Archive of Our Own

The fuck was she going on about with yay?

Their teenage daughter kissing a boy on their couch was not yay. In fact, Jack was fairly sure it was the opposite of yay. Yay and that situation didn’t belong anywhere near the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence. Especially not when it was happening under his—fine, Beth’s—roof while he stood twenty feet away like a fucking idiot. No. Actually. It was not yay. It was very, very not yay.

What were they fucking celebrating with Beth whispering yay like this was some milestone worth commemorating? What milestone? Ruining her father’s blood pressure? Breaking his spirit? Turning him into a shell of a man who now lurked in his own living room? Because if so, yay. Fantastic. Gold star.

Fucking yay. Give him a break.

Apparently, Atlas agreed, because the dog let out a loud, displeased snort before he flopped onto his back on the bed beside Jack. A pair of heavy paws dug pointedly into Jack’s ribs before the dog settled with a grunt that might as well have been, yeah, man, that sucked for all of us. Jack stared up at the ceiling fan turning lazily above him, jaw tight, shoulders braced like he was about to lift a patient off a gurney. He tracked the soft whir of the blades, Beth’s too-soft mattress swallowing him whole, the thick comforter bunched around his waist from the last round of frustrated tossing. He needed to sleep—Beth had sent him upstairs to do just that before his shift, once the neighbor kid had finally left and Jack had stopped inventing reasons to wander into the living room like some suburban security Roomba.

Jesus. He hadn’t known they even sold mattresses this soft. And for what fucking reason? Who slept on this marshmallow-dreamland bullshit? Jack didn’t know, and he didn’t fucking care, because for the last two hours he’d been lying in it—sinking in it—he couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that he had invited a kid into his house who then proceeded to kiss his daughter while Jack was standing in the next room like a blind, useless bystander in his own home.

Fucking yay.

No. You know what?

It wasn’t yay at all. Fucking karma was what it was.

Every rational part of him wanted to remind himself that she was seventeen, that she had a brain, that maybe—maybe—she knew what she was doing. But the part of him thirty years in the making—the part that knew damn well what teenagers did when left alone with a parent in the other room—was having none of it. The part that had decided to ‘check the thermostat’ or ‘find a charger for Mom’s phone’ or ‘assemble an IV pole behind them as loudly as he possibly fucking could’ was on full, blaring, DEFCON-1 alert.

And rationally, he knew he didn’t even have a leg to stand on. He didn’t get to pretend that the moral high ground was his. Not when the five Polaroids he’d taken as a teenager, while he was balls deep in a girl who ‘had a brain and knew exactly what she was doing’, were sitting right there in the nightstand drawer like some cosmic middle finger to remind him that girls lied to their dads. Girls lied so well. Girls lied with dimpled smiles and straight A’s and “I swear no one’s at the house, Daddy.” Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Shut it down.

Jack rolled over with a short, irritated huff, trying to negotiate some position on the bed that didn’t make him feel like he was drowning in a puff pastry. Instead, he found himself nose-to-nose with Atlas’s big, dumb, hippo-looking face. The dog’s ears were plastered back, eyes wide and earnest, like he could absorb Jack’s spiraling emotions through sheer proximity. Before Jack could even blink, Atlas yawned wide, then dragged a warm, slobbery lick straight up Jack’s cheek… and then, without a single moment of hesitation or shame, moved directly on to licking his own ass.

Fantastic. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t the universe pile that on? Really capped off the whole night.

The bedroom door creaked open. A slice of hallway light cut across the bed, catching the dog mid-lick like a searchlight.

“Don’t do that on my bed,” Beth chided, snapping her fingers as she leaned against the doorframe. “Off. Out. Go.”

Atlas let out a grumpy, warbling groan that sounded suspiciously like he was arguing his case, but he hauled himself off the mattress anyway, waddling across the room like the most persecuted creature alive. The door clicked shut behind him, followed by the soft turn of the lock.

Jack rolled again, tracking the sound, and watched Beth cross the darkened bedroom—silhouette easy and sure-footed in the dark. Something in him—tight, hot, coiled from hours of overthinking—finally gave a reluctant exhale.

“Still pouting?” she asked, her voice soft and amused as she slipped onto the bed.

Jack didn’t answer right away, mostly because the only response he had was a noise that absolutely sounded like pouting, and he refused to give her that kind of ammunition. He turned onto his back, pushing himself up against the headboard while Beth crawled up the sheets toward him. Her knees bracketed his waist before she sank back into his lap, hands warm on his chest. His own found her waist instinctively, thumbs brushing over the curve of her hips like they’d been waiting there all night.

“I’m not pouting,” he muttered, which would’ve sounded a lot more convincing if it didn’t come out low and sulky and about two shades away from an actual pout. Her eyebrow lifted; he pretended not to see it.

“Oh, so you’re sleeping then?” she teased. She hummed out a laugh when he rolled his eyes at her, that small, fond smirk pulling at her mouth. She leaned in, brushing her lips over his, and he immediately locked his arms around her waist, tugging her closer like that alone could shut her up. It never did. He kept trying anyway.

“Tryin’ to,” he muttered against her mouth. “This damn bed doesn’t make it easy, though.”

“Oh, relax,” she murmured, her lips trailing slow and deliberate along his jaw. “It’s not the bed, Jack.”

He snorted. “You come up here to nag at me?”

“You mean did I come up to my own bedroom to listen to you whine about my mattress?” she shot back, laughing softly—her breath and her voice buzzing warm against his skin. “No. I came up because our hungover daughter fell asleep on the couch with the TV on, and I couldn’t take another second of Gladiator. That alright with your grumpy ass?”

He let out another annoyed grunt, though it came out far more halfhearted than he intended when her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging his head to the side and baring more of his skin to her mouth. She leaned in just a little, lips brushing his neck, that smug little smirk still playing at her lips.

“We got up to a lot worse at that age, Jack,” she murmured, soft and teasing, lacing her fingers behind his neck.

“I know that,” he sighed, the tension in his shoulders giving just slightly. Beth shifted back on her ankles, bracing herself on his thighs, head cocked, studying him like he was some particularly stubborn problem she didn’t need solved. “That’s the problem.”

Beth snorted, amused. “Honey, I highly doubt she’s getting into half of what we did as kids.”

Jack groaned. “She came home piss drunk last night and kissed a boy in our living room.”

Beth tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “He kissed her,” she amended, as if it mattered. “And if I remember correctly, the first person she wanted last night was you.”

Jack shot her a hard look, one that was part warning, part incredulity. She met it without flinching, rolling her eyes like he was the ridiculous one. Then she leaned forward, hands sliding high on his thighs, the placement deliberate enough to make him forget half of what he’d been thinking.

“Jack,” she murmured, low and teasing, her hand brushing over the front of his boxes, “we have a drawer full of decades-old homemade porn and were fucking in the woods while my parents thought I was at sleepovers. Realistically, we should have a child who is about to turn thirty. She’s not as dumb as we were.”

Jack blinked at her, frozen between horror and admiration. Of course. Of course she would remind him of that. His mind stuttered, sputtered, and finally landed somewhere between speechless and mildly terrified.

“Right,” he said finally. “Because that makes everything better.”

Beth just smirked, leaning closer, letting her words—and her warmth—sink in. “Exactly.”

Her lips found his again, soft and insistent, while her hands drifted down to toy with the waistband of his boxers. She pressed into him, rocking her hips lightly against his, like she was trying to shove all the thoughts from his brain into the corner of the room and leave him blank. His hands slipped under her sweatshirt, fingers brushing warm skin, a sigh escaping her lips before they trailed back to his neck, then down along the slope of his collarbones.

“If you think back on it, though—” he started, but her sigh came like the air had just been sucked out of the room. “We started off pretty tame. It’s naive of us to think—”

“Jack,” she groaned, letting her forehead drop against his shoulder like she was two seconds from knocking his head into the headboard just to get him to stop talking.

