By the time I woke up the next morning, the bed beside me was empty, and my phone screen read 12 p.m. I sighed, dragging myself out of bed and making my way downstairs, where I found Brooke still lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

She glanced up at me and sat up as I walked into the kitchen to make us some coffee.

"What even happened last night?" she asked, rubbing her temple as she approached the island.

"Too much," I muttered, handing her a cup before taking a sip of my own.

After a while, Brooke left, citing sorority obligations and the need to study—at least, that's what she claimed. The rest of my day was spent cleaning the house and simply unwinding.

Later that afternoon, I received a call from the hospital confirming that I had secured the position. I would be starting on Tuesday, working three-day weeks with 12-hour shifts. The idea of working in the ER excited me, even though my life already had enough chaos as it was.

The next two days passed in a blur, and before I knew it, I was stepping into the hospital, ready to begin my shift. I hadn't heard from Everest since the night he was drunk in my bed, and I couldn't shake the curiosity about whether he had actually taken that guy's hand.

After completing orientation, my team lead, Mason, who I would be working with regularly, gave me a tour and set me up with my ID. He was tall, with shaggy blonde hair and warm brown eyes—cute, kind, and incredibly welcoming.

Six hours into the shift, my feet were screaming for relief. Finally, I made it to the break room, heating up the TV dinner I had brought with me. As I peeled the plastic wrap off, Mason walked in and sat down across from me.

I offered him a small smile. "So, you said you recently moved here from New York. How did you find a small town like Locus?"

I let out a small giggle at his amused expression.

"I actually grew up here. Moved to New York when I was sixteen," I explained.

"Well, that raises my next question—why would you ever want to come back?" he asked, giving me a curious look.

I sighed, tossing my empty tray into the trash. "It got just as lonely there as it could be here. Plus, my best friend is here... and the little family I have left."

Washing my hands, I prepared to return to the floor.

"I get that. I didn't grow up here either. I moved for university, got a job here right after graduation, and just... never left," he said as we walked down the hall together.

I raised a brow at him. "So I guess I can ask you the same thing—what made you stay?"

This time, he chuckled. "A girl. We dated in college. She loved the small-town life, and I hated it, but she convinced me this would be the perfect place to start a family. Then, she left. Packed up and moved to Miami or something because she wasn't ready to settle down."

"Oh... I'm sorry," I murmured, feeling a pang of sympathy. He did have this lost puppy look—big brown eyes practically pleading take me home with you.

"Shit happens, right?" he shrugged.

I nodded in agreement. Yeah, shit definitely does happen.

———————————

The week flew by, and so did the next, and for once, I felt at peace—exactly what I had come here searching for.

Finally, after a long shift, I stepped outside at 5 a.m., beyond relieved to be heading home.

"Hey, Avery!" Mason's voice called from behind me. I turned to see him jogging toward me, slightly out of breath.

"Everything okay?" I asked, laughing softly at his disheveled appearance.

*"Yeah, I just didn't want to miss you. I was—" he paused, holding up a hand as he caught his breath, "I was wondering if I could get your number. Maybe we could grab a drink sometime?"

A grin spread across my face as I held out my hand for his phone.

"Sure," I replied, typing in my number before handing it back.

"I gotta get back inside," he added, glancing toward the hospital. "The new team lead called off, so... overtime it is."

"Have fun," I teased, giving him a small wave as he jogged back inside.

As I walked toward my truck, exhaustion weighed on me. Last night had been rough—a flood of drunk college kids getting their stomachs pumped, stitched up, and treated for injuries from some massive fight.

I put the car and drive and make my way out of the parking lot. I've been going the back way home as I found it more relaxing, especially this early in the morning.

As I'm driving down the long stretch of road with nothing but trees on either side, the truck makes a weird noise and all of a sudden loses all power. I drift to the side of the road, pulling off and turned the key off before going to turn it back on.

Nothing.

No sound, no clicking, nothing at all.

"What the hell?" I muttered, groaning as I stepped out. The sun was just starting to rise, casting a dim glow over the empty road.

Popping the hood, I was immediately met with a thick cloud of smoke. I staggered back, coughing and waving my hand in front of my face. Great. Here I was, stuck in pink scrubs and Crocs, stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Looking around, I saw no signs of life.

This is why you're gonna die someday, Avery, I scolded myself. Instead of taking the main road home, I had chosen the back roads to avoid traffic. Morning rush hour was hell, and I wanted no part of it.

