Page 2 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

I cross to Susan’s front door, knock once and let myself in. The smell of illness mingles with lavender oil. Patricia’s been burning Susan’s favorite candles. The single-room cabin has been rearranged around the hospital bed, Susan looking smaller than ever against the white sheets.

Patricia rises from her chair, professional sympathy mixed with genuine affection on her face. “She’s been in and out. More out than in. But she keeps asking for you.”

I nod, already moving to take a place beside the bed. Laila, Susan’s golden retriever, lifts her head from where she’s curled on the floor beside the bed, tail giving a weak thump of greeting. I run my hand along her fur as I pass, and she sighs deeply before settling back down, keeping her vigil.

Susan’s hand feels fragile but warm. When I squeeze gently, her eyes flutter open.

“You closed early? For little old me?” Her voice is a whisper, but there’s that spark of humor that nothing could dim.

“Lark’s covering the late shift,” I say, smoothing her hair back. “She can handle the Friday crowd.”

“That bar’s got good bones.” She struggles to focus on my face. “Just like you.”

“Susan—”

“Tell me something good,” she interrupts, holding onto our little ritual even now. “Tell me something that happened tonight.”

I swallow hard, then lean closer. “Bill came in wearing the scarf Dolores knitted him. Bright pink with orange stripes. He looks like a dignified sunset. And those kids from the college who come in every Friday? Tonight they paid for a stranger’s whole tab.

Didn’t want credit, just wanted to ‘pay it forward.’ Your kind of people, Susan. ”

“Good kids.” Her eyes drift closed, then open again. “The best ones always find their way to the bar.”

My throat tightens as she studies my face with sudden clarity.

“You found your way there too,” she says, her hand squeezing mine with surprising strength. “Right when we both needed it most.”

“Susan—”

“After I lost so much, when Hank died and the boys were all grown, there you were,” she continues, voice stronger for a moment. “A young woman who needed a place to belong. And I needed... I needed someone to remind me I still had something to give. We saved each other, didn’t we?”

“You saved me,” I whisper.

“No, sweet girl. It was mutual.” Her eyes are so clear, so present. “That’s how the best families work.”

I don’t even fight the tears now.

“The house...” She’s struggling now, words coming slower. “Don’t let them... the boys need to remember... it’s about more than walls...”

“Shh.” I start humming low—You Can’t Hurry Love by The Supremes—the song she used to hum when we worked in the garden together, back when she first took me in.

Shattered by my parents’ death, I was drifting through Dark River like a ghost. Susan saw me, really saw me, and offered me the cabin for almost nothing.

A place to call my own, somewhere to rebuild.

Tears slide down my face as I keep humming, keep holding on.

I tell her about Eleanor’s Viking romance novel, about the regulars who still ask after her.

About how the bar stays warm even on cold nights, how people still share their good news there first. I describe all the life still happening, all the small brightnesses she helped create.

“Keep making it bright,” she whispers. “Even when it’s dark. Especially then.”

Her breathing slows, steadies. Patricia hovers nearby, checking monitors quietly. I keep humming, keep holding, keep being present for this woman who saved me by letting me save her a little bit every day.

The moon tracks across the sky outside the window. And sometime in the middle of the night, somewhere between one breath and the next, Susan Midnight lets go.

But not before squeezing my hand one last time.

The morning light filters weakly through the small window above the kitchen sink.

I’ve been sitting at the tiny table in the shared kitchen since dawn, unable to sleep after Patricia left.

My second cup of coffee is starting to go cold in my hands, but I keep holding it anyway, staring out at the fog rolling off the Sound.

My other hand rests on Laila’s head. The golden retriever sits pressed against my leg, leaning her whole weight into me like she’s trying to absorb my grief or share her own.

Patricia handled the calls to Susan’s sons last night. Dominic, Theo, and Alex had left two days earlier for their annual fishing trip because Susan had seemed stable. No one expected the sudden turn. Calvin was in Seattle. Jack was God knows where. None of them made it back in time.

I’m technically just the tenant, but Susan asked Patricia to call me first. “Family comes in all forms,” she’d said last week, still herself for a precious moment. I don’t mind most of Susan’s sons, but selfishly I’m glad I got to be with her alone at the end.

Susan’s door is just steps away through the shared hallway that connects my cabin to hers.

I can’t bring myself to look at it, so I stare into my coffee instead, trying to figure out what comes next.

Everything feels different now, like the walls know she’s gone.

The kitchen feels too quiet without her classical music drifting through.

Right on time, I hear Theo’s Subaru pull up outside the cabins.

Laila’s ears perk up from where she’s been pressed against my leg.

I walk to my door and open it just as Theo, Susan’s middle son, gets his daughter out of her car seat.