“Beth.” He huffed. She lifted her face, eyes locking on his with that familiar cocktail of fondness and disbelief. He sighed, then started again, “I just don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to be worried that—”

“Baby,” she said, closing her eyes and flattening both hands against his chest like she was actually trying to push the words back down his throat.

“What?”

She inhaled, slow and steady, like a woman preparing herself for a medical procedure. “I love you so much. I really do. I love how much you love her. I love how your first instinct is to keep her safe, and I swear to God I am willing to listen and have this entire conversation with you later. We can be good parents in an hour, I promise.” She tilted her head, voice lilting sweetly as if she were explaining something to a toddler and not a grown man she’d had her tongue in two minutes ago whose whole chest had seized up at those first five words. She leaned in, kissing his jaw once—chaste, maddening.

“But?” He prompted, tilting his head with a soft groan when her teeth grazed against his skin.

“But we are back on opposite shifts for six days starting in four hours.” Her fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers in a teasing brush. “And I would really, really like to come without someone knocking, puking, having a teenaged crisis, or me having to get myself off alone while fantasizing about you like I’m a sad single mom again.”

Jack exhaled sharply, hips twitching up towards her fingers. She rocked her hips against his just once—slow, devastating.

“I haven’t been able to fuck you regularly in thirty years and I am really not interested in waiting until our next day off,” she murmured, dragging her nails lightly across his hip before she palmed him through the thin fabric of his boxers impatiently. “So unless you’ve got an objection worth hearing—unless someone is bleeding, dying, or the house is on fire—take your pants off, put your dick in me, and for the love of God, shut up.”

He let his head fall back against the headboard with a low groan, nodding—because yeah, fine, she was right, he’d shut up, whatever she wanted. The agreement had barely left his body before she hooked her fingers in his boxers and yanked them down his hips.

His breath hitched hard when her hand wrapped around him, and her mouth dragged hotly up his throat. She stroked him, slow and deliberate, licking a broad stripe up the column of his throat before catching his mouth again in a kiss that stole what was left of his restraint. Jack lifted his hips automatically, giving her room to shove his boxers farther down, their lips parting for just a single, ragged breath.

“You love me, huh?” he managed, his whisper cracking into a laugh he didn’t even mean to make.

Beth’s head dropped against his jaw with something between a gasp and a disbelieving groan. “Jack Elliott,” she panted, hand tightening around him, “stop. Talking.”

“What? You just get to drop that on a guy and I’m not allowed to say shit about—?”

The words caught in his throat the instant she curled her fingers in the hem of her sweater and yanked it overhead, letting it tumble in a heap onto the floor. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, freckles cascading down her chest before scattering across pale skin.

She settled back into his lap again, rocking just enough to make him painfully aware of every curve, every soft sway of her hips. Not that he was fooling himself about the way her breasts bounced slightly with the movement. Jack bit back a grin, trying—so desperately trying—to stay composed, but the heat in his chest, the ache pressing between his legs, and the absolute perfect wickedness of her sitting there in his lap made it a losing battle.

“That your way of shutting me up?” he asked, hands finding her hips again to pull her forward.

She hummed, eyebrows lifting just enough to challenge him before she met his pull with a rock of her hips. “Does it still work?”

Jack nodded, because the answer, in all honesty, was yes.

“Good parents in an hour?” he asked. 

“Good parents in an hour,” she agreed, lips curving into that wicked little smirk.

Jack let out a guttural, agreeing grunt, chest tightening as he brought his hand up, tangling his fingers in her hair. Without hesitation, he tugged her down toward him, forcing her mouth back to his.

Fucking yay. 

Jack had never been a picture guy. Beth was the one who used to run around with a camera glued to her hand, yelling at him to “stand still, idiot, you’re ruining it.” He’d groan and roll his eyes, but he’d lean in anyway, because she asked. She was the one who documented their summers, their stupid dares, the lazy creek afternoons that felt endless. Beth saw moments worth keeping; Jack just lived through them and figured that was enough. After he left Coldwater, that instinct calcified into something closer to resignation—nothing in those years felt worth pausing long enough to capture. He didn’t want proof of how far he’d drifted.

After Rach came around, things felt worth documenting again. He slowed down long enough to let himself stand in whatever moments they shared. But after she died, his camera roll didn’t just thin out—it flatlined.  One day there were pictures of diner breakfasts and her handwriting on napkins, and the next there was nothing. He couldn’t stand the idea of holding his phone up and framing a world she wasn’t in. Every good thing felt temporary, every smile a reminder of the one he’d never see again.

So he stopped. No more sunsets, no more bar nights, no more “look at this”—just silence where a life was supposed to be.

The only exceptions were Moose—because even in the worst years, the dog insisted on shoving his big stupid face into Jack’s hands and forcing his attention—and the handful of selfies he’d taken in moments of stupid optimism, usually right before setting up a dating profile he’d delete within an hour. They weren’t good photos—as he was sure Abby would explain to him if she, god forbid, ever got her hands on them. Bad bathroom lighting, awkward angle, a jaw set too tight. Every time he looked at them he felt exposed, like he was trying on some other man’s life.

But in the last couple weeks, something in him had loosened—eased up enough that his phone wasn’t just a dead, obligatory object anymore. One minute his camera roll was the same barren landscape it had been for years, and the next it had…color again. It started with that damn selfie Abby took when her car battery died. She’d stolen his phone under the terms of their “one of your crap songs, one of mine” treaty and snapped a picture before he could protest—her grinning, Moose’s fat head wedged between the seats like he was the star of the show, Jack looking reluctantly amused in the driver’s seat. He’d told her to delete it. She hadn’t. And he was glad she hadn’t.

Then there was the picture of Beth. The one he took without thinking, without permission, right before he left her place to go change the night Abby dragged that box home from his apartment. She’d fallen asleep on the bed, hair a mess, notebooks and letters strewn across the bed, the sheets twisted around her body where they’d fallen. The lamp cast her in this soft, warm glow he’d never seen on her when she was awake—hell, he hadn’t seen her like that in years outside of fleeting daydreams. Something in him tightened—something old and familiar—and he lifted the phone because he wanted to remember her exactly like that. Peaceful. Real. His.

After that, the photos came easier. A grocery list she scribbled and shoved into his hand during handoff that he knew he’d lose. Something Abby texted him claiming she absolutely needed from the store, complete with three dramatic exclamation points and a plea for urgency. A meme Beth saw on Facebook that made her think of him sent with a laughing emoji. Little things. Normal things. And then bigger ones—grainy pictures of Abby cheering, her and Beth bundled up down by the field after the game with their arms around each other, Beth’s beanie swallowing half her face while Abby’s nose was pink with cold. Imperfect shots that somehow meant more because of it.

His camera roll was slowly filling with things that weren’t posed or precious or painful, but things that felt like…life. Ordinary enough that he was proud to show them. So when Lena said the word homecoming—barely got it out, really—Jack already had his phone in his hand, flipping through pictures he hadn’t realized he was waiting his whole damn life to have.

And then Walsh’s dumb ass showed up.

Jack barely looked up from the phone as Lena handed it back. “Look at that dress! My husband would have had a heart attack. She looked so pretty,” she said, “She looks just like her mom, lucky girl.”

He snorted as he took it back, thumb brushing over the pictures again. “No kidding—good thing you have boys.”

Lena huffed a laugh, fingers already flying across the keyboard again. The faint hum of the ER wrapped around him—the beep of monitors, the squeak of a gurney rolling past, the distant chatter of a nurse checking vitals. Night shift had a rhythm of its own, one Jack knew too well, and yet the soft glow of the screen felt like a pocket of quiet inside the chaos.

Emery leaned against the counter across from him, smugness radiating like heatwaves even before she opened her mouth. She tilted her head and smirked. “It’s a good thing you have nothing to do with her biologically,” she said casually, like she was passing judgment on someone else’s homework. She plucked Jack’s phone from his hand like it belonged to her and started scrolling. “Poor girl wouldn’t stand a chance if she got stuck with half of your ass.”