I pulled out my phone.

Too early to call Brooke. It was Greek Week—hence the influx of drunk college kids—and she had class at 9 a.m. Mason? No, he was already covering a shift.

I scrolled past Everest's number without hesitation.

I hesitated at Austin's contact, but knowing him, he'd just make things worse, and that would inevitably lead me to dealing with Everest later.

Sighing, I shoved my phone back into my pocket.

With no better option, I started walking. My house was four miles away, at most.

As I walked, enjoying the sunrise despite my circumstances, the distant roar of engines caught my attention.

I turned to see a group of motorcycles approaching. My pulse quickened as I moved farther off the road, crossing my arms tightly and keeping my head down.

I didn't even glance up as they flew past, my body rigid until they disappeared.

Only then did I let out a breath of relief and sink to the ground, exhausted.

My phone read 5:59 a.m.

Maybe I had underestimated the distance.

I pushed myself to my feet and resumed walking.

Another roar of an engine broke through the silence.

This time, I whipped my head around.

Only one bike.

I turned away, quickening my pace, but my breath hitched as the bike suddenly skidded to a stop in front of me.

The Sons of Sin logo on the leather jacket made my stomach drop.

The club had grown since I was a teenager. These new bikers didn't know me—not until someone put a gun to their head over me. So what was stopping them from messing with me now?

The rider turned off the bike, and my eyes widened in recognition.

"Sin," I breathed.

He smirked. "Thought that was Rider's truck back there—on fire."

My stomach dropped. "On FIRE?!" I spun around, but I had already walked too far to see.

"Yeah," he said, completely unfazed. "Wasn't sure if I was just seeing things. Haven't slept in three days."

I stared at his bloodied arm as he stepped off the bike.

"What happened to your arm? You need stitches—let me look—"

He yanked it away. "Busted the window to make sure you weren't inside. Couldn't get the door open."

My head spun.

"Your house is ten fucking miles from here. You didn't think to call me?!"

His tone was sharp, and I flinched slightly, lowering my head.

"I didn't want to bother anyone."

"Look at me when you talk to me."

His bloody fingers gripped my chin, tilting my face toward his.

"Get on. I'm taking you home."

I nod and tuck my braid into my shirt. As soon as he gets on the bike, I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head against his back and closing my eyes. The warm morning air feels good as we ride, and for a moment, I could almost fall asleep. Correction—I definitely almost fell asleep. The sudden silence of the engine cutting off jolts me awake, and before I know it, we're at my house.

Once inside, I head straight to the coat closet, pulling out my mom's medical bag.

"What are you doing?" He stands by the door, giving me a puzzled look.

"Sit down. You're bleeding all over the place." I toss the bag onto the island.

"I'm no—"

I cut him off, grabbing his arm. "No, you already bled all over me, and now you're bleeding all over my house."

He jerks his arm away and starts to stand, but I push him back down onto the stool.

"Please," I say, almost pleading. "Let me help you this time."

He finally relents, laying out his arm. "Thank you," I mumble, opening the bag.

"This might hurt." I reach for the alcohol, but he just gives me a look—one that says, I've been through worse.

I clean the wound and begin stitching it up. He doesn't even flinch. The lidocaine in the bag is long expired, so numbing the pain isn't an option anyway. As I work, I take a moment to study his face. He looks exhausted, utterly drained. His pale complexion and sunken eyes confirm what I already suspected—he really hasn't slept in the past three days. Then again, I probably don't look much better.

Once I finish bandaging his arm, I clean up the counter. He gets up, shrugs his jacket back on, and heads toward the door.

"No," I say instinctively, grabbing his wrist.

He freezes, then turns to look at me.

"Stay. You need sleep."

"I got shit to do." His voice is flat, indifferent.

Without thinking, I pull him into a hug. He doesn't move, doesn't hug me back.

"Come to bed with me," I murmur into his chest.

I feel his hands as they move to cradle my head, tilting my face up toward him.

"What did I say about looking at me when you talk to me?"

"I'm sorry..." I meet his eyes directly.

"And stop fuckin' apologizing."

Instead of responding, I take his hand and lead him upstairs to my room.

He kicks off his boots, shrugs off his jacket, and lets it fall to the floor before collapsing onto the bed, instantly passing out.

I take the opportunity to slip into the bathroom, strip down, and sink into the hot bathwater, letting the warmth engulf me.