Page 18

Rilee

My phone rings just as I’m tossing another load into the washer. I glance at the screen, stomach flipping.

Fletcher.

I swipe to answer, already bracing.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep it light. “You’re up early.”

“Riles.” His voice is groggy, but steady. “How’s it going? You still surviving in the hockey house of testosterone and bad decisions?”

I laugh. “Barely. But yeah. I’m good.”

The lie leaves my mouth too fast—and the panic hits right behind it.

Halloween. Caleb. His mouth.

Then Grayson, last night.

His fingers. His voice in the dark.

Oh god.

Does Fletch know?

Can he hear it in my voice?

“Classes?”

“Fine.”

“Clinicals?”

“Exhausting. But fine.”

A pause.

“You’re not letting them distract you, right?” he says, voice sharp in that older-brother way he saves for when he’s worried. “You’re almost there. Don’t screw it up now.”

“I’m not distracted,” I lie.

“You’d tell me if you were struggling?”

“Of course.”

Another lie.

He sighs. “Okay. Just—remember why you’re doing this, Riles. You’ve got one shot. Don’t let anyone, especially any pretty-faced idiot with a hockey stick, get in your head.”

“I won’t,” I say, voice soft.

“I believe in you. You’re the one good thing I’ve ever done right.”

That one lands hard.

Because it’s true.

Fletcher was the one steady thing in a house that never stopped falling apart. When our mom got sick, when our dad disappeared into another girlfriend’s apartment and didn’t come back, he was the one who stepped in.

He got a job in high school—stocking shelves overnight, skipping parties, saving every dollar—just so I could have decent shoes. So I could do dance for one semester. So I wouldn’t feel like the poor kid even though we were.

He was my brother. My protector. My whole damn foundation when everything else cracked.

So hearing that—“You’re the one good thing I’ve ever done right”—hits me straight in the gut.

Because if he knew what I’ve done lately?

Who I’ve done lately?

He wouldn’t say it.

He’d flip out on me, and rightly so. I can’t afford to lose my focus right now. Not when I’m so close.

“Thanks, Fletch.”

“Call me soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up.

The silence afterward feels louder than the washer. My throat’s tight. My chest heavier. I blink fast, trying not to unravel right here between two baskets of laundry.

Because he’s right.

I’m here to finish. To make it.

Not to fall apart over boys who kiss like fire and look at me like I’m something worth burning for.

I turn—and walk straight into Hunter.

Literally.

He’s shirtless. Damp hair. A towel slung over his shoulder. Laundry basket balanced on one hip.

I freeze. He doesn’t.

He steps past me, cool as ever, and dumps his stuff on top of the washer I just loaded.

“Morning,” he mutters, opening the dryer.

I stare at his back. At the way the muscles shift beneath his skin. At the tattoo near his shoulder blade I’ve never noticed before.

Then lower.

Then lower.

He turns, catching me mid-stare.

“You okay?” he asks, brow raised.

I swallow. “Fine.”

Another lie.

We both reach for the detergent at the same time, hands brushing.

It’s not nothing.

The air charges.

Tension. Chaos. Lust. Guilt.

My stomach knots.

His eyes flick to my mouth.

Hunter steps back first.

After our laundry room run-in, I shower, throw my hair into a bun, and dig out the cleanest set of scrubs I can find.

Fletcher’s voice won’t leave my head.

You’ve got one shot. Don’t screw it up now.

So I grab my stethoscope and head to the hospital.

I’m not scheduled to shadow until later this week, but the OB unit always welcomes extra hands. The nurses there know me. Trust me. Sometimes I think they forget I’m still a student.

And once I walk through those double doors?

Everything else fades.

There’s a quiet rhythm here—steady, controlled, hopeful. The hum of fetal monitors. The soft voices of new mothers. The strength it takes to bring a life into the world and the quiet power of being there for it.

I help set up delivery carts. I answer questions. I chart vitals, assist with newborn checks, soothe a crying baby with practiced hands.

And for a few hours, I remember exactly why I’m doing this.

I’m good at this.

It’s the only place I feel like I don’t have to prove it.

Around noon, I finally get a break. I step into the break room, tie my hair back tighter, and check my phone.

One new message.

Grayson: I can’t stop thinking about last night.

Me: Which part? The sleepy me? The overwhelmed me? The one moaning your name?

Grayson: All of them. Especially the last one.

I bite my lip, cheeks warming as I stare at the screen.

Another buzz.

Grayson: I know you’re busy, I just wanted you to know you’ve been stuck in my head all morning.