Jack smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, well,” he said, “God clearly had a plan. Didn’t want me passing on my good looks—would be unfair to the rest of you.”

“Yeah, that’s why,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Jack reached for his phone again but Emery was faster. She swatted it out of reach like a cat batting a toy. “Finally gracing us with your presence, or are you still too busy playing house with Doctor MILF to come to work?”

“Don’t call her that.” 

“I’ll stop calling her that when Garcia’s little girlfriend does,” Emery shot back flatly, still scrolling through the photos. She held the phone up and the picture of Abby grinning with Moose filling half the frame lit the screen. “Aw, you two look so cute,” she added.

Jack rolled his eyes again, making another half-hearted reach for his phone, only for Emery to yank it away before he could get a grip. She held it up like a trophy, then passed it to Ellis, who slid up beside her with a waiting hand.

“Sadly for you,” Jack muttered, “I’m back.”

Emery’s face fell into a mock pout. “Aw,” she said, waving a hand like she’d just been wronged. “I thought I got lucky and you finally succumbed to your old age. I was so excited. I even ordered a cake.”

Jack snorted, shaking his head. “Cake? Really? For me? Shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t. It was for me. Shelby’s going to be so disappointed.”

“My deepest condolences to your wife that I haven’t kicked the bucket yet.”

“Better luck next year.”

Ellis leaned over, holding the phone out toward Jack. The screen lit up with a picture of Shaun and Abby in the living room—Abby’s head tucked under his chin, grinning brightly.

“Boyfriend?” Ellis asked, eyebrows raised. 

Jack gave a slow nod, his jaw tight as he absorbed the image. Ellis snapped her fingers happily before she turned the phone back toward herself, scrolling just a touch. “Okay, biracial grandbabies. I see you,” she said, brows knitting as if she were seriously calculating the genetic outcome before he could unclench. Then she flicked the screen around again, holding it up. This time it was Abby and Gavin. “Whose this then?”

Jack groaned, the tension in his shoulders folding into frustration. “That’s the weasely little fuck who got my kid so drunk she could barely stand,” he muttered, pushing off the counter. He held his hand out for the phone. Ellis grinned, slapping it into his palm. “Thought Beth and I were going to have to bring her in there for a while.”

Ellis leaned against the counter, a grin tugging at her lips. “Alcohol poisoning on Homecoming night. Basically a right of passage,” she said, nudging Emery for emphasis.

Emery shrugged. “Prom night, technically. I still can’t smell Fireball without losing my lunch.”

From the monitor down the hub, Shen looked up, incredulous. “Wait…you guys were getting drunk in high school?”

Ellis raised a brow. “You weren’t?”

Shen shrugged, taking a slow sip from his iced coffee before returning to his charting.

Jack let his head fall back, eyes closing for just a moment as he drew in a long, slow sigh—like it could somehow rescue him from this god-awful conversation. “So…everyone here was just…disappointing their dads?”

Emery gave him a flat look. “Speak for yourself. I wore a suit to prom. My dad was fine.”

“Abbot!” a voice barked down the hall like a messenger from God himself, and Jack felt the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. Thank God. Maybe he wasn’t as lapsed of a Catholic as he thought he was.

Bridget popped up next to him, tapping lightly on his arm with her tablet before holding it out to him. “Five-year-old patient. Looking like RSV. Needs a chest x-ray. Won’t let anyone but ‘her doctor’ touch her.”

Jack blinked, pushing himself off the counter. “What does that mean?”

Bridget rolled her eyes, already tapping out of the tablet before shoving it into his hands. “Like hell if I know. That’s what they overpay you for. Tag in.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Where?”

“3,” she said, already moving on before he could ask anything else. He followed the directions down the hall, the hum of the night shift fading slightly as he pushed open the door.

The little thing on the exam table was all bruised knees and messy curls left wild around a face so pale it immediately had him on edge. The girl flinched when the door shut behind him, hazel eyes tracking him like a spooked animal. He hesitated just inside, one hand still on the handle. It had been a minute since he’d last been outside, but it was cold when he left the house that evening—the girls had barely lifted themselves out of the heap of blankets they’d been buried under all afternoon when they kissed him goodnight, and Beth had nagged him about a coat twice before he was even halfway to the door. He almost smiled thinking of it, but the sight in front of him made it die in his chest. The little girl on the bed hugged herself against the chill of the room, wearing a pair of shorts and a long-sleeve shirt that didn’t even reach her wrists.

What set his shoulders too tight wasn’t the bruises or the clothes, though—it was the way she watched him. Eyes too alert for someone that young, her body drawn up small, heels digging into the paper-covered table like she was ready to spring if he got too close. He’d seen that look before. That mix of wariness and calculation, like she was measuring whether or not he was safe. He knew that assessment all too well by the time she was her age. It made him slow down, gentler in how he moved. The stool creaked as he lowered himself onto it and checked the name on the chart again, hands hanging loosely between his knees, trying to make himself smaller somehow.

“You must be Rylie,” he said, keeping his voice low. “My friend Bridget told me you aren’t feeling too good. I’m Doctor Abbot.”

The woman in the corner didn’t bother to look up from her phone. The glow of the screen illuminated her face, her thumb moving steadily in that same bored way Abby scrolled on hers until Beth barked at her to get off the damn thing and focus on her homework, like she’d rather be anywhere else. He looked from her to the girl again, who was still hugging herself, eyes flicking between him and the door like she was counting exits.

“I told her I wanted my doctor,” the girl said, chin resting on the tops of her drawn-up knees.

The woman in the corner—the foster mom, he assumed—rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she didn’t fall out of her chair.

“Quit being a brat and let him look at you,” she said, her thumb still flicking across her phone screen. The girl shot her a glare that could’ve rivaled Abby’s on her worst day, but the woman didn’t even notice. “We’ve already been here too damn long because of all your whining. I told you—I want to go home.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. He kept his expression neutral, or tried to. Years in the ER had taught him that kids mirrored whatever they saw on your face—hell, most grown men did the same damn thing—but part of him figured he’d known that long before. If he looked angry, she’d only fold in tighter. So he didn’t let his eyes leave the girl’s, not even when the woman snapped her gum loud enough to make the girl flinch. Something old that he thought he didn’t feel anymore twisted hard when the girl pressed in tighter on herself at the sound.

Then, as if she’d just realized he was there, the foster mom finally looked up. “Waited for three damn hours, by the way,” she said, waving her phone in his direction like it proved something. “No wonder this place has such a shit rating on Yelp.”

Jack bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper. He turned toward the woman, catching her indignant stare full-on. She had her eyebrows raised, chin tilted like she was waiting for him to tap dance, juggle, and produce a signed apology from Gloria herself for the audacity of her three-hour wait. He raised his own brows right back.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he said flatly, every syllable dipped in dry professionalism. She huffed and went back to her phone. Fine by him. He turned back to the girl, letting out a slow breath as he crouched a little to meet her eye level. “I’m here now.”

The girl blinked up at him, still wary, but her grip on her knees loosened just a bit. “I want my doctor,” she murmured again.

The woman groaned, snapping her phone down into her lap hard enough that it made the girl flinch. “Jesus Christ. Knock it off—”

“It’s alright,” Jack cut in before she could get any further. He turned to face her, slow enough to make the movement deliberate. “She’s alright. Nothing I’m not used to.”

She rolled her eyes and slouched deeper into her chair, kicking one leg over the other, and picked her phone back up. The blue light from the screen washed across her face as she started scrolling again, gum cracking between her teeth. So much for a decent patient satisfaction score. Oops. Sorry, Mike.

He turned back to the girl, the scrape of the stool low against the tile. Rylie’s eyes darted between the woman in the corner and him. When her gaze finally settled on him, he offered her a small, easy smile, elbows resting on his knees.

“Your doctor, huh?” he said quietly.

Rylie gave a tiny nod, still hugging her knees. “She didn’t believe me,” she murmured, glancing at the woman.

He smiled faintly, glancing over his shoulder toward the woman and back again. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I think she didn’t quite understand what you meant.” He tilted his head a little. “Can you tell me who your doctor is, Miss Rylie?”

