Page 35

THIRTY-FIVE

MJ

The steady hum of the fluorescent lights in the hallway matched the monotony of my steps. My sneakers squeaked faintly against the linoleum as I passed the nurses’ station, clutching a chart like it was a shield. The smell of coffee hung heavy in the air, tempting me, but I didn’t stop.

I didn’t need coffee. I needed to keep moving.

“Wow, look at you, always keeping busy like the perfect little nurse.” Beth’s voice dripped with mock sweetness, each word cutting like a paper-thin blade.

She leaned against the counter, her blond hair perfectly curled despite the early hour. Her black scrubs were always just a little too tight, the neckline tugged down just a little too low.

I didn’t even glance her way as I flipped the chart open. “Beth, do you ever get tired of running your mouth, or is this just your cardio for the day?”

Her laugh was short, forced, but she recovered quickly, sidling up beside me. Her perfume—something cloyingly sweet—invaded my space. “Feisty. Trouble in paradise, then?” she said, tapping her nails against the counter.

My grip tightened on the chart, the edges biting into my palm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, her lips curving into a smug smile. “You and Logan Brown. I mean, talk about a glow-up for you. A guy like that? Even I’m impressed.”

I bit back the urge to snap at her, my chest tightening. Beth had a way of digging in just deep enough to sting without outright drawing blood.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I always thought he was a little out of your league, but you never know with these rugby types. I mean, a freaking Olympian . Must be nice having someone like him around.” Her smile curled upward. “Unless, of course, he’s not around anymore?”

The words hit like a slap, and I forced myself to stay calm, my voice steady even as my stomach churned. “Logan and I are fine.”

“Hmm,” she said, drawing the sound out like she didn’t believe me. “Well, if you ever get bored of him—or, you know, if he moves on—maybe give me a heads-up? A man like that doesn’t come around every day.”

I snapped the chart shut and turned to her, my voice cold. “You’re right, Beth. He is out of my league—just not in the way you think. See, Logan’s kind, intelligent, and actually likes women. Meanwhile, you’re stuck here scheming for a hot doctor who’s more interested in his chart than you.”

Beth’s perfectly glossed lips tightened into a thin line, but I wasn’t done.

“So here’s the deal,” I continued, stepping closer. “You can keep your snide comments, your fake concern, and whatever fantasy you have about Logan to yourself. Because I’m not interested in playing games with someone who can’t even play nice.”

Her expression faltered, just for a second, before she managed to plaster on a smug smile. “Wow, MJ. Who knew you had claws?”

I leaned in slightly, my voice calm but firm. “I’ve always had them. You just weren’t worth the scratch.”

Beth’s face flushed, and for once she didn’t have a comeback. I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, speechless.

Every step felt lighter, like I’d finally shed a weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying.

The chart in my hand felt heavier than it should, the weight pressing into my palm like a reminder of everything I was trying to forget. I scanned the notes for the fifth time, the words blurring together. Mrs. Bernard’s blood pressure was stable. Mr. Freemont had finally eaten his lunch. Nothing had changed since the last time I checked.

That was the point, though, wasn’t it? If I kept moving—kept doing—then maybe I could outrun the negative thoughts that had been chasing me since the game.

Logan’s face flashed in my mind, his expression a mix of shock and something else I couldn’t quite place when the announcer revealed his Sevens call-up. The crowd’s cheers had drowned out the sound of my heart cracking wide open, but only for a moment. Now the echoes of that afternoon followed me everywhere.

I shoved the chart into its slot and grabbed another, my hands trembling. When I flipped it open, my stomach dropped.

Arthur Brown.

The letters blurred as a fresh wave of unease settled over me. My fingers tightened on the edge of the chart before I closed it quickly, the weight of his name heavier than all the others combined.

The faint sound of laughter carried down the hallway, tugging my attention. A group of residents gathered in the common room for their morning coffee. Sylvie must have caught word about the unexpected announcement, because when I’d arrived at work, the break room was overflowing with blueberry crumble muffins, chocolate orange scones, and enough hot coffee to drown a village—or in this case, my heartache.

My coworkers’ voices were warm and familiar, weaving together like an old quilt. I wanted to join them, to lose myself in their easy conversations and forget for a while, but I couldn’t.

Not when I felt like a frayed thread, ready to snap.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out without thinking, my heart clenching for a moment before I saw the name.

Sylvie

How are you holding up?

Just another day in paradise. Thanks for the treats.

Sylvie

The Sugar Bowl sends their love. Dinner tonight? Gus wants to see his favorite aunt.

The offer was tempting, but the thought of sitting at her table, dodging questions about Logan, was enough to make me type out a quick excuse.

Can’t. Double shift. Rain check?