I’m still grinning when another buzz lights up the screen.

Caleb: Hey nurse goddess. What’s poppin?

I smile.

Me: I’m at the hospital. Being responsible and everything.

Caleb: Hot.

I roll my eyes.

Me: You’re ridiculous.

I let my phone fall into my lap and close my eyes for a second.

Two guys texting me flirty messages while I sit in the break room of the one place that actually makes sense.

This is my life now.

I breathe in. Breathe out.

And try not to spiral again.

It almost works.

All I want is a hot shower.

Five hours of clinicals, two patients who cried on me, and I smell like antiseptic and bad decisions.

So I towel up, grab my bag, and head for the hall bathroom.

I push open the door—

And freeze.

Caleb’s already in there. Shirtless. Toothbrush in his mouth. Looking smug.

Also?

There’s a fleshlight on the counter.

Just sitting there like it belongs.

We both stare at it for a second. Then at each other.

He pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth. “I was gonna clean it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You looked like you were going to.”

“Well, now I am.”

Before I can close the door and back out, I notice something else.

My vibrator.

On the edge of the counter.

Where I definitely didn’t leave it.

“Oh my—” I grab it like it’s radioactive. “How did this get out here?!”

Caleb snorts around his toothpaste. “Looks like someone had a fun night.”

“I—shut up.”

Oh my gosh, it’s been laying on the counter since last night?! Meaning everyone in the house has probably now seen it.

We both go to speak at the same time, but it’s interrupted by the sound of the shower turning off.

The glass door swings open.

Grayson steps out, steam curling off him, towel low on his hips, hair wet and messy and utterly unconcerned by the chaos he just walked into.

He looks at the counter. At me. At Caleb. Nods.

“Hi.”

Caleb, recovering fast, gestures to the lineup of adult toys like he’s presenting evidence. “Apparently today’s communal sex toy cleaning day.”

I make a strangled sound.

Grayson just raises a brow. “I don’t have one.”

“Of course you don’t,” I mutter, clutching my vibrator like it might explode.

There’s a beat of silence. Grayson calmly tightens the towel around his waist and heads toward the door like this is normal. Like we’re all not melting inside.

“I’ll let you two sort this out,” he says.

Then he’s gone.

Caleb looks at me, toothpaste foam still on his lips. “So… are you gonna wash yours?”

I shove it into my towel and spin on my heel. “Nope. New plan. I live in this towel now.”

And I flee.

Behind me, Caleb’s laughter echoes down the hallway.

I head back to my room, defeated. Tired. And more than a little cranky.

I throw on my fluffy pink robe and collapse onto the bed just in time to hear my phone buzz against the dresser. I reach over and grab it.

?? The Hockey House Thread ???

Caleb: So just to

confirm—everyone saw the purple… accessory?

Grayson: Confirmed.

Hunter: Yep.

Rilee: NOPE. No. No you didn’t.

This conversation is over.

Caleb: Oh no. It’s just getting started.

Was it waterproof? For science.

Grayson: Looked ergonomic.

Rilee: I hate it here.

Hunter: She’s spiraling. ??

Caleb: Don’t spiral, sweetheart. We’re just admiring your commitment to personal wellness.

Rilee: I will end you.

Hunter: You left it ON THE COUNTER.

Next to a FLESHLIGHT.

This whole house needs to be power washed.

Grayson: Correction: I don’t own one. Not my mess.

Caleb: We get it, Grayson. You are the sex toy.

Hunter: No toys here either as long as we’re sharing.

Rilee: I’m deleting this thread and starting a new life.

Hunter: Please don’t. This is the best entertainment I’ve had all week.

Caleb: New group name suggestion: Rilee’s Rechargeables.

Grayson changed the group name to:

Battery Operated Chaos.

Rilee: You’re all dead to me.

I huff out an exhale and flop dramatically back onto the bed.

Then I open a new message and text Caleb separately.

Me: Why isn’t anyone making fun of your “commitment to personal wellness”?

Caleb: Nah, that’s not wellness. My dick just has needs.

Argh! I groan.

I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life.

Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll stop blushing like crazy.

The next time I head to the bathroom, I find the shower blissfully, mercifully empty.

No sex toys.

No shirtless teammates.

No taunting laughter echoing from down the hall.

Just me, hot water, and the first deep breath I’ve taken in days.

I scrub every inch of embarrassment off my skin, lather up like I’m trying to erase the group chat from my brain, and stand under the water until it turns lukewarm and my fingers wrinkle.