She blinked up at him, cautious at first, like she wasn’t sure if she’d get in trouble for answering.

“Doctor Beth,” she whispered. “She calls me Miss Rylie, too, because she told me her for-real name and I told her mine.”

Her voice picked up the faintest hint of pride at the title, and her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. The tight coil she kept herself in loosened enough for him to catch the way the skin at her collarbone caught and her nostrils flared when she took a rough breath.  “She smiles and knows princesses. I’d like her, please and thank you. She’s nice.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, nodding. Of course. He should’ve seen that coming the second Rylie mentioned she’d asked for her doctor. He smiled faintly and leaned forward a little, resting his forearms on his knees.

“She is nice,” he said. “I think she’d be pretty happy to know you remember her.”

Rylie’s eyes went wide, and a small, hopeful light flickered across her face. She sat up a little straighter, fingers twisting in her lap. “You… you know my Doctor Beth?”

Jack nodded, keeping his voice gentle, careful not to startle her. “Yeah,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s my Doctor Beth too.”

Her mouth fell open just a fraction, and she blinked at him like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. Then her shoulders relaxed a little, her knees uncurling just enough for her hands to rest on her lap. “Really?” she whispered, like the confirmation made the room a little less sharp, a little less scary.

“Really,” he assured her, voice soft. “She takes care of all of us—me, you, anyone who needs her. She’s pretty great, isn’t she?”

The girl nodded, then let out a wet, rattling cough that made her little face twist. “She made my knee all better a while ago,” she said, hugging herself closer. Then, suspicion creeping back into her voice, she asked, “Are you really sure you know my Doctor Beth?”

Jack chuckled. “I’m sure. Here, I have proof.”

He shifted on the stool, fingers rifling into his pocket. Rylie’s eyes widened just a little, leaning back as if bracing herself for some kind of trick. He pulled out his phone and set it carefully on the foot of the bed, tapping the screen until it flickered awake. The glow illuminated her curious face, and she pushed herself up slightly on her knees, leaning in just a little as Jack angled the device toward her and showed her his Lock Screen.

“See? That’s me,” he said softly, tracing a finger along his own face in the picture they’d taken before Abby left last night. “That’s Doctor Beth,” he continued, tapping hers. “And that’s our girl.” He lingered on Abby, caught mid-laugh, the last bit of evening sunlight catching her hair.

Rylie’s eyes scanned the screen, darting across the familiar face. Her small hand twitched on her knee, half-reaching for the phone before she pulled it back again, still unsure but undeniably curious.

“Abby,” Rylie said, leaning a little closer at last, her hands hovering over the phone. “She’s a big girl.”

“That’s right,” Jack said, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

“Doctor Beth told me about her,” Rylie said, eyes still glued to the photo, her small fingers brushing the edge of the screen.

“Well,” Jack said with a soft chuckle, “you have a very good memory, kiddo.”

Rylie’s head tilted, the tiniest crease forming between her brows. “Did she go somewhere fancy?” she asked, pressing a small finger over her dress on the picture.

“She had a dance at her school,” Jack said, smiling. “Homecoming. That’s the picture we took before she left.”

Rylie’s eyes lingered on Abby’s face in the photo. “She’s pretty,” she said quietly, almost like a statement to herself.

“She is,” Jack agreed, nodding.

Rylie’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the photo. “Her dress is too little though,” she said seriously, pointing a small finger at the screen while she sat back slightly. “Her bottom’s going to show.”

Jack barked out a laugh, loud and sudden enough to make her blink. Rylie giggled a little at his laugh, the tension in her small body easing. He shook his head, still chuckling. “Yeah. I thought so too, Miss Rylie,” he said. “She liked it, though.”

Rylie nodded, studying the picture again before her eyes darted up at him. “Is Doctor Beth here too?” she asked, small and hopeful. Her gaze fell as his screen darkened, and her little lip poked out in disappointment. He tapped the screen awake, holding it steady out to her so she could look again.

“She’s not here right now,” he said. “Doctor Beth only works during the daytime.”

Rylie frowned deeper. “Why?”

Jack leaned back in the stool, rocking on the wheels. “Because nighttime makes her cranky. And when Doctor Beth’s cranky… well, nobody wants that, right?”

Rylie’s frown melted into a small, surprised giggle, light and unguarded. “Doctor Beth isn’t cranky,” she said, shaking her head like the idea was just plain silly.

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a small smile. “I don’t know, kid,” he said teasingly. “She gets pretty cranky sometimes.”

Rylie’s giggle bubbled out again, soft and delighted, and Jack leaned forward, holding his hand out for his phone.

“Tell you what,” he said, low and conspiratorial she placed it in his palm. Rylie leaned back, another cough rattling her little frame, a soft wince puffing from her. “Doctor Beth should still be awake. Maybe we can call her—ask if it’s alright for me to be your doctor tonight.” He tapped to her contact, thumb pausing just above her number before he looked back at Rylie with a grin. “Hopefully she isn’t too cranky.”

Rylie giggled again, the sound bright and infectious, and nodded eagerly. Jack smiled, holding the phone  out in front of her. “You wanna press it?” he asked.

Her small fingers hovered for a moment, then she tapped the screen. The phone buzzed to life, and Rylie bounced slightly on her knees, eyes wide with excitement.

“Nice job,” Jack murmured as the first ring sounded, keeping the phone between them. Rylie’s giggle turned into a quiet squeal of anticipation, and Jack allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

The phone chimed again. Rylie watched it with wide, hopeful eyes, tiny fingers curled in the hem of her too-small T-shirt. Across the room, the woman in the corner coughed and shot them a look so sideways it almost wrapped around her head.

“Hope you’re not billing me for this shit.”

Jack pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth—because the actual response that sprung up was not fit for a pediatric bay—and looked up with the blandest, most professionally polite expression he could muster.

“Doctor Baker is another doctor in the department,” he said evenly. “She treated Rylie last time she was here. If Rylie feels comfortable letting us take a look, we can get everything done faster and get you both home. That’s all this is.”

The woman rolled her eyes again, harder this time, like she was trying to detach them from her skull. “Whatever,” she muttered as she shoved herself out of the chair. “I need a cigarette.”

Jack opened his mouth—Ma’am, you can’t just leave a minor unattended—but she was already out the door. It slammed behind her with a crack loud enough to make Rylie flinch and scoot closer to him on the exam table like a startled bird. She scooted toward him without even looking, knees knocking together. Jack didn’t touch her, but he angled his body just enough to make a little shield of himself, his hand braced on the exam table. She crept closer until her sneaker bumped his thigh.

“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s alright. Just a loud door. Hospital’s full of ‘em.”

The door had barely finished vibrating from the slam when Bridget appeared on the other side of the glass, one hand lifted mid-knock. The foster mom bulldozed past her with a muttered watch it, nearly clipping Bridget’s shoulder. Bridget stopped short, blinking after the woman as she stormed down the hall like a weather system no one had prepared for. Her mouth pulled into a sharp, unimpressed line.

Then she turned back, caught Jack’s stare through the pane. She raised her eyebrows. Jack gave a single, subtle nod. Bridget nodded back and pushed the door open. She paused in the doorway, hands in her scrub pockets, taking in Rylie scooted close beside Jack, his hand braced near her knee, the phone still glowing weakly between them.

“You two alright in here?” Bridget asked, flicking once to the hallway the woman had disappeared down.

Jack let out a short breath. “We’re fine,” he said. “Just a loud exit.”

“She’s just rude,” Rylie announced, matter-of-fact as a weather report, still staring at Jack’s phone like it might sprout legs and run away. Bridget let out a quiet laugh from the doorway. Rylie startled, then peeked up at her from behind Jack’s elbow, that small, wary smile barely lifting her mouth. Bridget’s expression softened instantly. She lifted her fingers in a gentle little wave. “Hi, Miss Bridget.”

