Page 31 of Rescuing Dr. Marian (Made Marian Legacy #1)

I stood in the middle of the small space, staring at the shower controls like they were written in a foreign language. The simple act of turning on water seemed impossibly complex. Behind me, I heard Foster moving around, the soft sounds of him gathering towels and testing the water temperature.

“Arms up,” he said gently.

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Your shirt. It’s covered in blood and mud, and you’re…” He studied my face with those careful eyes. “You’re not really here right now, are you?”

I looked down at myself and saw what he meant. My clothes were filthy, stiff with dried blood and dirt from kneeling on the wet pavement beside Hazel’s car. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this completely wrung out. Not even on my worst ER shift.

I realized distantly that though I’d been through similar situations a million times—the adrenaline rush of a high-stress situation, followed by the overwhelming fatigue of an adrenaline crash—it really did hit differently when the crisis was happening to you.

When it was someone you loved in danger.

The emotional component made it harder to think reasonably and follow protocol in the moment and harder to overcome when the crisis was over.

“I don’t think I can,” I admitted, the words coming out smaller than I’d intended.

Foster’s expression gentled. “Okay. That’s okay.”

His hands were careful as he helped me out of my ruined clothes, his touch clinical but infinitely tender. There was nothing sexual about it—just one person taking care of another who couldn’t quite manage it himself.

When he started pulling off his own shirt, I found enough brain function to be confused. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t fall down in there,” he said simply, stepping out of his pants. “Come on.”

The shower was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but Foster guided me under the warm spray, and I immediately understood why he’d insisted.

My legs felt like they might give out at any moment, and the steady pressure of his hands on my shoulder and hip was the only thing keeping me upright.

“Just relax,” he murmured, reaching for the shampoo. “Let me take care of this.”

I closed my eyes and let him wash my hair, his fingers working gently through the strands, massaging my scalp with a tenderness that made my throat tight.

When was the last time anyone had tried to take care of me like this?

When was the last time I had let them?

The warm water sluiced over my skin, carrying away the grime and tension of the day. Foster’s hands moved with unshakable efficiency—washing the dried blood from my forearms, the mud from my knees, the salt tracks from tears I didn’t remember crying.

“Hazel’s really okay,” I said, my voice barely audible over the water.

“She’s really okay,” Foster confirmed, his hands still moving in slow, soothing circles across my back. “You saved her life, Tommy. You know that, right? If those young EMTs hadn’t kept the leg properly stabilized during the extraction…”

Something cracked open in my chest—relief, maybe, or just the delayed shock finally hitting. The fear I’d been holding back since we got to the scene of the accident rushed through me like a dam breaking, and suddenly, I was shaking again, harder this time.

“Hey.” Foster turned me around so I was facing him, his hands coming up to frame my face. “Hey, it’s okay. She’s safe. You got her out.”

“I almost lost her,” I whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep inside. “If you hadn’t been there, if we’d been any later?—”

“But we weren’t. And you didn’t.” His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones, and I realized I was crying. “You did everything right, Tommy. Everything.”

The sob that escaped me sounded like it came from someone else entirely. Foster pulled me against his chest, and I buried my face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin as everything I’d been holding back poured out of me.

He didn’t try to shush me or tell me it was over. He just held me under the warm water, one hand stroking my hair, the other rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades, while I finally let myself feel how terrified I’d been.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I actually believed someone did.

By the time my breathing steadied, the water was starting to run cold. Foster reached around me to turn off the taps, then wrapped me in the largest towel he could find, rubbing briskly to chase away the chill.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Better didn’t begin to cover it. Something fundamental had shifted during those minutes under the water—not just the physical relief of being clean but something deeper. The feeling of being truly cared for. Of letting someone else be strong when I couldn’t be.

That wasn’t a feeling I’d ever had with Kari. I’d tried to be the strong one, the protector. How surprising to realize now that I’d been missing something this vital and reassuring.

Foster handed me clean boxers and a soft T-shirt, then pulled on his own sleep clothes while I struggled with the basic mechanics of getting dressed. My hands were still shaky, and the simple act of pulling a shirt over my head felt monumental.

“Here.” Foster’s hands covered mine, helping guide the fabric down. “Almost done.”