I hit send before the guilt could set in and shoved the phone back into my pocket. The lie felt like a pebble in my shoe—small but sharp, and impossible to ignore. I turned toward Arthur’s room, determined to find something, anything, to keep myself busy.

I took a deep breath before knocking on his door. Arthur’s room was dark when I peeked in, the bed neatly made and his chair conspicuously empty. My pulse quickened as I stepped inside, flipping on the light. The little table by the window was untouched, his mug still sitting there from last night, and the faint scent of the sandalwood lotion he swore helped his knees lingered in the air.

But no Arthur.

I closed the door behind me and glanced up and down the hallway. Empty. The tightness in my chest ratcheted up a notch as I thought through the possibilities. He wasn’t in the common room or the library—I’d just come from there—and if he were outside, someone would’ve noticed.

Unless he sneaked out.

No, Arthur wouldn’t just disappear without telling someone. Right?

The memory of him grinning like a mischievous kid flashed through my mind, his voice playfully defiant: Rules are more like suggestions around here, don’t you think?

Oh, hell.

I didn’t want to make a scene. The thought of calling Logan and admitting that his grandfather was AWOL? That was a spiral I wasn’t ready for. And alerting the staff would just lead to panic and half the team mobilizing. No, I could find him. I just needed to think.

Arthur was a creature of habit. He had his favorite spots: the front porch, the sunroom, sometimes the garden when the weather wasn’t too miserable. I’d start there.

I retraced my steps to the common areas, scanning the faces of the residents and staff as I passed. “Seen Arthur?” I asked Carol, one of the nurses on duty.

She frowned, shaking her head. “Not since breakfast.”

Great.

The garden was empty except for a pair of robins hopping through the flower beds. The sunroom was filled with chatting residents, none of whom were Arthur. The front porch? Nada.

My pulse thrummed louder as I headed back inside, my sneakers squeaking against the tiles. Where would he go?

Then it hit me.

Red Sullivan.

Arthur had mentioned visiting him more than once, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen the two of them plotting over coffee before. Red’s condo wasn’t far—it was on the Haven Pines property in the semi-independent living section. If Arthur had gone anywhere, that was my best bet.

I detoured to the break room, grabbing a box of coffee and a couple of pastries from Sylvie’s spread. If I was going to barge into Red’s place to drag Arthur back, I figured I’d better come bearing gifts.

The box of pastries balanced precariously on one arm as I juggled the coffee. My keys clinked against the box, my footsteps quick and purposeful. The chill of the morning air hit me as I stepped outside, the bright scent of pine and damp earth grounding me for a second.

“I swear, if you two are sitting there debating pie crusts again ...” I muttered under my breath, the corner of my mouth tugging upward despite my frustration.

The path to Red’s place was quiet, lined with bare trees that swayed in the gentle breeze. By the time I reached the condo, my nerves were buzzing, half with irritation and half with relief that I might have solved the mystery of Arthur’s disappearance.

The familiar sight of Red Sullivan’s residence eased some of the tension in my chest. The white shutters were gleaming, and the flower beds had faded with autumn’s chill, but it was homey in a way that felt unshakable.

I pounded on the door, balancing the coffee box against my hip. “Arthur? Red? If you’re in there and you’ve kidnapped one of my residents, now’s your chance to surrender peacefully!”

The door opened a crack, and Red’s familiar face appeared, his expression a mix of amusement and suspicion. “Well, look who’s here.”

The condo smelled like fresh coffee and something faintly sweet—probably the remains of whatever breakfast Red had whipped up. Arthur sat at the kitchen table, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he stirred sugar into a mug of coffee.

“MJ!” Arthur greeted, like he hadn’t just caused my blood pressure to spike. “What a happy surprise. Come in, come in.”

“I’m not here to stay,” I said, setting the coffee and pastries on the counter with a clatter. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re causing me?”

Red leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “He’s not causing trouble. He’s having coffee with an old friend. What’s the harm in that?”

I shot him a look. “The harm is that I thought he was missing. You couldn’t have called? Sent a carrier pigeon? Smoke signal?”

Arthur grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Didn’t think it was necessary. You’re always saying I need to socialize more.”

“You can’t go wandering off without telling someone, or we’ll have to put a bell on you like a cat.”

Red chuckled, motioning toward the coffee I’d brought. “You came prepared, though. Good instinct.”

I sighed, plopping down in a chair across from Arthur. The weight of the morning lifted just slightly as I watched the two of them bicker about which flavor of pie was superior.

Red slid me a mug of coffee without a word, and the warmth seeped into my hands as I sipped it.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” I said, but there was no heat behind it.

“Us?” Arthur said, feigning innocence. “You’ve got enough spirit to handle us just fine, MJ.”

“Barely,” I muttered, shaking my head.