“Hey, Squirt,” Bridget said as she stepped all the way inside. She eyed Jack’s phone, then the girl. “So? Did I bring the right doctor this time?”

“Kinda,” Rylie said, eyes darting back to the glowing phone as Jack hit Beth’s contact again. “But it’s okay. We’re calling the right one. Is she gonna answer the phone now?”

Jack let out a low, amused breath. “Patience, kid,” he said, angling the phone so they could both see it. “Takes her a second to find her phone, even when she swears she knows exactly where she left it.”

“That’s silly,” Rylie said, wrinkling her nose at Jack.

“It is silly,” he agreed with a quiet chuckle.

The screen lit, and there she was. Beth—must be in the kitchen, from the thin slice of ceiling and cabinetry he could see in the frame. Her glasses caught the light, the copper sway of her ponytail moving as she shifted her phone to angle it just right. Somewhere behind her, water ran softly, and the low hum of music drifted through the room.

“Hey, honey,” she said, voice warm and familiar. “Everything okay?”

“Doctor Beth!” Rylie squealed, nearly toppling herself over onto the mattress in her excitement. She pushed herself up on her knees, bracing her hands on either side of Jack’s phone like she was afraid the screen might disappear if she didn’t hold it steady.

Beth laughed, a startled, delighted sound that made Jack’s chest tighten just a little. “Well, hi there, Miss Rylie,” she said, leaning closer so more of her face filled the frame. “Well this is just the best surprise I’ve had all night.”

Jack shifted the phone slightly so Rylie could get a better view, his thumb hovering to steady it if she got too excited. He eased back on the stool, holding the phone between them. “Someone put in a request for a preferred provider.”

“Sounds like it,” Beth said, eyes soft on Rylie, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I wanted my doctor,” Rylie said, firm and insistent, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know, sweetheart,” Beth said gently through the screen. “But I’m not there tonight. Are you back for your knee?”

Rylie shook her head, curls bouncing. “My knee’s all better. I just have an icky cough.”

“Oh no! That doesn’t sound like fun.” Beth softened her voice even more—Jack didn’t know how she managed that without melting into a puddle. “Can you tell me more about it? How does it feel in your chest when you take a big breath?”

Jack listened while Beth coaxed her through the questions, her tone all gentle edges and kid-sized concern. He glanced over at Bridget, who just lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Unorthodox? Sure. But Jack had done weirder before. A reverse house call to help a scared little kid hardly even cracked the top twenty.

Rylie coughed again—tight, barking—and her whole face went pink from the effort. Beth’s brows pulled together at the sound, worry flickering across her features.

“How long have you had your icky cough, Miss Rylie?” Beth asked.

“A long time,” Rylie whined, folding her arms around herself like she was trying to hold the cough in. “Can you just come make it better?”

Beth looked up, brows raised in that well? sort of way she had like it was his fault.

“Her guardian left the room before I could talk with her,” Jack told her. 

Beth sighed on the other end, one of those soft, put-upon exhales that managed to sound both patient and so done that was typically deployed in his direction by her seventeen-year-old carbon copy any time he said something remotely ‘cringe’. 

“Wonderful,” she muttered, leaning her hip against the counter. She glanced offscreen like she was checking a clock, then drew her lower lip between her teeth—thinking, deciding, probably rearranging her whole evening in her head.

Jack shifted his weight, suddenly aware of Bridget pretending not to eavesdrop three feet away. “That’s why we’re calling,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I know I’m not her doctor, but we wanted to check if it’s alright if I handle this one tonight.”

Beth turned back to the camera, and the knowing look she gave him was straight out of their old playbook—the I already know exactly what you’re doing, Jack Abbot face. It hit him square in the sternum the same as it had across tables in classrooms, though he was starting to prefer the way she tossed it at him now like it hadn’t been gone for thirty years.

“I think that’s a great idea,” she said, warm enough that he felt it. Then, with a little tilt of her head toward Rylie, “You know, Miss Rylie… Doctor Jack is pretty good at healing icky coughs.”

Rylie shot Jack a dubious look, like Beth had just suggested he could also juggle or do magic tricks.

Jack raised his eyebrows at her. “Yeah, I am. I’ve healed, uh—lots of ick.”

Bridget snorted behind him. Beth bit down on a smile, eyes cutting toward him in that way they used to, like she could see straight through him and was a little too amused by what she found.

“Really?” Rylie whispered, clutching his phone like it might float away.

“Really really,” Beth said, her smile audible. “Last week our daughter had one that was really icky, and she gave it to me.”

Rylie wrinkled her nose so hard her whole face scrunched. “Yuck.”

“It was yuck,” Beth laughed. “Super yuck. But guess what? Doctor Jack took care of both of us, and now we’re all better. Think you can let him give it a try?”

Jack blew out a quiet breath through his nose, something warm blooming in his chest at the easy way Beth said our daughter, like it was the simplest truth in the world. He angled himself so he could see Rylie better, tapping a finger lightly against his knee.

“Well,” he said, low and conspiratorial, “you heard the boss. Hard to argue with a review like that.”

Rylie thought about it—really thought about it—little brows knitting, lips pursed. She lifted her eyebrows at him in a funny little echo of his own expression.

Jack huffed a laugh. “That’s your thinking face, huh?”

She nodded solemnly.

“Looks like a smart one,” he told her. “And I’ll tell you what—if I was five and Doctor Beth told me somebody was good at fixing icky coughs? I’d probably believe her.”

That did it. Her shoulders loosened, knees unbunched, and she let out a tiny breath that sounded a lot like relief.

“Think we can try it?” Beth asked, voice soft but sure. “I promise—he’s really good.”

Rylie squinted at the screen like she was trying to spot any hint of a lie on Beth’s half-visible face. Then she looked at Jack, then back at Beth, then at Jack again. Her tiny shoulders rose in a dramatic sigh worthy of an exhausted thirty-year-old.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “I can try a little.”

Jack bit down a smile. The way she said it—like she was doing him a favor—was exactly how Abby talked when she was pretending she wasn’t nervous.

“That’s my girl,” Beth said gently enough that Jack’s chest pulled tight for a second. She sounded like she was tucking their daughter in, not soothing a scared kid she’d only treated once.

Rylie’s fingers tightened around the phone. “You promise he’s good at it?”

Beth laughed, soft and bright. “I promise, Miss Rylie.”

Jack angled his head toward the girl, eyebrows lifted in a playful See? Told you so look. She studied him carefully, fingers twisting in her shirt still.

“Pretty solid endorsement,” he said. “Doctor Beth doesn’t hand those out for free.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Rylie said bluntly. “I’m only five.”

Jack barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “Oh, I think I’m going to like you, Miss Rylie.”

That earned him a tiny, delighted giggle—the kind that came out in a quick puff, like she hadn’t meant to let it escape. She smiled, shoulders finally loosening, and sat back on her hands like the table had suddenly become a safer place to be.

If the cough alone hadn’t already screamed pneumonia, the x-rays sure as shit did. The kid’s lungs were practically solid white. That didn’t happen by accident. At least—that’s what he’d snapped at the social worker when they called him down to the ED earlier. No, kids didn’t just end up with a lung infection that severe on fucking accident. Someone wasn’t doing their goddamn job.

And judging by the way Rylie’s so-called foster mom had taken three hours to finish her cigarette while he and Rylie colored on the exam table paper with the box of half broken crayons Beth kept in her locker between cases, Jack could tell you exactly who. 

He’d felt his shoulders go rigid while he stood there with the social worker writing up the report, jaw set in a way that brought memories spinning back so fast that it nearly made him dizzy. The image came back to him so fast it almost stung—the look on Leanne Baker’s face the Thanksgiving he’d shown up hacking up a lung, trying not to fall asleep face-first in his mashed potatoes. He remembered her dragging him into her ED by the ear, x-raying him herself like she didn’t trust a soul with the job. Remembered the blurry ride home in the backseat of her station wagon, drifting in and out of some antibiotic-induced fog while she muttered under her breath before she marched up to his dad’s door and beat it down like he owed her money.

