Liz
Three
The doors of Paradise General Hospital slide open with a hush of warm air and the faint scent of coffee and antiseptic as I step inside on my first Monday.
I pause just inside the lobby, taking it in—the cacophony of voices, the echo of footsteps on tile, the way the morning light bounces off the polished floors.
Everything here feels new, organized, and predictable. I like that.
Nurses move in clusters, staring at electronic medical records. A maintenance worker pushes a mop bucket past me, whistling softly. The whole place has a rhythm—steady, pulsing, certain. The opposite of the chaos I left behind in Vancouver, where everything was politics first, medicine second.
I draw a deep breath and let it fill all the way to the base of my lungs.
My heartbeat slows. I follow the green line on the floor to the elevators and wait until I can step inside.
Pushing the fifth-floor button, I catch my reflection—hair pulled tight, expression calm, but the pulse at my throat gives me away.
When the doors slide open again, sunlight spills across a long corridor lined with frosted-glass doors and framed photos of smiling staff at charity events and holiday galas.
The reception desk stands before me, and I step forward to introduce myself.
The woman behind the counter checks a clipboard and points me toward my new office.
My heels click against the floor as I walk, nerves buzzing louder with each step.
I was here for the interviews, but I was so nervous that nothing looks familiar.
First day. Don’t screw it up.
The view from the window at the end of the hall catches me. Black Bear Lake is gray and choppy in the wind, mountains rising behind it like sentinels. The beauty of it steals my breath for a second.
“Hey, stranger.”
I turn and find Trinity walking toward me, cheeks pink from the cold, a paper bag in her hand.
Her scarf’s half untucked, and her hair’s loose around her face, the picture of effortless charm.
She grins, though she looks a little pale.
Trinity works here part-time on projects now so she can stay home with her son, Theo.
She hands me the bag. “It’s pan au chocolat to celebrate your first day. Sorry about last night,” she says. “After I spent the afternoon hugging the porcelain god, I thought it best just to send the boys with your dinner.”
I laugh, taking the bag she offers. “Thanks. We missed you last night. I loved the hugs from my godson, and the pasta dish was fantastic. But I’m sorry for you. That doesn’t sound like a great way to spend a Sunday.”
“Right? Theo’s daycare plague. He’s fine now, of course, but I was down for the count.” She presses a hand to her stomach and groans. “I think I saw my soul leave my body.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s just a bug? You know Greyson has a certain…effect on women.”
Her mouth drops open. “Don’t you dare.”
“Maybe you caught something else.” I bounce my eyebrows at her.
“Absolutely not.” She points at me with mock outrage. “Theo just turned three. One toddler is plenty. I’m not ready to chase another one while he’s still climbing the furniture.”
“Fair,” I say, grinning. “Though I’m betting the nurses already have a pool.”
She snorts. “They’d better not. If anyone asks, I’m just sleep-deprived.”
It feels good to laugh like this, and to feel something other than the weight of what I left behind. Trinity’s been a steady friend through all my worst decisions, and seeing her here, happy, makes me believe I can be that kind of grounded again.
“Come on,” she says, motioning down the hall. “Let me give you the tour before Hudson gets you. He’s punctual to a fault, so we’ve got about ten minutes.”
We walk the maze of corridors together, and she points things out as we go.
“Your office is here. The coffee station that actually works is there. The break room is down that hall. If you ever need quiet, the north stairwell is your best friend. No one uses it except a few residents hiding from rounds.”
I try to memorize the layout of the place. There’s life here—purpose—and I can already feel it catching under my skin.
“Hudson’s great,” she says as we approach a glass door marked Roger Hudson, Director of Hospital Administration. “Intense but fair. You’ll be managing vendor contracts, budgets, accreditation reports, and one or two projects at a time. All the glamorous stuff no one else wants.”
“Perfect,” I say. “Give me spreadsheets over drama any day.”
She laughs, opening the door for me. “You might eat those words, but I admire the optimism.”