Despite my swirling feelings about Logan, we fell into an easy rhythm, their voices filling the quiet corners of my mind. They debated pies, shared a few football and rugby stories, and even teased me about my sour mood. I let their laughter wash over me, the heaviness in my chest easing—just a little.

Arthur was smart, and he wasn’t about to let me off the hook. His gaze narrowed as he leaned back in his chair, a muffin balanced in his hand. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s got you stewing, MJ? Never seen a good stew that didn’t need stirring.”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the thermos. “It’s nothing,” I said quickly, but the words sounded hollow even to me.

Red snorted. “Girl, you’re a terrible liar. Spill it.”

My gaze drifted to the shelf in the corner of the room, where an old football sat next to a box filled with knickknacks. The sight of it brought back a memory I’d been trying to bury—the box I’d handed over to my father’s family, filled with ashes and expectations I hadn’t been able to name.

“I met my dad’s other family. I thought I’d feel relief after meeting them,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. The admission slipped out before I could stop it. “But I just felt... hollow. Like the man they described wasn’t the same one I grew up with.”

Arthur set his coffee down, the mug clinking softly against the table. “Let me guess—they painted a picture that didn’t match the one you lived with every day.”

I nodded, my throat tightening. “They said he was loving, patient. Warm. Like we’re talking about two completely different people.”

Red leaned forward, his weathered hand resting over mine. “People can be many things, MJ. Sometimes the good parts only come out for certain people, and the bad parts ...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Well, the bad parts can cast a hell of a shadow.”

Red knew. He had known my father for a long time, and Red’s late wife, June, was a catalyst in revealing the truth about what he’d done.

Arthur nodded in agreement. “Doesn’t mean their experience wasn’t real. And it doesn’t mean yours wasn’t either.”

I swallowed hard, my chest pinching with the weight of their words. “I guess I thought meeting them would ... fix something. But it didn’t. It just made me realize how much I don’t want to carry him with me anymore. I gave them his ashes, thinking that would be enough, but...” I exhaled sharply, my voice trembling. “I don’t know how to let the rest go.”

Red’s grip on my hand tightened gently, grounding me. “You let it go by living your life, girl. By loving the people who matter and not letting the ghosts of the past tell you what you’re worth.”

Arthur added with a soft chuckle, “And by realizing that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means making space for better things.”

I blinked back tears, the ache in my chest loosening, if only slightly. Their words were like sunlight breaking through a storm. I wasn’t sure I had all the answers, but maybe I didn’t need them. Maybe letting go wasn’t about fixing the past, but about making peace with it.

Arthur sighed. “I just hope my grandson is smarter than he looks.” He looked at his friend and shook his head. “I don’t know how you survived all your kids getting wound up by love. It’s hell on the old heart.” He tapped his chest, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Red’s brow furrowed, his eyes growing glassy with uncertainty. “Did something happen?”

A sheepish smile spread across my face. “I’ve sort of been seeing Arthur’s grandson.” I swallowed hard. “He’s actually gotten called back up to the Sevens, so now ...”

Arthur’s sharp gaze softened, his head tilting slightly. “Love’s tricky. It’ll knock you down and leave you wondering if you can get back up. But when it’s the real thing, it’s worth every bruise. Give the boy a chance to speak his heart. He may surprise you.”

Red leaned forward, his hand patting my knee. “Don’t be afraid to fight for what you want, young lady. Even if it means getting a little dirt under your nails.”

I swallowed hard, their words wrapping around my heart.

“I don’t even know if he feels the same,” I admitted quietly. “What if I’m fighting for something that’s already gone?”

“Did he tell you he was leaving?” Arthur asked, his brows lifting with a mischievous glint in his eye.

My brows tipped down. “Well...no. I didn’t exactly give him the chance to say it.” I huffed. “But come on. Why wouldn’t he go? It’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for.”

Red shook his head, his voice steady. “The best things in life are messy, MJ. You just have to figure out if they’re worth the cleanup.”

Arthur’s laugh rumbled low and warm. “And if they’re not, there’s always pie.”

The two of them dissolved into hearty laughter, and for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of something that might’ve been hope.

The drive home was quiet, the soft hum of the radio filling the car as their words echoed in my mind.

Maybe Red was right—love was messy. It certainly had been for my siblings.

But I’d been hiding behind work, avoiding the mess instead of facing it and talking with Logan.

I pulled into my driveway and sat there, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. My thoughts drifted to him, to the way his voice had cracked when he’d tried to explain, to the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Either way, it was time for me to stop hiding.

With a deep breath, I grabbed my bag and headed inside, determination settling into my chest. If Logan wanted to talk, I’d listen. And if he didn’t, well ... I would just have to figure out how to get back up.