“Don’t you look me in the face and tell me you didn’t know, Franklin,” she’d shouted. He could hear it plain as day, all these years later. “I knew the second he said hello. Close your damn mouth—you look like a trout. I’m talkin’.”

Two weeks in the Bakers’ guest bedroom came after that. Two weeks of Leanne checking his temperature every hour like she was daring the fever to try her and Beth sneaking in to slide into bed beside him. Looking at Rylie’s film—those washed-out lungs, the sluggish rattle in her chest—it hit him in the same place. That protective, furious, helpless place he’d once lived in before someone tried to fish him out of it. 

So the kid got a fancy new plastic bracelet while she waited for a bed to open up upstairs in peds—pink, because she told him blue was “too cold,” and she already felt cold enough, thank you very much. And all things considered, she took the IV like a champ. Jack had seen grown men in his trauma bay go paler than she did. She’d also been pretty happy to announce to every nurse who came in the room that she did better than Doctor Jack’s daughter, too—though Jack hoped that would never get back to Little Miss ‘Mom Has Three Tattoos So I Should Have One Too’. 

Foster Mom was gone before sunrise—off to “deal with the other seven damn kids,” as she’d snapped on her way out—and good riddance. Social services swapped her out for a Miss Natalie around four a.m., a woman who arrived in pajama pants, a cardigan, and the kind of calm, tired warmth that said she’d gotten out of bed the second her phone rang. Rylie’s whole face lit up when she walked in, shoulders dropping, the tension leaving her so fast Jack found himself unclenching on her behalf.

And because the universe had apparently decided Jack needed another sarcastic child in his orbit, he wound up spending every forty-five minutes in her room so she could critique his attempts at drawing unicorns, fairies, and one very unfortunate mermaid that she informed him “looked like she smelled bad.”

“That’s harsh,” he’d muttered, trying to fix the tail.

“I’m just being honest, Doctor Jack,” she’d said, patting his knee with her tiny, IV-taped hand like she was consoling him.

Between artistic humiliation sessions, he texted Beth updates from the hallway—vitals, meds, labs, the works of minor HIPAA violations—but what was one more of those in the hospital. And photos. Mostly of Rylie giving him the same unimpressed look Abby gave him every time he spoke like he was the dumbest person alive. Beth sent back laughing emojis and one voice note telling him to “stop terrorizing that poor child with whatever that drawing is supposed to be.”

He sent her a picture of the mermaid again.

I’m improving, he typed.

Are you? Beth wrote back. Don’t quit your night job, Doctor.

ew what actually is that, came shortly after Abby’s first morning alarm went off. nightmare fuel wtf dad 

And despite the long night, the anger simmering in his gut about the whole goddamn situation, and the fact he was running on two hours of sleep and one lukewarm coffee, Jack felt something in him settle.

The kid was safe. The kid was getting better. And Beth was only one sarcastic text away.

By six, Jack had figured out two important things: he was far better at drawing pixies than fairies—though he still didn’t understand what the difference was—and that his cats were “just okay” only after rigorous inspection, her little fingers tapping the edges of his drawings like she was weighing their merit against some invisible standard.

The ED had thinned out into his usual warmed-over hell. Guy in 13 was waiting for ortho, his arm wrapped after some Christmas-light disaster Jack still couldn’t quite process—why the hell was anyone stringing lights the week before Halloween?—but, as usual, none of his business. A dog bite in 7 was waiting for discharge, a woman in 9 was headed up to cardiology, and the obligatory frat boy in 12 had Jack crossing fingers and remaining toes that his own daughter wouldn’t pick a college with Greek life.

It was a night he could’ve wrapped up in a bow, punted off to Robby, and headed straight home to sleep—face-first into bed, no apologies, no lingering worries. Except for the little girl sprawled on the bed in front of him, scrutinizing the puppies and frogs he’d drawn like they were critical pieces of evidence. She was fine. She was going to be fine. But damn, she’d made sure he earned every minute of it.

Jack leaned back on the stool, glancing at Rylie as she finally gave a small, satisfied nod at his last attempt at a cat. She tapped an orange whisker thoughtfully before she declared, “This one is better. You’re learning.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Jack muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. Across the room, the case worker—Miss Natalie, who at least seemed to possess a functioning human heart—glanced up from her paperback and let out a soft chuckle.

“I like kitties best,” Rylie announced next, already scribbling away with half a purple crayon before letting it clatter onto the paper. “Can I have the yellow please?”

He nudged the crayon closer with one finger. “My daughter does too.”

Rylie paused mid–sun-doodle, eyes going wide like he’d just revealed a state secret. “Does Abby have a kitty?”

“Nope,” Jack said, letting his head thump gently against the wall behind him. “She wants one though. Doctor Beth says no. They make her sneeze.”

Rylie absorbed that like it was tragic. “I want one.”

“Yeah?” Jack’s lips tilted. “If you had one, what would you name it?”

“Larry,” she said instantly and with the conviction of a woman stating her will. Then she went right back to drawing her lopsided sun like the matter was settled.

Jack huffed a laugh. “Solid name,” he said. “Classic. Strong. Larry the Cat.”

Rylie nodded, deeply pleased with herself. “He would be orange,” she added, dragging the yellow crayon across the page in a bright streak. “And he would eat noodles.”

“Great qualities in a cat,” Jack said, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “Honestly? Might even win Doctor Beth over.”

“Noodles?” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “I don’t know—sounds a little messy.”

Rylie’s head snapped up so fast Jack worried she’d strain something. The kid let out a delighted little gasp, and for a second he genuinely thought he might have to dive across the room to stop her from yanking her IV clean out just to get to Beth faster.

Beth stood framed in the doorway, smiling soft and tired in that way that always hit him somewhere stupid. She’d swapped her usual denim jacket for a dark green fleece over her scrubs, hair clip hooked onto her pocket, hair falling loose around her shoulders. Target bag in one hand, a small wad of pink fabric tossed over the top, her hospital badge in the other, she looked like the world’s gentlest, most well-prepared home invasion.

“Doctor Beth!” Rylie squealed, practically folding herself into Beth’s side the second she was within reach. Beth shifted the bag to her other hand and gave the girl a careful squeeze—mindful of the IV, smoothing a hand through her wild curls.

“Good morning,” she murmured, matching Rylie’s blinding smile with a gentler one of her own. Then she lifted her gaze to the case worker, who’d closed her book with a polite nod.

“Good to see you again,” Beth said.

“Morning, Doctor Baker.”

“You’re in early,” Jack said, unable to stop the stupid way his chest pulled tight when she finally turned toward him. Rylie was still glued to her middle like Beth was a magnet and she was made of scrap metal, but Beth still managed to give him that smile—the full-force one, the one that had undone him thirty years ago and still did every damn time.

“Well, I had to come see my most favorite patient ever,” she said, and Rylie immediately burrowed into her like she was trying to crawl inside her fleece. Beth giggled, smoothing a hand over those messy curls. “Did Doctor Jack make you feel better like I promised?”

Rylie nodded emphatically, curls bouncing, IV tubing swinging dangerously until Jack instinctively reached to steady it. “I like him,” she declared. “He’s grumpy and silly.”

Beth’s laugh escaped in a soft gasp—quick, bright, not the least bit surprised. She met Jack’s eye over Rylie’s shoulder, her smile gentling into something that made the back of his neck heat.

“See?” she said, warmth threaded through every syllable. “I told you it’d be okay.”

Before Jack could even push off the wall to stand, Rylie was already leaning forward—both hands stretching toward Beth’s bag like she intended to dive headfirst into it. The case worker startled upright with a soft, embarrassed inhale. “Rylie—.”

“What do you have?” Rylie asked, already wrist-deep in the Target bag before anyone could stop her.

Beth laughed under her breath, that soft, unbothered mom laugh she did without realizing it. She shot the case worker a quick, reassuring smile. 

