Seven
Greyson
O n Friday afternoon, my shift is over, and I’m headed to the gym for my regular pick-up basketball game with my brothers. It’s our ritual as often as we can pull it off. Since I saw Trinity again yesterday, I can’t shake her from my mind, her fiery eyes blazing with that intensity I remember from three months ago. She was an intense but fleeting connection, someone I wasn’t supposed to think about after the conference ended. She made that clear enough. Yet now, she’s back, bristling with the same energy that pulls and frustrates me in equal measure. I remind myself that I don’t do repeats.
Still, she’s not like anyone else I’ve met—sharp, unyielding, and completely unimpressed by my name or title. Maybe that’s why she sticks in my head. Or maybe it’s because for the first time in years, I don’t have the upper hand in our conversation. She’s unpredictable, and I don’t know if I like it or hate it.
It feels as if fate is toying with me. I glance down at my watch. Damn, I’m late.
“Greyson!” A voice dripping with suggestion pulls me from my thoughts as I step into the gym. Amanda Lambert, a woman I’ve known since high school, leans against the doorframe like she’s modeling for a men’s magazine, all bright purple leggings and cleavage. In Paradise, you run into people you’ve known your entire life everywhere. She’s practically thrusting herself at me with an eagerness that makes my skin crawl. I remember the high school drama and Tarryn’s stories about Amanda’s spiteful antics. She’s trouble with a capital T.
“Hey, Amanda,” I manage, keeping my tone neutral as I sidestep her obvious display. Her laugh follows me, tinged with a promise of things I have no intention of exploring.
The squeak of rubber soles on polished wood greets me as I enter the court. There, amidst the rhythm of bouncing balls and brotherly banter, are Beckett, Ryker, and Kingston. They don’t notice my arrival, too caught up in their own world. So I scoop up a ball and dribble toward them, turning my back on the distraction at the door.
“About time you showed up!” Ryker calls, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His face is flushed from exertion—and probably stress. He’s working as hard as he can to keep up with our mom and her legendary work ethic.
“How are you doing, Ryker?” I ask. “You seem to have worked up a sweat.”
“Well, this is exercise,” he scoffs. “But Mom’s schedule’s insane,” he adds a moment later between shots. “She remembers every detail about her patients. How does she do it?” He shakes his head, a touch of overwhelm in his eyes.
“Genetics, maybe?” I suggest, trying to lighten his load. “Or maybe she’s just superhuman.”
“Definitely the latter,” Beckett chimes in, sinking another basket .
“Where are Penn and Phillip?” I ask. Penn and Phillip Cole are brothers and longtime family friends. Penn is my best friend, and Phillip is Ryker’s.
“Can’t make it. Wedding planning,” Ryker explains.
I groan. “I love Frankie, but I hope she doesn’t start restricting his basketball games.”
“I think you’re fine,” Ryker replies as he bounces the ball three times, shoots, and whooshes it through the net. “This was a meeting at the church and the only time that worked.”
“Don’t tell Mom, but that is never going to be on my radar,” I promise.
Ryker laughs, and for a moment, the tension lifts from his shoulders. “Amen to that.”
The ball slams against the polished floor, an echo of my thumping heart. I catch it on a rebound and pivot to face Beckett, who’s already set in a defensive stance. His eyes are shadowed, a flicker of something dark passing over his features before he masks it with a determined glare.
“Rough day?” I ask, knowing the answer even before he nods.
“Lost one on the table,” he says, voice clipped. “A bypass. It happens, especially in a community with so many retirees.”
“Comes with the territory,” I murmur. Black Bear is a picturesque town, a haven for those seeking an affordable place to live with plenty of activities for their golden years. But every paradise has its shadows.
I dribble past Beckett, taking advantage of his momentary distraction, and make the shot. The ball swishes through the net, though that does nothing to lighten the mood.
Kingston catches the ball as it bounces back into play. He’s a fortress of a man—solid, dependable, and unerringly quiet unless he’s got something important to say.
“Good news on my end,” Kingston offers, holding the ball under his arm. “The new joint design’s getting approved all across Europe. ”
“Following in the U.S. FDA’s footsteps.” I nod.
It’s impressive, even if he won’t say it himself. The guy’s struck gold with his invention, and now, he’s sitting pretty as one of Canada’s richest—and most eligible—bachelors. You’d never hear that from him, though. If anything, it’s made him a hermit. Well, that and his vicious ex-wife. There’s another reason never to marry.
