Thirty-four
Greyson
I ’m about to check Mr. Henderson’s chart when my phone buzzes in the pocket of my scrubs. I fish it out.
Trinity: We’re on the way! See you soon. ??
A smile pulls at my lips, warmth spreading through me. I wish I could be there beside her, watching the landscape change as we drive into Paradise, but I’m glad Liz is keeping her company. Safety in numbers and all that.
“Dr. Greyson!” Nurse Janet’s voice yanks me back to reality. “We’ve got an incoming emergency. Woman lost three toes mowing her lawn in sandals.”
“Understood,” I reply, putting my phone away. My mind shifts gears—sandals, lawnmower. I can almost paint the bloody scene before the victim even arrives.
I stride through the bustling ER, reaching the ambulance bay just as the siren’s wail crescendos. The ambulance doors swing open, and the gurney emerges, the patient pale against the red-streaked bandages.
“Vitals?” I ask, assessing the damage as we move into trauma one. She’s unconscious, the pain likely too much for her to stay awake through the blood loss.
“BP’s low, eighty over fifty. Pulse is thready,” one of the paramedics rattles off. “She passed out right after the neighbors called nine-one-one.”
“Start two large-bore IVs and get her typed and crossed for four units,” I direct, my mind racing. “We’ll need to clean the wound and assess the damage before deciding if she needs surgery immediately or if it can wait until she’s more stable.”
The team moves seamlessly together, and I’m right there with them, hands steady as I work to stop the bleeding and save what’s left of this woman’s foot. In moments like these, everything else falls away and my focus narrows to the life in front of me, dependent on my skills, my decisions. And for a while, I forget about the waiting, about Trinity and her journey to me. There’s only this, the fight to keep another person whole.
Then the wail of sirens fills the air again. I’ve barely got the lawnmower patient stabilized when the radio crackles with the next crisis—a pedestrian struck by a car. My heart rate surges. These cases are always bad.
“Dr. Greyson,” a nurse calls as I move toward the bay doors, “the ambulance is two minutes out.”
“Thanks, Mara.”
When the doors burst open, it’s chaos. The paramedics wheel in a young girl, no older than sixteen, her leg mangled and twisted unnaturally. Her face is ashen, eyes squeezed shut against the pain or fear or both.
“Hit by a car,” one paramedic says over the din. “Driver seems drunk. He’s on the bus coming in behind us. Not a scratch on him. ”
“Got it.” I don’t have time to curse the driver’s recklessness. Right now, this girl needs all of me.
“Let’s get her into trauma two,” I bark. “I need full scans, a vascular consult, and let’s prep for possible surgery!”
The team mobilizes, as I assess her leg, the grim possibility looming that she might lose it. My hands are steady, though my heart isn’t, not when someone so young faces such a life-altering event.
“Greyson,” my brother Beckett’s voice cuts through the turmoil. “I’ll run a tox screen on the driver.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, hardly looking up from my work. Trusting Beckett to handle it, I focus on saving what’s left of this girl’s future.
Hours bleed into each other, and eventually, the adrenaline fades, leaving exhaustion in its wake. It’s only when the pace finally slows that I remember Trinity. Slipping into the staff lounge, I check for updates, hoping for good news.
But when I see her text, disappointment grips me tight. It took her over an hour just to get out of Vancouver? Traffic must be hell. I cringe. If this keeps up, I might actually beat her home, and that thought sits like lead in my stomach.
“Come on,” I whisper, as if she can hear me. “Drive safe, but please, hurry.”
An hour later, I stumble out of the hospital, the weight of forty-plus patients’ fates still lingering on my shoulders. But it’s over for today, and I push through the exhaustion because Trinity is back. As of about twenty minutes ago, my Trinity is here in Paradise.
I yank off my scrubs and jump into the shower in the staff locker room, letting the hot water sluice away the grime. When I emerge, Kingston is there with Beckett and a few others from the team. They’re all laughs and plans, already halfway to their night out.
“Come grab a drink with us,” Beckett urges.