“It’s alright. It’s actually for her,” she said, easing the bag onto the bed within easy reach. She quickly slipped the receipt out the second the bag hit the blanket, folding it once and tucking it cleanly into her fleece pocket before anyone could blink. “Doctor Jack told me that you have to spend a couple days here, so I thought you might need a few things for your big sleepover. You wanna open it?” 

Rylie nodded so hard her curls bounced, pulling the bag closer like a dragon hoarding treasure. Rylie opened the bag with both hands like it might disappear if she blinked too slow, eyes going huge as she pulled out a toothbrush and a hairbrush plastered with a blonde cartoon princess in a purple dress. Her grin punched straight through the quiet of the room. She let out a delighted little gasp before digging again—fingers brushing something soft—then yanked out a wad of purple fabric.

“You got me ’jamas?” she breathed, clutching them to her chest like Beth had handed her a treasure.

Beth hummed, the gentlest sound, smiling as Rylie held the pajamas up under her chin. “They’ve got bows on them,” she announced triumphantly.

“They do,” Beth agreed. She set the little pink winter coat she was still holding beside the bag—tag already ripped off, Jack noticed. “There’s another pair in there too. With mermaids. Doctor Jack told me you might like those. Keep going, sweetheart. There’s one more surprise.”

Rylie dug again, slower now, like she knew the treasure was close. Her fingers brushed something solid, then curled around it. She froze. Then, reverently—like she was holding something sacred—she lifted the doll out of the bag. Same princess from the brush. Same purple dress. Same soft yellow hair stitched into a shiny braid. She touched the embroidered face with one trembling finger.

“It’s Tangled,” she whispered, awe wrapping around every word.

Beth smiled when the girl clutched the doll to her chest like it was a ticket out of every bad thing in her short life. She smoothed the wild curls off Rylie’s forehead again, fingers gentle. “Thought you might need your brave girl with you,” she said softly.

“Wow,” the social worker murmured, sitting forward in her chair. “That was very kind. What do you say, Rylie?”

“Thank you,” Rylie whispered, hugging the doll so close it nearly vanished into her little hospital gown.

“You’re very welcome,” Beth said, brushing her thumb under the girl’s chin just once before she straightened. “Why don’t you let Miss Natalie help you get changed while I talk to Doctor Jack. Okay?”

Rylie nodded, still staring at the doll like it was a miracle somebody handed her on a Monday morning. Natalie stood, offering her hands, and Rylie let herself be guided off the bed without complaint—still peeking over her shoulder at Beth like she hated to break eye contact.

Jack stood with a soft grunt–too little sleep, too much fury simmering low and slow under his ribs making his whole body too tight. He followed Beth out into the hall. She glanced back over her shoulder just long enough to give Rylie a last little wave before easing the door shut behind her.

“Didn’t know Target opened that early,” Jack said, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth despite how wrung-out he felt.

“It doesn’t.” Beth swept her hair back into her hands, twisting it up with practiced ease before clipping it in place. Even half-awake and fleece-swaddled, she looked wide awake and already ten steps ahead of him. “I went last night after you called and I saw her in those shorts.”

Jack blinked. “What—”

“She was freezing, Jack.” Her arms crossed over her chest—not defensive, just bracing, the way she got when she was trying not to spiral on someone else’s behalf. Her eyes were already on his, sharp and worried and angry in that quiet Beth way that always made something in him go still. “Alright,” she murmured. “Go home.”

Jack huffed out a laugh, eyebrows climbing as he leaned against the wall. “Still got an hour, sweetheart.”

“No you don’t,” she shot back immediately, already in full put-him-in-bed mode. “I already handled handoff with Shen when I got here, Abby went to zero-hour conditioning with her boyfriend—” She paused, squinting when his face must’ve done something involuntary. “Fix your face. Anywho. I’m cutting you loose. Go home. Get some sleep.”

He snorted, rubbing a thumb under his eye. Christ, she really hadn’t changed a damn bit. Always fussing over him. Always clocking exactly how close he was to falling over. Just like all those years ago—dragging him by the elbow to the couch in the basement, tucking a blanket under his chin while muttering that he was an idiot.

Guess that part of her never stopped.

He sighed, a long exhale from somewhere deep in his ribs, too wrung-out to get a protest together. “Bossy,” he murmured, but there wasn’t a hint of fight in it.

Beth’s mouth twitched—fond, victorious, soft. He reached for her hand, catching it before she could fold her arms again. Warm. Steady. Familiar. He gave it a squeeze, a tight, grateful one, before letting go so she could do exactly what she always did—nudge him toward the lockers like she’d been planning to since the second she walked through the door.

“Go,” she murmured. “Before Rylie realizes she can ask you for another drawing.”

He snorted again, shaking his head as she smothered a smile. Exhaustion dragged at him, but it felt lighter now—less like drowning, more like… going home.

And for once, he actually listened.

“Alright,” he muttered, because even wrung-out and half-delirious, pride was a stubborn little bastard. “But not because you told me to.”

Beth snorted, rolling her eyes in that way she’d been doing since the day they met—equal parts affection and exasperation. “Love you,” she said, effortless as breathing, before turning back toward the room.

She knocked lightly, and a little voice called, “Come in!” Beth shot Jack one last wink over her shoulder before pushing the door open.

“Oh my goodness,” Jack heard her gasp, all bright and delighted. “Don’t you look so cozy?”

He shook his head, the ghost of a laugh pushing through the exhaustion. Figures. Leave Beth alone with a scared kid for five seconds and she’d have them wrapped up like a burrito and feeling like royalty.

He forced his feet toward the lockers, each step an ache—too many hours on the prosthetic, too little sleep, too much adrenaline tapering off into the kind of bone-deep fatigue that made his vision pulse. He went through the motions on muscle memory alone: badge clipped off, scrubs peeled, hoodie on, shoes tied. Fingerprint on the time clock. Keys. Phone. Bag.

By the time he stepped outside, the sky was shifting from bruised purple into the first thin streaks of sunrise. The cold hit him in the face, sharp and honest, and he dragged in a long breath as he crossed the lot toward the garage. He could already picture the house—Beth’s coffee mug abandoned on the counter, Abby’s sneakers by the stairs, the unmade bed he was going to fall into with two dogs body slamming him while he tried to shove them off.

Jack slid into the driver’s seat of his truck, the leather cold against his palms. He rested both hands on the wheel for a moment, letting the early light wash over the hood, the lot still quiet except for the distant hum of traffic waking up. The night’s exhaustion sat heavy in his bones, but there was a warmth curling in his chest that he hadn’t expected. He thought about that kid, tucked back in the exam room with her doll clutched tight, her giggles and small sighs echoing in his memory. The way she had let Beth and him coax her through her fears—it was small, ordinary, and utterly miraculous.

And then Beth. He shouldn’t have been surprised by it, watching her mother a little girl who wasn’t even her own with the same care and patience she had always shown, just now scaled up to someone else’s child. Hell, she’d always been like that—too bossy and devoted and kind for her own good. The same Beth who had scolded him for staying up too late or forgetting to pack a lunch, now guiding tiny fingers to crayon and doll, smoothing curls and straightening pajamas with the exact same gentle authority she’d never seemed to shake. He figured that was just one of the ways the years hadn’t changed her—one of the things thirty years hadn’t been able to strip away from her. Maybe it was just too bone deep for the world to rip out of her, placed there by the same woman who’d stood on his porch and called his dad a motherfucker like her husband wasn’t responding to calls at that house every other week.

He let the truck idle for a moment before he pulled out of his spot and pointed it toward the gate, the horizon brushing pale gold over the rooftops. He had meant to turn left, to go home—go to bed like he’d been told—but instead his hand shifted, wheel turning right. He didn’t know exactly where he was going yet—maybe just somewhere to think, maybe somewhere to let himself breathe—but it wasn’t home. Not yet.

While Beth had changed, this town had not. She had changed in the way the leaves do in the fall—burning into shades of crimson and gold until there was no choice left but to transform, shedding the old to make way for something new. Coldwater, though, remained stubbornly the same. It hadn’t transformed, hadn’t reached for something beyond itself. Instead, it lingered in a kind of suspended stillness; not stale, but timeless. Driving back through its streets felt less like coming home and more like slipping through the seams of memory, each turn of the wheel pulling him deeper into the past as his truck tires scattered dried leaves and pine needles across the pavement behind him.