When I was finally dressed, he led me to my bed and pulled back the covers. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you if anything changes. Ella has my number, too.”

I crawled under the blankets, suddenly exhausted beyond belief. But as Foster moved toward his own bed, something close to panic fluttered in my chest.

“Foster?”

He turned back immediately. “Yeah?”

“Will you…” I swallowed hard, feeling ridiculous and needy and not caring. “I feel like I can’t get warm. Will you lie down with me? Just until I warm up? ”

Something soft and unguarded crossed his face. “Of course.”

He settled under the covers beside me, and I turned onto my side, facing him. In the dim light filtering through the cabin windows, I could see the tired lines around his eyes, the way his hair was still damp from our shower.

“Thank you,” I whispered again.

“Tommy.” His voice was gentle but firm. “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“Yes, I do.” I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. “I don’t know what I would have done today without you.”

His thumb stroked across my knuckles. “You would have figured it out. You always do.”

“Maybe. But I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

We lay there in comfortable silence, and I found myself studying his face in the low light. The strong line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the small scar near the left edge of his lip that I’d never noticed before.

This wasn’t the man I’d met in Hawaii six months ago—charming and flirtatious and slightly overwhelming.

This wasn’t even the professional, competent instructor I’d been working with at SERA.

This was someone deeper, someone who showed up when it mattered, who stayed when things got difficult, who took care of people without expecting anything in return.

And that terrified me.

Because lying there with his hand in mine and his quiet breathing gradually matching my own felt dangerously close to everything I’d never known I wanted. It felt like home in a way that had nothing to do with geography and everything to do with the man beside me.

“Foster?”

“Mmm?”

I almost said it then—the words that were sitting heavy on my tongue, threatening to spill out into the darkness between us. But something held me back. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the sudden, crystal clear understanding of how completely fucked I was.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. This tender intimacy, this feeling of rightness, this overwhelming urge to stay right here forever—none of it was part of the plan.

“Should I…” I started, then stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. Go to California? Stick to our agreement that this is just a fling? Stop falling for you before it’s too late?

Foster seemed to understand what I wasn’t saying. His hand tightened around mine for just a moment before he carefully pulled away, putting inches of space between us that felt like miles.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You should.”

The words hung in the air like a door closing. I could see something shuttering in his expression, the careful walls going back up.

“The interview,” I said, hating how the words tasted in my mouth.

“Stanford.” Foster’s voice was carefully neutral. “It’s a big opportunity.”

“It is. ”

“An unmissable one.” Foster shifted and sat up. “So you need better sleep than you’ll get with the two of us sharing this postage stamp.”

The silence that fell between us was different now—heavier, more deliberate. We both knew what we were doing. Rebuilding the boundaries that had crumbled somewhere between the shower and this moment. Reminding ourselves that we had different lives waiting for us.

It was the smart thing to do…

So why did it feel like we were both making the biggest mistake of our lives?

“Foster—” I tried again.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” He paused at the edge of my bed, not quite looking at me. “Today was… a lot. For both of us. But you have plans. Important ones.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him that my plans were just words on paper compared to this feeling blooming between us. But the rational part of my brain—the part that had gotten me through medical school and residency and a decade-long relationship I’d been too scared to leave—knew he was right.

Foster Blake had already prompted me to change my plans once, but I couldn’t keep doing it. Who would I be if I couldn’t achieve the goals I’d set for myself?

“Good night,” I whispered.

“Good night.”

Foster moved to his own bed, and I listened to the sounds of him settling under his covers. The cabin felt enormous suddenly, the three feet between our beds an insurmountable distance .

I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, and tried not to think about how right it had felt to have him take care of me. How safe I’d felt in his arms. How terrifyingly easy it would be to throw away everything I’d worked for just to stay in this moment.

Five weeks. We had just over five weeks left before I had to decide whether to chase the life I’d always planned or risk everything for something I’d never seen coming.

Five weeks to figure out whether what was happening between us was real or just the result of proximity and adrenaline and really good sex.

Five weeks to decide if love was worth changing the entire trajectory of my life.

As I finally drifted off to sleep, listening to Foster’s steady breathing from across the room, I had the sinking feeling that I already knew the answer.

And that it was going to break both our hearts.