He’s tall like all the Midnight boys, but softer somehow, wearing jeans and a Harbor & Ash hoodie that’s seen better days.

Chloe, his five-year-old, immediately wriggles free and runs to Laila on the porch. “We’re here for Laila!” she announces, dropping to her knees to hug the golden retriever, who accepts the attention with patient grace.

Theo’s eyes are red-rimmed as he approaches. He watches his daughter with the dog for a moment before looking at me. There’s nothing to say about Susan that we don’t already know, so we just nod at each other. That specific understanding between people carrying the same loss.

“We came back from the lake the minute Patricia reached us. Drove all night.” He lets out a long breath.

“Thanks again for this. For everything. Chloe’s been asking about Laila since I picked her up this morning.

I think she needs to see that some things are still the same.

Laila’s still here, even if grandma isn’t. ”

“Of course,” I say. “Laila needs it too.” I watch Laila lean into Chloe’s embrace, tail wagging.

“You sure you’re okay keeping her?” Theo asks quietly. “I could try to work something out.”

“No, you said yourself you can’t manage a dog right now. And I want to. If that’s okay with you guys.”

He nods, pushing a hand through his light brown hair. “Yeah, that’d be great. We’ll share duty. On your longer bar shifts, I’ll pick her up. Chloe will love that, right sweetheart?”

“Can we teach her new tricks?” Chloe asks, still buried in golden fur.

“All the tricks you want.” Theo gently guides his daughter toward the car. “Come on, Laila’s coming with us for the day.”

Laila looks back at me once before following Chloe to the Subaru. I watch them drive away, the golden retriever’s head visible in the back window next to Chloe’s car seat, and wave until they turn the corner.

Back in the shared kitchen, my coffee has gone completely cold. I dump it in the sink and lean against the counter.

I sigh. I can’t sit here all morning staring at nothing. The bar needs me. Or maybe I need it, need the work and the routine and the familiar chaos.

I pull out my phone and send a text to Lark.

Maren: She’s gone. Peaceful at the end. I’ll be in this afternoon.

Her response is immediate.

Lark: Oh honey, I’m so sorry. Take time off. We’ve got this.

Maren: No. I need to stay busy. Better to be around people than sit here alone.

There’s a pause. Those three dots appear and disappear a few times.

Lark: You sure?

Maren: Yeah. See you at 2.

I don’t know what to do with myself until then. I try to read, but can’t focus. Try to eat, but have zero appetite. Finally I just give up and head in early.

The Black Lantern is quiet when I arrive. I move through opening duties—chairs down, register counted, garnishes prepped. My hands know what to do, and today that’s a blessing.

Lark arrives at 2 PM sharp with a paper bag from the deli down the street. She sets it on the bar, walks straight over, and pulls me into a fierce hug. “She was lucky to have you,” she whispers. “And you were lucky to have her.”

I nod against her shoulder, unable to speak for a moment.

She pulls back, studies my face, then starts making coffee. She unwraps one of the sandwiches from the bag and slides it across the bar with that gentle bossiness that says I love you better than words. “Eat. Not optional.”

I manage a few bites. “Thanks.”

“People will have heard,” she says “Want me to handle the questions?”

“No.” I wipe sandwich crumbs from my shirt. “I’d rather talk about her than pretend nothing happened.”

Lark nods, squeezing my shoulder before going to check the tap lines.

The afternoon crowd trickles in. Bill arrives first, gives me a long hug without words.

Then the Hendersons, who heard from Patricia.

Eleanor brings a still-warm casserole she insists on leaving in our kitchen.

She must have started baking the moment she heard.

These are Susan’s people, really. They knew her behind this bar for years before I bought it.

It’s nice, not having to explain, not having to pretend.

Just people who knew her, sharing the weight a little.

Marcus arrives and orders his Manhattan, raises it. “To Susan.”

“To Susan,” I echo, and pour myself a small shot of Maker’s.

By now Susan’s boys will be making plans, figuring out arrangements.

Dominic and the others are probably already gathered at the house, starting to make decisions about the property.

Calvin, the author and professor, is supposed to come up from Seattle, though when he’ll actually show is anyone’s guess.

The thought of him settles strangely in my chest—a weight I can’t quite name and don’t have the energy to examine.

Susan told me years ago that I’d always have a place in the cabins, no matter what happened to the estate. Still, whoever buys the big house will become my new landlord. After ten years of Susan’s kindness and below-market rent, who knows what comes next.

I’ll worry about the details later. Tonight it’s just me and the bar, keeping things going, keeping people cared for the way Susan taught me.

The door chimes. New faces, weekenders probably, just looking for a drink. The work continues. It always does, and that’s exactly what I need right now.

“Welcome to The Black Lantern,” I say, a smile clicking into place like armor. “What can I get you?”