Inside, Roger Hudson rises from behind his desk as we step in. He’s tall, solid, silver-haired, the kind of man who looks like he’s been running hospitals since before I finished elementary school. His office is spotless, the files color-coded, not a paper out of place.
“Elizabeth,” he says, shaking my hand. “Welcome to Paradise General. We’re glad to have you.”
“Thank you,” I reply, aware of the flutter in my chest. “Please call me Liz.”
“And you can call me Hudson. It’s a holdover from school where there were three Rogers in my class.” He gestures for me to sit. “Trinity gave you the grand tour?”
I nod. “She’s an excellent guide.”
Trinity gives me a quick thumbs-up before slipping out.
Hudson opens a thin folder with my name on it.
“Your experience at North Vancouver Hospital will come in handy here—budget restructuring, vendor negotiations, process improvements. That’s exactly what we need.
We’re expanding with a new trauma wing, tech upgrades, and accreditation renewals.
You’ll find this place rewarding and demanding. ”
He slides a printed list toward me. It’s long—vendor audits, contract reviews, staffing projections. My fingers itch for a pen. “I’ll prioritize these by department,” I tell him. “Starting with facilities and procurement. If we’re heading into expansion, they’ll set the pace.”
A smile flickers across his face. “I like initiative. Just keep communication open. I don’t micromanage, but I don’t like surprises.
We’ll meet every Monday before the leadership meeting, which you may occasionally attend.
But let’s try to touch base daily before you leave for these first few weeks so I can answer any questions you may have. ”
“Understood.”
“Trinity will be your point of contact for clinical coordination,” he adds. “Misty Bryant is our admin, and she will be a great help to you. Otherwise, my door’s open.”
The meeting ends efficiently, and when I leave his office, I feel the pressure and possibility settling over me. There’s work to do, and that’s exactly what I want. I see Misty’s on the phone, so I wave, and she gives me a tight smile. She’s busy.
Trinity’s waiting by the elevator. “How’d it go?”
“He’s all business,” I say. “Which is perfect.”
“Good. You’ll fit right in.” She presses the button. “You’ll meet the department heads next week. For now, breathe. First days are supposed to be overwhelming.”
“I’m fine,” I say, mostly meaning it. “Honestly, this is the good kind of overwhelming.”
We step into the elevator, and the doors close as monitors beep somewhere distant, a voice calls for Dr. Singh, and someone laughs near the nurses’ station. It’s a rhythm I could learn to love.
“Come on,” Trinity says. “I’ll buy you a coffee. You’ll need the caffeine to survive orientation.”
She walks me over to human resources by way of the cafeteria for fuel, and they give me a stack of paperwork to fill out, my new email address, a meeting time with IT in my office, and a list of videos to watch.
Workplace Safety and Emergency Procedures.
Privacy and Confidentiality. Respectful Workplace and Anti-Harassment.
I’m in administration, so I should be excited, but these are the same everywhere, and we go through them once a year.
I spend the afternoon watching the videos, doing my best to stay awake and paying enough attention to pass the quiz at the end. If I fail, I’ll have to sit through in-person training. No thank you.
Ready for a break, I text Trinity and find my way down to the hospital cafeteria to meet her. We grab a corner table near the window, and Trinity stirs cream into her herbal tea, watching the swirl before she looks up.
“You’re doing great today,” she says. “Hudson already told me he’s impressed.”
“That’s a relief,” I say, smiling. “I’ve had enough of bosses who make you guess.”
She laughs, and then sobers a little. “There’s one thing I should probably mention.”
The way she says it gives me pause. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” she hedges. “Just…something you should know.” She leans closer. “You’ll probably see Alaric soon. Like I told you, he’s head of Behavioral Health. Brilliant, respected, patients adore him. He works seven days a week. But his family’s complicated.”
I nod. “They were difficult when we dated. His sisters are great. But his grandmother is an acquired taste. She didn’t like me.”
“To make matters worse, there have been investigations into Paradise Hill over the last couple of years. Sabotage, fires, property damage—at Black Bear Valley and at Paradise Hill. Supposedly, they’re building a case, and people whisper. Around here, that kind of gossip sticks.”
