Eleven
Beckett
I t’s maddening how one person can take over your thoughts.
And right now, that person is Sadie Calloway.
Since she confronted me about my brothers and me visiting Alex on Friday night, she’s made herself scarce.
And maybe I’m avoiding her, too. I want to spend time with her, but I can’t.
Or at least I shouldn’t. It would be too easy to confuse things between us.
I keep my eyes focused on the coffeemaker as I prepare my steaming mug.
But I think about the way her hair tumbles over her shoulder in soft waves, and for a moment, I forget myself.
She’s beautiful. Radiant in that quiet, natural way that sneaks up on you.
For a split second, I let myself feel it, that pull toward her. The warmth. The ache.
Then guilt rushes in like a cold wave .
She’s Caleb’s little sister. She’s got enough going on right now. And also, she drives me crazy. We are in no way compatible.
“I’m off to the hospital,” I call, not sure if she’s listening. I’m in the emergency room this morning with a long list of patient appointments this afternoon before I can make my evening rounds.
She doesn’t come out of her room or acknowledge my declaration. I don’t know if that bothers me or is a relief. I head out, trying to shake off the tension clinging to me like static.
The hospital is where I go to feel steady. In control. But as I enter the building, even that feels off today.
After my morning in the ER and my stint in the office, I return to the hospital and check on two patients I operated on earlier this week—routine post-ops. Both are healing well and ready to be discharged. Normally, that would give me a sense of satisfaction. Today, it barely registers.
Because I’m already thinking about Rosemary. She’s my youngest patient, and she’s barely hanging on. Her heart is failing faster than we expected, and if a donor match doesn’t come soon, I’m terrified she won’t make it. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.
As I walk down the hallway toward her room, a heavy feeling settles in my gut. The air feels wrong, like something’s waiting for me just around the corner. My footsteps slow as I hear laughter—light and familiar—drifting out of Rosemary’s room.
My stomach tightens.
I pause in the doorway.
Sadie is there. In fact she’s perched on Scott Porter’s lap, laughing at something he said.
It’s like a high school reunion in here.
Scott was Tarryn’s year, and he’s not my favorite guy.
He’s a little too slick for my taste. They look like they’re in their own little world, and it punches the air out of my lungs.
Her head tilted back, cheeks pink from laughter, hair spilling over her shoulders—and Scott with his arm slung casually around her waist like it’s his right.
That image hits me in a place I didn’t know was still vulnerable.
“Beckett!” Scott calls, grinning like a jackass. “You’re just in time to join the party!”
I don’t know what grates more—his voice or the way Sadie flushes, suddenly aware of how it looks.
“Not a chance,” I snap, letting the edge in my voice land where it needs to. “I’m at work.”
Sadie jumps off his lap like she’s been burned, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” she says, like she’s been caught doing something wrong.
Scott leans back, smug as ever. “We were just catching up with Rosie. Having a little fun.”
Rosemary giggles beside him, clearly enjoying the show.
Her soft laugh should warm my heart—it usually does—but right now it only reminds me why I’ve always hated Scott Porter.
He’s been a problem since high school, the kind of guy who leaves a trail of broken hearts and grinning apologies behind him.
He did it to my sister, and he’ll do it to Sadie if she gives him the chance.
I place my laptop on the rolling stand, eyes on Sadie. She looks back at me, unsure. Scott, on the other hand, is busy checking her out, eyes dropping to her ass like he owns it.
My jaw tightens.
“Rosemary, I’ll come back,” I say, my voice clipped. “I know how much you enjoy your visitors.”
She frowns slightly, catching the shift in my tone. “Scott, tell your mom she’s welcome to visit anytime. And I’d love more of her scones and strawberry jam.”
Scott stretches like he’s in no rush. “Guess that’s my cue.” He leans down to hug Rosemary, then turns to Sadie. “You too, sweetheart.”
He wraps her up in a hug that lingers too long. One hand lands low on her back, drifting lower, and he has the nerve to look me dead in the eye as he does it. Like it’s a challenge.
Sadie pushes him off—politely, but firmly. “Go on, Scott. Dr. Beckett needs to check on Rosie.”
He smirks all the way to the door, like he’s won something. Once he’s gone, Sadie reaches for Rosemary’s hand and gives it a squeeze.
“I’ll head to the cafeteria, give you two a minute,” she offers.
But Rosie doesn’t let go.
“No. Stay,” she says, turning to look at me. “Is that okay, Dr. Beckett?”
