Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Besides, she’s stable,” Alex added, opening one of the containers he’d brought and releasing the smell of something that made my stomach growl loudly. “The hard part’s over. She just needs to rest and heal now.”
Ella gently pushed me back into my chair, then perched in the chair beside me. She put her hand on my arm. “Okay, I need to say this, so just hear me out.”
Alex muttered under his breath while I shot a glare at Ella. I was pretty sure I already knew what she was going to say, but I let her continue anyway, mostly because I was too tired to argue.
“You leave for your interview tomorrow—”
I began shaking my head after the second word. “No way. I’ll tell them what happened. They’ll understand and reschedule—”
Her hand tightened a little on my arm until I met her eyes. “Tommy. Summer is when people go on vacation, which means rescheduling it anytime soon with the hiring committee will be nearly impossible.”
“Ella, I’m not fucking going. What you’re suggesting is—”
Alex cut me off. “Smart. And because we knew you were going to refuse, the whole damned family is turning up here at first light to make sure Hazel is covered. The only reason they’re not already here is because of the storm, but now that the weather is clearing, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jude’s plane is already in the air.”
I felt the weight of Foster’s silence on my other side. The deliberate choice to stay out of a “family matter.”
The lack of his input—arguing either side—struck me as annoying and wrong, which made no sense at all. He wasn’t part of my family. Or my future.
I glanced at him anyway. Because silly wishes were like that, and I was too tired to pretend.
He was looking down at his phone. It took me a moment to register that the screen was blank.
Ella continued her argument. “You know there are level one trauma docs here. People who know how to care for broken legs and post-surgical patients. This is not a rare medical disorder for which Thomas Marian is the only prodigy with the skills to care for this patient.” She lifted her chin at Foster. “You’re going to let this guy take you back to SERA for the night. Then you’re going to go to California. After you get back from your interview, you can visit Hazel at home.”
Ella was right. I was scheduled to fly out in the morning, meet with the department chair for dinner, and then spend the following day touring the hospital, meeting the other stakeholders, and finishing out the panel interviews. Chances were high Hazel would be back home recovering by the time I returned, and there was nothing to indicate she was high-risk for complications.
She was also right when she said rescheduling the interviews would be an inconvenience for quite a lot of people.
But this was my sister. And I was a doctor.
Foster stood up, and something in his posture shifted—from neutral bystander to someone taking charge. “Let’s go.”
I looked between them—Ella with her determined expression, Alex pretending patience while most likely waiting for more fireworks between me and Ella, and Foster standing guard by my chair, radiating that same measured strength he’d shown all day.
“You need to get some sleep, Doc. Let’s start with that.”
Something in his voice—a promise, maybe, or just the absolute certainty that he knew what the next right step was—made the last of my resistance crumble.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Ella’s face flooded with relief. “Thank god. I was about to start mixing sedatives into your coffee.”
Foster’s hand appeared on my shoulder, warm and steadying. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
Home. The word hit me strangely. When had Cabin 8 become home?
The drive back to SERA passed in a blur of dark mountain roads and the steady rhythm of windshield wipers against light rain. I sat in the passenger seat of Foster’s truck, clutching the cooling coffee Foster had given me, and tried to process everything that had happened.
The accident. The surgery. Foster staying with me through all of it, never once suggesting he had somewhere else he needed to be. The way he’d taken control of the scene, the way he’d protected Hazel’s privacy from reporters, the way he’d simply… been there.
“Thank you,” I said finally, my voice barely audible over the engine.
“For what?”
“For driving me through the storm. For being right about needing lights and sirens. For staying. For—” I gestured vaguely, unable to find words for everything he’d done. “All of it.”
Foster glanced over at me, something soft and unreadable in his expression. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“Yes, I do. You didn’t have to—”
“Tommy.” He reached over and briefly covered my hand with his. “Yes, I did.”
The easy assurance in his voice made my chest tight with something I wasn’t ready to name. Something I was sure Foster wasn’t ready for me to name.