“Can’t,” I reply, raking a towel through my damp hair. “Trinit y is here.”
Understanding morphs Kingston’s smile into a knowing nod. “Say no more.”
With a wave, I sling my backpack over one shoulder and make for the exit, my eyes on the clock.
Back home, I pull quickly into the parking garage and race to the elevator. But as I scan the rows of cars, disappointment crashes over me. She’s not here. There’s no sign of her car.
“Damn it,” I mutter, thumbing my phone. Maybe she went to see her mother? Maybe she sent another message, an update I missed in the flurry of traumas?
Nothing.
I unlock the door to my condo. The silence inside feels heavier than usual, like the room itself is holding its breath. I wanted her things here, her books on the coffee table, her jacket on the chair, a sign that this space was no longer just mine but ours. Without them, it feels incomplete, like me.
I pull out my phone and call her number. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hey, where are you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
“Downstairs, in my mom’s condo,” she replies, and I can hear the bustle of movement and conversation behind her voice.
“Oh! Okay, I’ll come down.” I try to mask my letdown with enthusiasm. I had hoped to have her to myself, but at least she’s here in the building.
“Great! Liz’s friend is about to show up too,” Trinity adds.
“Got it. I’ll order some Thai food for us all,” I say before we hang up.
After a quick call to order dinner for four, I get in the elevator and head down to Trinity’s mother’s condo.
I walk in, and there are boxes everywhere. It’s a maze. “Where are you?” I call into the void of cardboard. I want so much to hold her and whisk her off to bed so the world will be right.
She peeks around a row of boxes. “I’m right here. ”
I rush to her, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Her kiss is a soft promise of more to come.
“How was the drive?” I ask.
“Fine once we got out of Vancouver. But traffic was slower than we expected, so it took longer,” Trinity says.
“That and I had to go to the bathroom a few times,” Liz adds with a laugh as she appears from the bedroom.
We talk a little more about the trip, and thankfully, it was uneventful. The tourist season has ended. The nights are getting cooler, and the grapes are nearly all picked, which means fewer people are coming this way.
The buzzer sounds, and dinner has arrived. Trinity buzzes it up.
“Who’s this friend you’re here to see?” I ask Liz.
“Oh, wait until you meet him. He’s—”
There’s a knock, and I open the door, expecting the Thai food delivery. But instead, standing there is one of my family’s arch enemies—Alaric Dempsey.
“You deliver food now?” I ask.
“No!” Liz says as she jumps into his arms.
Then I notice the delivery driver behind him. With a tip and my thanks, he’s soon on his way, leaving me to focus on Alaric Dempsey making out with Trinity’s best friend. His presence pulls up memories I’ve spent years burying—schoolyard rivalries, veiled competition, and the uneasy truce we’ve maintained. He’s not a man I want anywhere near Trinity or her friends.
“Greyson,” he says when he finally comes up for air. His surprise mirrors mine, though I bury it under a layer of civility.
“Alaric.” I acknowledge him with a nod. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Likewise,” he replies, and there’s a challenge in his eyes.
“Are you two friends?” Trinity asks.
“We were schoolmates,” I answer, choosing my words carefully .
Alaric nods in agreement as we continue assessing each other. We’ve both changed, but some histories refuse to stay buried.
“Let’s eat,” I suggest, ushering everyone to the table where the smell of Thai spices promises a welcome distraction. I catch Trinity’s eye and force a smile. Tonight is about her return, not old grudges or unexpected guests.
As we eat, Liz laughs easily, recounting their road trip, while Alaric’s gaze lingers too long on Trinity. Across the table, she meets my eyes, her smile soft, as if trying to reassure me. But the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen.
“So, how did you land a condo in this building?” Alaric asks between bites, his gaze fixed on Trinity.
She chuckles. “It’s not my condo. It belongs to my mom.”
“How did you and Greyson meet?” he asks.
What is this, an interrogation? His questions are setting off all my warning bells. My business is no business of his.
“We met at a MedTalks conference in Victoria, and then I actually ran into Greyson again here in the emergency room.” She tilts her head toward me, a smile on her lips.
