”

I pick up the folder and flip it open. The offer is real. The position, the pay, even a tentative schedule that wouldn’t require constant travel. For the first time in years, I feel the shape of something steady beneath my feet.

Something worth staying for.

“Think about it,” Beckett says again. “But not too long. You’ve already wasted enough time.”

Griff gets up and claps a hand on my shoulder. “This town may not be New York or Chicago or whatever city your agent calls from, but it’s real. The people, the families, the kids—they remember the ones who stick.”

I nod. A slow, sinking realization fills my chest. I’m tired. Tired of leaving, of uprooting, of pretending that the constant movement was something I enjoyed. It was a mask. A distraction.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

Abby smiles softly. “We believe in you. Now you just have to believe in yourself.”

I close the folder and set it on my lap. The house is quiet again, but this time, the silence doesn’t press on my chest. It gives me room to think. And for the first time in a long time, I want to stay still.

Still enough to rebuild.

Still enough to heal.

Still enough for her to find me again, if she’s willing to look.

Chapter five

Quinn

I sit on the couch, legs tucked under me, the faint hum of the dishwasher filling the silence. My cup of tea's gone cold, but I cradle it anyway, letting the warmth from earlier linger against my palms. The glow of my phone lights up the coffee table again.

Text from Liv:Still thinking? Don’t make me come over there with your scrubs and a signed permission slip.

I groan. Liv, who also happens to be Griff’s wife and my best friend, never lets anything drop. Especially when she thinks she’s right—which is, unfortunately, most of the time.

Me:Still on the fence. Maybe.

Seconds later, the phone rings.

“You need to say yes,” she says without even a hello.

“Liv—”

“Nope. You promised you’d try to say yes more. Remember that? New Year’s resolution. I have it in writing.”

I laugh, despite myself. “That was before I knew Wes was back.”

She pauses. “Okay, fair. But this isn’t about him. This is about you. And the fact that the youth hockey camp is desperate for a licensed medical lead.”

“They’ll be fine. Beckett can probably tape an ankle.”

“Great. And when one of those middle school maniacs goes headfirst into the boards? You want Beckett holding the neck brace?”

I rub my forehead. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”