When I finally emerge—fresh-faced, towel-wrapped, emotionally semi-recovered—I check my phone on the counter.

One new email.

Subject line:

“Offer of Employment – Coastal Women’s Health, San Diego”

My heart stops.

I open it with shaky fingers.

The position I applied to months ago. My dream position at a brand new facility.

Full-time position. OB rotation.

Start date: four months from now, after graduation.

All the way in California.

I stare at the screen, dripping on the floor.

This is what I’ve worked for. What I’ve been clawing my way toward for the past four years. My dream job. My next chapter.

And it feels like someone just dropped a weight on my chest.

Because suddenly four months doesn’t feel like later.

It feels like a countdown.

And this messy, complicated, beautiful chaos I’ve found myself tangled in?

It’s temporary.

I’ve got a clock ticking now.

And I don’t know what I’m more afraid of—what I’ll lose when I leave, or what I’ll find in California.

Still, when the emotion settles, what’s left is this flicker of pride that refuses to dim.

By the time I’ve reread the email five times and done a barefoot victory dance in my towel, I’ve made a decision:

I’m celebrating.

So I fire off a message in the group thread:

Rilee: Happy hour. Tonight. I just got THE job offer. I expect drinks, fries, and applause.

Lexi’s already in. You’re all invited. And I swear if you bail, I’ll replace your shampoo with Nair._

Caleb: Be there. Buying the first round.

Grayson: Congrats. I’m in.

Hunter: What bar?

Caleb: He didn’t say no. That’s basically a yes.

The bar is low-lit and loud, with neon signs, high-top tables, and a two-for-one wing special that feels like a health violation waiting to happen.

Perfect.

Lexi is already there when I arrive, dressed in heels and glitter eyeliner, waving from a booth like she owns the place. I slide in beside her, still buzzing with excitement, when the boys arrive in quick succession—Caleb first, then Grayson, then Hunter in all his brooding, black-T-shirted glory.

They slide into the booth without hesitation. Caleb on my other side, Grayson across from me, Hunter nursing a beer and somehow managing to take up more space than any one man should.

“Guys, this is Lexi,” I say, gesturing to her.

She gives a little wave.

Then she grins wickedly, already tipsy enough to be dangerous. “Nice to meet you, officially, Cinnamon Stormcloud, Daddy Ice, and Golden Retriever on Skates.”

I choke on my drink. “Please stop.”

“Too late. Those are their nicknames now.”

Caleb raises a brow. “I better not be the dog.”

“You are,” she says sweetly, “but in a good way.”

Hunter just grunts, unimpressed. Grayson doesn’t react at all—just lifts his glass like he agrees.

And me?

I try not to blush like crazy. Now they know I’ve talked about them to my friend.

“Okay,” Lexi says, raising her glass. “To Rilee. Who is leaving all of us for sunshine and uterus-related glory.”

I raise mine, laughing. “To having a job and health insurance!”

We clink glasses. Someone spills beer. Caleb orders nachos for the table.

It’s chaos in the best way.

Grayson leans in when I talk. Caleb keeps brushing his knee against mine under the table. Even Hunter—grumpy, broody, maddening Hunter—won’t stop watching me like I’m a problem he’s trying not to solve.

“You’re quiet,” I say to him after a while, poking at his arm.

“I’m drinking,” he replies, flat.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

He shrugs but doesn’t look away. “You got what you wanted. That’s good.”

It should feel like support. It doesn’t.

It feels like distance.

Like he’s already bracing for me to leave.

And I hate how much that gets to me.

So I down the rest of my drink, throw a fry at Caleb, and lean back in the booth like I’m not one text away from spiraling.

I grab a mozzarella stick, dunk it in marinara, and take a bite—only to let out a soft, involuntary moan because it’s exactly the kind of greasy, cheesy heaven I needed after the day I’ve had.

The table goes quiet.

I glance up—and all three of them are staring.

Grayson’s still. Focused.

Caleb’s biting his lip.

Hunter blinks, looks away fast, then takes the longest possible sip of his drink.

Okay, that was weird.

“Another round,” Caleb says to our server. “And more of those mozzarella things she likes,” she says, eyeing me.

The happy hour is perfect, exactly what I needed.

And through it all, I notice things.

Like how none of them flirt with Lexi. Or the cute waitress. Or the two girls blatantly eyeing our table from across the bar.

They only flirt with me.

I can practically hear Lexi’s voice in my head— Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

For now?

I’ll let myself have this.

Fries. Friends. Three very different kinds of tension.

And four months left to figure out what the hell I’m doing.