A shiver runs through me. Such an ugly mess. Trinity and I talked about this when she was dating Greyson and I was dating Alaric. Those families have a hatred that goes back generations.
Trinity sighs. “He’s not a bad guy, Liz. Just…the feud. I didn’t want you caught off guard.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, wrapping my hands around my cup. The heat seeps into my palms. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.” She studies me. “Just…stay focused. You’ve worked too hard to let anything derail that.”
“I plan to.”
Her phone buzzes, and her eyes travel over the screen. “I’ve got twenty minutes to get home so the nanny can make it to her evening class on time.” She grabs her coat. “We’ll catch up soon.”
“Can’t wait. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
She pulls her coat on. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Dinner with my brother and his family.”
“Okay. Have fun and we’ll get together soon.”
When she’s gone, I linger at the table, watching the snow pile in soft ridges along the glass. A truck with a sand and salt spreader rolls through the lot, making sure there are no slippery places.
I vow to take Trinity’s words to heart. No distractions. No complications. Men with secrets and shadows have cost me enough already.
It’s getting late, and I need to get my new-start packet over to human resources if I expect to be paid. I clear away my trash and head out of the cafeteria down an administrative hallway.
I’m on my way back from dropping off my paperwork when I nearly collide with someone rounding the corner outside the main elevators.
“Liz?”
My head snaps up. Josie Dempsey, one of Alaric’s sisters. My smile falters, for barely a breath, but I feel it.
Her dark hair’s shorter than I remember, a sleek bob that frames her grin before she sets her clipboard aside and pulls me into a hug. The scent of vanilla lotion and hospital soap hits me at once, familiar and strange all over again.
“Josie! Oh my God.” I pull back to see her face. “I can’t believe I ran into you. What are you doing here?”
“I needed to visit my cousin Scott. He was in a car accident over the weekend and broke a rib. I didn’t expect to run into you here in Paradise.”
“Oh! I hope your cousin is okay, and that makes sense. I never expected to be here, but Trinity found an opening at the hospital that hit me on the right day.”
She smiles. “You’re going to love it here. I know the pace isn’t like Vancouver, but it really is a great place to live. Does…Ric know you’re here?”
I tilt my head, lips pressing into something that isn’t quite a smile. “I don’t know. Today’s my first day.”
“He’s going to go crazy when he finds out. I swear he’s still hung up on you.”
I snort. “Somehow, I doubt that. He left and never looked back.”
“I’ll tell him I saw you. He’s going to want to show you where all the locals go.”
I force a smile, pretending her answer doesn’t make my pulse trip. “That sounds great. I was planning to reach out once I got settled.”
She nods, studying me for a beat longer than feels comfortable. Her face softens. “You look good, Liz. Happier.”
“Trying to be.”
“Good.” She squeezes my arm. “Let’s catch up properly. Coffee? Soon?”
“Absolutely.”
She flashes that easy, knowing smile that used to make secrets impossible between us. “Perfect. I’ll text you.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing through a side corridor.
So much for staying invisible. Alaric will know in five minutes that I’m here. Maybe he already does after the scene I caused at the market yesterday.
I straighten my badge, swallow the knot in my throat, and keep walking.
Time to prepare for the inevitable.
By the time I return to my office, the afternoon light has gone pale and gold. I set my bag down and stand by the window, tracing a line through the condensation on the glass.
This office isn’t much—just a desk, a bookshelf, and a window—but it’s mine, and it isn’t a cubicle.
It’s my space and a chance to restart. Before I go, I take a minute to unpack a few personal items, including a framed photo of my nephew, Nicky, a small succulent I nearly killed during the move, and a notebook.
On the first blank page, I write the words that feel truest.
Day One – Don’t look back.
The ink soaks into the paper like a promise. Outside, snow flurries twist through the fading light. No more men who vanish when things get hard. Just me, this job, and a hospital that might finally give me a place to stay.