Page 12 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter twelve

Dane

T he living room smells like takeout and old leather, the windows open just enough to let the evening breeze roll in.

Jamie's sprawled on the oversized couch, legs crossed at the ankles, holding a beer bottle against his chest like it's some sort of lifeline.

Theo's across from him in the armchair, a book in his lap he hasn't turned a page of in ten minutes.

I'm parked on the floor, back against the couch, a half-finished whiskey in my hand and the comfortable ache of a good day’s work in my shoulders.

It's rare that we all relax like this. Even rarer that we manage it without someone bringing up repairs, permits, or tenant drama. Tonight, it feels easy. Warm.

“Tell me again why we thought running a property business would be relaxing?” Jamie muses, lazily tossing a popcorn kernel toward Theo, who bats it away with a grunt.

“Because we were idiots with too much ambition,” I say. “And not enough self-preservation.”

“I blame you both,” Theo mutters, but there’s no heat in it.

Jamie chuckles, and the sound settles into the room like sunlight. We lapse into silence, the kind only forged through years of shared effort and deeper loyalty.

And then we hear it.

A siren. Close.

Jamie stiffens. The beer bottle lowers slowly, forgotten.

“That’s not right,” he says. His voice is soft, but I catch the edge beneath it.

Theo raises an eyebrow. “It’s an ambulance, Jamie. Of course something’s wrong.”

Jamie doesn’t answer. His gaze is locked on the window, expression unreadable.

My gut tightens. Jamie’s a lot of things—easygoing, big-hearted, annoying as hell—but when his instincts ping, I listen.

I grab my phone from the coffee table and tap into the local dispatch line we keep on hand for property emergencies. It rings twice.

“Hey, this is Dane Ford. Just heard sirens go by. You got eyes on where they’re headed?”

A pause.

“Yeah. Rosie Vale’s place.”

The floor drops out of me.

“Thanks,” I say tightly, and hang up.

“It’s Rosie,” I tell the others, already on my feet.

Jamie’s up before the words are fully out. Theo doesn’t say a thing—just grabs his jacket from the back of the chair.

We’re out the door in under a minute.

The truck roars to life, gravel crunching as we back out and tear down the road. None of us speak. What’s there to say?

Cam’s face flashes through my mind—her smile, the way her eyes dart when she’s overthinking, the stubborn tilt of her chin. The way she looked that day I met her, holding grief like it was something she’d trained herself to carry quietly.

Jamie breaks the silence. “She’s alone.”

“Not for long,” I say.

The hospital lights are harsh when we pull in. We park crooked, practically jumping out of the truck before the engine’s even stopped.

Inside, the lobby is too bright, too sterile. The air smells like antiseptic and nerves. Jamie strides to the desk, voice low and urgent. Theo’s scanning the waiting room.

I’m scanning for her.

We don’t know what we’ll find. But we know why we’re here.

For her.