The same street lamps stood sentinel along Main Street, dark against the pale gray sky, their glow long since dimmed in the daylight but unchanged all the same. The same red brick buildings lined the uneven sidewalks, though a handful had been dressed in new signs and slick storefronts that looked out of place against the familiar bones of the town. The old pharmacy, a hair salon that used to be a bookstore, the little dance studio he’d used to pick her up from ballet in front of—one of his old flannels tossed over her leotard and whisps of sweat damp hair sticking out from her bun when she’d lean across from the passenger seat to kiss his cheek.

The high school had been remodeled. About fucking time, he thought. The place was crumbling even back when they were trudging through its halls. Still, something caught in his chest when he eased to a stop at the light beside the old auto shop, the steady tick of the blinker filling the cab as it clicked left instead of right. The lot they used to pull into, the building they spent their afternoons and summers in, was gone beneath the logo of some Valley Forge outfit or whatever corporate clone had bought the place up—he’d seen the same sign a dozen times over in Pittsburgh.

At seventeen, they’d sat up on the roof of that old mill swearing they’d never come back, swearing the town would never hold them. But on softer nights, they’d talk about futures that sounded almost laughably small: positions at the county hospital, buying the shop, a house only a bike ride away from her parents, and a big, dumb dog he’d trip over every morning. A quiet life. A good life. He’d never admitted how much he liked that version of things. He should have.

The light flicked green, and Jack turned left, pulling away from the shop without looking back. Maybe this place had changed after all, he thought. He sure as hell had.

But when the blacktop gave way to that dirt road, it was like stepping straight into a memory. Not a single inch of it had shifted. His tires still caught every bump and rut, still dipped hard into the shallow puddles the thawing ice left behind in the wake of the morning sun. The houses blurred by in his periphery, familiar silhouettes with a few fresh coats of paint, trees taller now than he remembered, their branches reaching wider over cracked fences and cluttered yards. It was the same road he’d flown down a thousand times before, windows down, music too loud, her laughter cutting through the wind. He didn’t have to check the street signs to know his way. Hell, he hadn’t even needed to put the address in. Each turn and bump in the road was tattooed into his memory before he was even old enough to vote.

The mailbox came into view before the numbers ever did. The paint was chipped, layers of old coats showing through where the letters had worn thin. Still, the name was clear enough—8715 – Baker. The old red box stood a little crooked, same as always, like it had been waiting for him all this time. Tom Petty’s voice faded mid-chorus, cut short by the sharp trill of an incoming call as he eased the truck onto the gravel. The crunch under his tires was swallowed by the thud of his own pulse in his ears. He flicked his eyes down at the display before swiping to accept.

“Where are you?” Abby demanded before he could say a word.

“Where am I?” Jack’s brow lifted as he checked the dash clock. “Shouldn’t I be asking why you’re not in class?”

“You could, but it’d be a dumb question,” Abby fired back without missing a beat. “I had a half day. Duh. Mom wrote it on the fridge calendar?”

“Can’t say I saw it on the manifesto,” Jack said, easing the wheel with one hand.

“Obviously,” she deadpanned, the word sharp enough he could picture the look on her face. “Seriously, where are you? We were supposed to start The Pacific today. And I need you to check my calc homework.”

“I’m…” Jack trailed off, eyes lifting toward the end of the drive where the house waited, half-hidden behind the trees. “Running a few errands.”

“When are you coming home?” Abby pressed.

“I’ll be home this afternoon.” He shifted in his seat, hand loose on the wheel as the truck rattled over a washboard patch of gravel. “Why don’t you text Mom, see what she wants for dinner? I’ll grab it on my way back.”

“She’s just gonna tell you to pick,” Abby muttered.

“Just ask and text me,” he said, glancing at the rearview mirror out of habit more than need. The trees broke enough for him to catch the first glimpse of the house.

“Fine.” A sigh crackled through the speaker. “I’m starting without you then. You know, since you abandoned me like my real dad. Love you.”

“Bullshit, don’t you dare,” Jack said, smiling despite himself as he slowed, gravel crunching under the tires. “Love you too, kid. See you soon.”

Jack ended the call, the line cutting out to leave only the low idle of the engine and the ticking of cooling metal. The house looked different, but not by much—strange mostly for what was missing. No patrol truck sat in its usual spot. No faded station wagon with the rusted bumper. A silver F-150 and a newer Toyota sat in the gravel instead, shiny and out of place against the backdrop of weathered white siding.

He got out, boots sinking slightly into the soft edge of the drive. The Baker home stood two stories tall, its paint sun-faded and chipped in spots, though it was the kind of wear that spoke more to time than neglect. The shutters were blue now, not the deep barn-red he remembered, and someone had replaced the porch swing with a wicker bench decorated with pumpkins and orange checkered pillows. Smoke curled steady from the brick chimney, threading through the gray morning air.

But the rest of it—the slope of the roof, the cracked front steps, the maple leaning heavy over the porch—looked untouched. It looked peeled straight from every dream he’d had of that last night, every fantasy of mornings spent under this sky. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, breath ghosting in front of him, feet planted in the gravel as his eyes tracked up to the window above the garage. Her window. The same one he’d climbed through more times than he could count, sneakers scuffing the siding, her whisper cutting through the dark while her fingers knotted in his collar and pulled him down to kiss her, both tumbling back onto her bed. Fuck, now just looking at the distance between the ground and that ledge made his knees ache.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

The voice came from somewhere to his left, deep and roughened with age but unmistakable. Jack turned, and there he was—Tom Baker. His hair had gone silver, but the mustache was the same, thick and neatly kept. He was still as tall and broad as Jack remembered, a flannel shirt visible beneath the same old canvas coat he used to wear when the winters bit down hard. He had an armful of split firewood, the edges pressing into his forearms as he rounded the corner from the woodshed behind the garage.

For a second, Jack couldn’t move. The way Tom looked at him—steady, unsmiling, assessing—made something inside him shrink. It hit him like a time machine; made him feel seventeen again, standing on this same gravel drive with more nerves than sense.

He gave a small nod. “Sir.”

“Got a hell of a lot of nerve showin’ up here.”

Tom’s eyes pinned him in place, sharp behind the same wire-framed glasses Jack remembered—glasses he’d leave resting on the side table before dozing off in his chair. Jack felt the weight of that stare settle across his chest, felt it tug at something in him that never fully left this house. He squared his shoulders, forcing his jaw to stay loose, meeting Tom’s glare without looking away.

A low rumble built in Tom’s throat, deep and gruff, before he finally shook his head.

“C’mon, then,” Tom muttered, angling his chin toward the house before turning away. Weathered boards rasped under his boots as he climbed the steps and nudged the screen door open with his toe. He paused when he swung the door open into the house, glanced back over his shoulder, and raised one brow at Jack’s stalled stance. “Don’t just stand there. Get movin’ before I change my mind. Heat ain’t free, son.”

Jack watched Tom disappear into the house, jaw tight, heart hammering like it might tear free from his chest. The quiet of the driveway was broken only by the faint rustle of the maple above him and the soft hum of the engine settling behind him. His phone pinged in his pocket. He pulled it out, squinting down at Abby’s texts:

mom says she’s tired of making decisions today you choose

also i want pizza so do with that what you will

and hopefully that is get pizza 

daddy please get pizza i'm begging

He swiped it away, leaving only his Lock Screen; that snapshot of the three of them on the porch on Homecoming night. Abby’s arms looped around both of them, the porch light glinting on her dress, her smile matching Beth’s perfectly. Jack lingered on their faces, a corner of his mouth lifting despite the tension knotting his chest. He shoved the phone back in his pocket, drew in a slow breath, and finally let himself step forward. One foot, then the next, closing the distance he’d spent years imagining and avoiding.