“Congrats, man,” Ryker says, tossing Kingston a towel. “You’re going to revolutionize the field.”
“Already has,” I add, clapping him on the back.
But he shrugs off the praise. “Let’s keep playing,” Kingston suggests, and we dive back into the game.
This court is our sanctuary, a place where we can shed the weight of our last name and just be ourselves—no titles, no expectations, no constant comparisons. We’re all carrying something—a loss, a frustration, pressure—but out here, it doesn’t matter. For a little while, we’re just brothers, chasing a ball like we’re kids again. As we trade points and playful insults, I find myself grateful.
I snatch the ball from Beckett’s grip, dribbling it with a focused rhythm.
“I heard you ran into Trinity at the hospital yesterday,” he comments.
“Isn’t that the woman from the MedTalk conference?” asks Ryker.
I dribble the ball without looking at them. “Yes.”
“Ah,” Beckett grins, bouncing on his heels with an annoyingly knowing look in his eyes. “The plot thickens. You’ve mentioned her several times since you got back. I thought she lived in Vancouver.”
“She does,” I reply.
“Is she stalking you now?”
“Hardly. She’d probably take me out if she could,” I say, faking left before shooting right. The tension I felt seeing Trinity again dissipates slightly with the familiar whoosh of the net and the thud of the ball against the court.
“Why does she hate you so much?” Kingston asks.
“Honestly, I have no clue.” I catch the rebound and run it to the other side of the court, though I miss my basket. “At the conference, I thought she was a doctor, but it turns out she works in admin.”
“That’s easy then,” Ryker says with a shrug. “You totally dissed admin during your talk. Even our admin are upset at you.”
I stop mid-throw. “Why are they mad?”
“Because you’ve made it seem like with a stroke of a pen, you got rid of all the paperwork. They’ve been fielding calls from across the province.”
“That’s not what I did.” I jump and throw, but it misses again.
Ryker catches the rebound and shoots and makes it. “How do you know she’s not here for you?”
“Her mom was admitted early yesterday morning, and she drove all night to be here,” I explain. “She did not seem pleased to learn I was her mom’s doctor.”
“Come on. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like you.” Ryker swipes a towel over his forehead. “If they start off cold, you charm them right into your fan club.”
A laugh almost escapes me, but I smother it down. “Believe it or not, Ryker, there’s a long list of people who can’t stand me.” A three-pointer arcs gracefully from my fingertips, finally hitting nothing but net.
Ryker shakes his head, tossing the ball back to me. “They don’t know you then. Either that or they’re just jealous, man.”
I catch the ball and line up another shot. “Jealousy or not, I’m pretty sure Trinity’s disdain for me isn’t about to change.”
I focus on the hoop, but all I see is her fiery stare, challenging and unforgiving. It’s unsettling how much I want to sway her opinion, though I didn’t do myself any favors yesterday. I felt entirely unsettled at seeing her, so I leaned into being a stickler for protocol. But again , I tell myself for probably the millionth time, it shouldn’t matter . What’s done is done. And once her mom gets settled, she’ll return to Vancouver anyway. She has some administration job at North Vancouver General.
Kingston’s voice cuts through the banter. “Are we here to chat or play ball?” His eyes glint with a competitive fire.
“Let’s go.” I dribble to center court, waiting for the sloths to catch up.
We play hard, muscles straining and sweat sheening our skin. Laughter bursts forth to mix with the scuffs of sneakers and the swish of the net. Ryker’s quick reflexes have him stealing the ball, Beckett’s height gives him an edge in defense, and Kingston, ever silent, communicates with precision passes. I fake left, then go right, sinking a basket and earning hoots from my brothers.
“Nice one!” Beckett yells.
“Man, am I glad we do this,” I pant after another aggressive round.
My brothers all nod, equally drenched in the satisfaction of a game well played.
“Time to cool off at your place?” Ryker suggests, still bouncing the ball absentmindedly.
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.” I lead the way out of the gym. The fading light of dusk casts long shadows as we walk to my condo building. It looms over Black Bear Lake on indigenous land that was sold for a steep price to our developer. Eventually, there will be other buildings, but for now, it’s only a dozen owners with a spectacular pool. Our footsteps echo in the vast underground parking garage as we make our way to the elevator.
As I adjust my gym bag on my shoulder, I spot her. Trinity’s at the elevator, wrestling with an overnight bag and a paper grocery bag that looks ready to burst. Suddenly, the bag topples, and her groceries are on the ground. I race over, leaving my brothers behind, and pick up a canned soup, then chase an orange that seems to be running away .