I look between the two of them—Rosemary’s hopeful eyes, Sadie’s uncertain ones—and I don’t know what to say. Nothing about this feels simple anymore.
“Of course,” I tell her with a shrug, trying to sound casual.
Sadie’s smile falters for a second, but she recovers quickly.
I check Rosemary’s chart and review her latest labs. Everything looks steady. Stable. It’s the best kind of update I can give, but the tension inside me hasn’t eased. Not with Scott’s smug expression burned in my mind.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I tell Rosemary when everything is done.
“Bring Sadie with you,” she replies without missing a beat. “And don’t forget your sense of humor.”
I give her a nod and a tight smile, then head out.
My rounds are complete for the evening, so I trade my scrubs for jeans and a button-down in the locker room.
The drive out to the family estate for dinner is quiet—too quiet.
My thoughts chase themselves in circles.
Why am I so bothered by Porter putting his hands on Sadie? She’s not mine.
By the time I pull into the driveway, the sun’s starting to dip behind the hills, casting long shadows over the vineyard rows.
Inside, the house smells like chicken and lemon. The table is already set—for eight people, which must mean Uncle Max is joining us. I follow the voices to the kitchen.
I step in just as Mom turns with a glass in hand. Her smile warms the space like it always does, but then her eyes narrow. “Where’s Sadie?” she asks.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “I assume she has plans.”
Mom lifts a brow, not buying it for a second. “Mm-hmm.”
“She’s not family,” I add, heading for the wine.
“Yes, she is. Maybe not by blood, but she and Caleb are family. And I hear she’s staying with you.” Mom winks at me.
I don’t answer. I take my seat at the kitchen table, hoping no one else brings her up.
Of course, that’s wishful thinking.
Kingston walks in from the back patio, sunglasses perched on his head even though the sun’s nearly down. He makes a beeline for the counter, lifting a lid to sniff what’s inside. “Please tell me this is lemon chicken,” he says, sounding like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“Touch anything before we sit and you lose a hand,” Dad calls from behind him as he comes in with a bottle of cabernet under one arm.
Ryker trails after him, barefoot, shirt untucked, and with Pinot, our spaniel mix, bouncing at his heels like a shadow.
When I snicker, he turns to look. “Did she pee again?” He groans. “Nooooo.”
“She missed you,” I deadpan. “She always pees for her favorite.”
“That’s a messed-up compliment,” he mutters, rubbing his temples as he goes to find a rag.
Greyson walks in last, looking put-together in that effortless way he always does, like he didn’t just spend twelve hours in an ER. Trinity slips in beside him, her hand brushing his as he passes .
“Look at this,” Mom says. “All my boys under one roof. It’s a miracle.”
“It’s a weekly family dinner,” Ryker mutters, but his grin gives him away.
“You should call Sadie.” Mom dries her hands on a towel and gives me a look. “She needs to be here. She’s all alone with Caleb in the UK. She’s very welcome.”
“Mom—” I start, then stop. She won’t understand. She doesn’t know how complicated things are, how tangled my feelings have gotten.
“She’s staying with you,” she says firmly. “It’s just dinner. Call her.”
Before I can say another word, she thrusts the phone into my hands.
I sigh, then pull my phone from my pocket instead, avoiding a debate I won’t win. I tap out a quick message.
Me: Hey, you want to come by the vineyard for dinner? My family would love to see you.
The dots appear almost immediately, bouncing like the nerves rattling around in my ribcage. Then her reply pops up.
Sadie: Sure! In the main house or the restaurant?
Me: Main house. You know how to get here, right?
Sadie: Yep. Just leaving the hospital now. I’ll be there in ten.
Me: Great. See you then.
I stare at the screen for a second, then tuck the phone away and try to settle the strange flutter in my chest.
“You called her?” my mom asks.
“I texted her. She’s on her way,” I mutter, moving to the counter where she’s prepping dinner.
“Good,” she says, turning back to her chopping board.
She hands me a massive salad bowl and a pile of ingredients, and I get to work, grateful for the distraction.
She starts in on the town gossip, telling me how the Dempseys are claiming that several acres up by the ridge belong to them, and now both families have deeds to the same land. The legal mess sounds like a nightmare.
“Remind me why I didn’t go into law?” I ask, peeling a cucumber.
“You like fixing people, not arguing with them,” she replies. “And you hate paperwork.”
Fair point.
After a pause, I ask, “Do you think Sadie will be okay?”
“What do you mean?” My mother glances at me, narrowing her eyes.
“Just…being around the family,” I hedge.
Her brow lifts. “Why wouldn’t she be?”