“Small world,” Alaric muses.
“Liz, how did you and Alaric meet?” I ask, feigning casual interest.
Liz leans forward, her hands wrapped around her wine glass. “It was at this bar downtown,” she begins, her cheeks flushing. “I was supposed to meet this guy, but he stood me up. Then Alaric stepped in, like some kind of knight in shining armor.” Her eyes find Alaric’s, and there’s a warmth there that makes my stomach twist.
“Is that right?” I say. I force a smile, nodding as though I believe every word.
When we’ve finished eating, Trinity and Liz clear the dirty plates, insisting Alaric and I stay seated and catch up.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Alaric says finally, his tone casual in a way that sets my teeth on edge .
“What’s funny?” I ask.
Alaric smiles faintly, a slow, deliberate thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “How fragile everything is. One moment, it’s thriving, and the next, it’s gone. Makes you think about the long-term value of things.”
I narrow my eyes. “If you’ve got a point, Alaric, make it.”
He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just saying, the vineyard’s been through a lot lately, hasn’t it? The loss of the pinot vines this year, the fire that got dangerously close to the north fields last summer… It must be hard to keep the books balanced with hits like that.”
My jaw tightens, and I set my glass down with more force than necessary. “We’re managing just fine.”
“Of course you are,” he says smoothly, his smile widening. “For now. But how many more setbacks can Paradise Hill take before the losses start adding up? Sometimes, holding onto something because it’s tradition doesn’t make sense in the long run.”
There it is. The subtle dig, the implication that our family’s legacy is a sinking ship. I’ve heard it before, mostly from Max, but coming from Alaric, it feels different. More like an attack.
“We’re not going anywhere,” I say evenly, meeting his gaze. “No matter how much some people might want us to. And I think our invitation to the International Wine and Spirits competition in November supports that.”
Alaric raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise,” he says. “But it’s worth considering all the options. Especially when the land itself might be more valuable than the grapes it grows.”
I lean forward, my hands flat on the table. “What are you getting at, Alaric?”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, his expression carefully neutral. “Nothing, Greyson. Just an observation.” But the glint in his eyes says otherwise.
I sit back, my shoulders stiff. Alaric may claim innocence, but he knows more than he’s letting on. I’m sure of it. And I’m going to find out what.
Liz and Trinity return, and Alaric checks his watch. “We should get going,” he tells Liz.
“Of course,” I reply. The sooner he leaves, the better.
“Thanks for the dinner, Greyson. It was great catching up,” Alaric says as Liz gets her coat. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in London in November.”
“Are you coming to celebrate our win?”
He shakes his head. “No, we are competing as well, and this time your family can’t pay off the judges.”
“I can’t wait,” I assure him.
As they head for the door, I watch Alaric’s back and vow to keep an eye on him, for Liz’s sake.
The door clicks shut behind Liz and Alaric, and Trinity turns to me. “Paradise really is a small world, huh?” she muses.
I manage a shrug, keeping my face neutral. “Yeah, it can be,” I say, veering away from the topic before it goes any deeper. The old feuds that go back generations with Alaric’s family are like scars, always there but better left concealed. “So, about all your stuff here in your mom’s place…”
Trinity laughs lightly. “I tend to overpack. And now, I have no idea what to do with everything.” She gestures helplessly, but her eyes are bright with amusement. “This seemed like the best place for it all to explode.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” I breathe an internal sigh of relief, as it seems she still plans to stay with me. “We’ll make room for whatever you need at my place. I’ve cleared out half my closet. There’s a storage room, and I have two guest rooms. We’ll figure it out. There’s no rush.” I take her hand in mine, squeezing gently.
“Thank you.” She kisses me softly.
“Come on…” I beckon with a tilt of my head toward the doorway, feeling the weight of the day’s fatigue pulling at me. “Let’s head up and call it a night. ”
She gathers a few things, and we lock up her mother’s place, taking the elevator upstairs to mine.
“I’m a little tired,” I warn her. “But I have big plans for us.” I wink, and she smiles.