“Thank you.” She reaches for a box of my favorite chocolate-covered cookies and looks up, her eyes widening as she realizes it’s me. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, and you live in Vancouver. Shouldn’t I be the one asking why you’re here?”
She stumbles slightly. The weariness in her movements is hard to miss, and something twists in my chest. Then she straightens, her eyes flashing with defiance, and the moment of softness evaporates.
“This is my building,” I tell her, reaching for another can. “I live here. Let me help you.”
Her eyebrows knit together before she retorts, “Well, so does my mother. Fourth floor.”
I exhale and nod. “I’ve never met her before. I don’t meddle with the homeowners’ council or anything. I keep to myself.”
“And you didn’t notice her address was the same as yours?”
“I don’t see her address on my computer.” I look at the groceries still on the ground and turn to my brothers, who parked in the visitor’s area and are just now catching up. “Can you grab the reusable bags in the back of my truck?”
Ryker opens his mouth but then takes in the broken grocery bag and heads to my car.
“That’s not necessary.” She starts loading her purse with bananas and apples. She puts the oranges in her pocket.
“Let me at least help you.” I stack up some frozen meals. “You actually like these?” Immediately, I wince. It just came out of my mouth without any thought.
“Just…” She snatches them from my hand. “I told you. I don’t need any help.”
Ryker arrives with two cloth bags. I take them from him with a nod. “Here.” I turn back to Trinity and start loading things into the bags. “You can hang on to these.”
We stand there, an awkward truce between us as she takes the new bags with her groceries. My brothers exchange looks but wisely choose to stay silent. Despite everything, despite the way she bristles at my every word, something about Trinity still pulls me in, like gravity, like fate, and I can’t shake it off.
I step back, holding my key fob in the air with a mock bow. “Ladies first,” I tell her.
Her wary eyes make it clear she’s not impressed by the gesture. With a reluctant sigh, Trinity lifts her own fob, and the green light blinks our permission to enter the elevator. I follow suit with my brothers in tow, and the doors slide shut with a soft whoosh, sealing us into the confined space. The fourth and fifth floor light up.
“My mother said there was only one unit on the fifth floor,” Trinity notes.
I nod. “That’s correct.”
“Your mother,” Beckett pipes up, “how is she doing?”
Trinity sighs. “Not much has changed.” She puts the bags down on the elevator floor and stretches her fingers. “Visiting hours were over, so I picked up some groceries. She doesn’t have much at home.”
“Tomorrow,” I hear myself promise, my words surprising even me, “I’ll stop by and check on her.” I’m not her doctor now that she’s been admitted, but for some reason, I either feel invested in how her mother is doing or I’m trying to impress Trinity. I’m not really sure.
The elevator chimes at the fourth floor. “Thanks for the bags. I’ll leave them for you at the hospital.” Trinity slips out without a backward glance, and she’s out of sight before the doors close again.
“Anyone else feel that?” Beckett breaks the silence as we ascend, his eyebrows raised in a knowing arch.
“Feel what?” I play dumb, but Kingston’s rare interjection pulls a smirk to my face.
“Chemistry,” he states simply.
“Doesn’t matter,” I grumble, shaking my head. “She hates me.”
The elevator opens into my unit. We spill out into my living room, and shortly thereafter, I sink into the buttery leather of my couch, a cold beer in my hand. The guys sprawl around me, and we turn on the Blue Jays game. But I can’t forget the electricity that lingered in the elevator with Trinity.
“Man, she’s got you twisted up, doesn’t she?” Ryker teases, elbowing me lightly as he reaches for his beer.
I let out a noncommittal grunt, not ready to admit anything, especially not the fact that her defiant eyes keep appearing in my mind.
“Grey,” Ryker continues, undeterred by my silence, “I bet you could win her over. Hell, make her fall head over heels for you.”
The idea is ludicrous, and I bark out a laugh. “Ryker, even if we have— had —our moments,” I say cautiously, acknowledging the connection without giving away too much, “there’s no way she’ll fall for me. I can hardly get her to talk without going off on me.”
Trinity isn’t just a woman with a sharp tongue and a defiant glare. She’s someone who could unravel more than just my pride. As I lean back, waiting for the pizza to arrive and trying to focus on the game, a small twist of anticipation—or is it dread?—settles in my stomach. It seems she’s going to be around for a while and closer than I ever expected. What have I gotten myself into?