Chapter 20
Twenty
Ryker
Mondays at the clinic usually mean ear infections, runny noses, and a physical or two. In fact, that’s what most days mean. Pediatrics is predictable, but I like the noise, the pace, and the patients. And things are always moving.
I press the stethoscope to a toddler’s chest, something I’ve done a million times before.
Which is good, because my mind isn’t entirely here.
It’s stuck on Ginny, on her date with Jonas and the way she’s so easily handed our future over to a decades-old feud.
Since when do we let other people decide who we’re allowed to love?
I spent the whole damn weekend trying not to care.
It didn’t work.
A particularly loud squawk from my patient gets my head back in the game, and I manage to keep her from leaping off the exam table. We finish up her wellness check without incident, and after handing her a sticker, I walk out to see what’s next on my schedule. Eli Stone.
I finish logging my notes and then pause just outside Exam Room 2, exhaling slowly and attempting to collect myself.
It’s been nearly three months since Eli’s first visit, when he could barely look at me and Dr. Rex the dinosaur saved the day. I’ve received a number of cautious updates from his foster mom, Jocelyn, and it seems it’s been several weeks of quiet progress.
He still has no words. But there’s been no regression, either. Which, in his case, counts as a win.
I knock lightly and push the door open. “Hey, buddy.”
He’s on the exam table, same spot, same posture—knees tucked up, arms tight around the lime green dinosaur he left with last time. But he’s not staring past me. He’s watching me walk in.
That’s new. I like it.
Jocelyn gives me a tired smile from the chair. “He didn’t want to miss his appointment,” she says, like it still surprises her. “Woke up asking if it was today. I mean, he didn’t say that, but he brought the dino to breakfast. That’s his way.”
I nod, keeping my tone light. “Dr. Rex makes a good calendar.”
Eli’s fingers flex over the stuffed dinosaur’s arm, but he doesn’t look away.
I step closer and crouch down to eye level. “You mind if I sit next to you?”
No answer, of course. But he doesn’t shrink back either.
Progress.
I perch on the edge of the table, giving him space. “Is Dr. Rex ready for round two?”
Eli gives the faintest nod. Barely there. But it’s real.
I keep everything slow. Calm. Just like last time. And when I check his abdomen, he doesn’t flinch. He’s still guarded, but not like before. Once I’ve finished, he looks me in the eye. Not for long, but it lands.
Jocelyn clears her throat. “He hummed in the car this morning,” she says softly. “It wasn’t much. Just a little sound. But he did it on purpose. I could tell.”
I glance over. “That’s huge.”
She nods, and her eyes glisten. “I haven’t pushed speech therapy yet. We’re working through play therapy and drawing. He started coloring eyes on all his people last week.”
Eyes. That’s what’s been missing in his drawings. He was erasing them. Avoiding them. Now, he’s putting them in.
“He trusts you,” I say, mostly to her, but Eli’s still watching me. “That’s the foundation. You keep giving him consistency and time, and he’ll do the rest. I think he’s ready for some one-on-one with a therapist. I’m going to do a referral for you. My staff will be in touch with the details.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
I pause before adding, “No meds yet. Right?”
“Not unless you tell me it’s time.”
“It’s not. He doesn’t need to be numbed. He needs to be seen.”
She takes a deep breath and exhales like she’s been tense since the moment she walked in.
I turn back to Eli. “You’re going to meet another friend of Dr. Rex. First, I’ve got a new sticker stash in the cabinet. Want to check it out?”
This time, he doesn’t look at Jocelyn. He just nods.
And I see it, barely there dimples at the corners of his mouth.
He’s smiling.
I pull out the bin, and he picks a sticker—Spiderman. He presses it carefully onto the belly of his dinosaur.
As they leave, Jocelyn squeezes my arm. “You’re good with him,” she says. “He listens to you.”
“I think it’s the dinosaur,” I say with a wink, but her gaze doesn’t waver.
“It’s you too. Thank you.”
They disappear down the hall, and I stand there a second, the image of that almost-smile lingering like sunlight.
I grab my computer and make a few notes, but my thoughts drift again.
I want to tell Ginny about this. A month ago, Eli wasn’t talking or looking at people directly.
She’d understand what that smile meant. Because even if she won’t admit it, she’s the kind of person who’d get teary-eyed over a kid like Eli.
Damn it, I want more than this cold war we’re stuck in. I want a chance to see what we could be, without letting everyone else’s history decide for us. But wanting more doesn’t change the facts. And right now, wanting her is like trying to hold onto smoke.
I run a hand through my hair as I head back to my office and shut the door, but the usual sense of calm I feel in this space doesn’t come.
I should be reviewing labs or tackling my inbox, but I can’t stop picturing Eli’s face as he clutched that dinosaur, that flash of a smile.
I do need to find him a referral for therapy.
I drag a hand down my face, sit at my desk, and spin my chair toward the window. There’s one name that keeps circling in my head—Alaric Dempsey, who also happens to be Ginny’s older brother.
He’s a brilliant psychologist. Respected. In-demand. One of the best in the valley for trauma work, especially with kids. But he’s also a Dempsey.
I stare at my phone, jaw locked. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. I guess that’s the point Ginny keeps trying to make. Damn it. I have to put my money where my mouth is, I suppose. If I want her to make her own decisions without considering family ties, I have to do the same.
And besides, this isn’t even about me. It’s about Eli. And Eli deserves the best regardless of my family baggage.
I scroll through my contacts. Alaric’s number has been there since he returned to Paradise last year. We’ve crossed paths professionally a few times. Mutual referrals. Nothing personal. Always cordial.
I hit call, and he picks up on the second ring. “Dr. Paradise.”
“Hey, Alaric. How are you?”
“I’m doing well, thanks. It’s a surprise to hear from you.”
“Yes, well, I have a professional request.” I clear my throat. “My patient, Eli Stone, is six years old and was placed in foster care three months after coming out of Children and Family Development’s custody. Severe anxiety. Selective mutism. He’s not on meds, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I’m familiar with Eli,” Alaric says. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh…” I stall. I wasn’t expecting him to be so direct or so informed. “I think he’s ready to meet with a therapist, but drugs aren’t going to fix what he’s dealing with.”
“I agree…”
I wait, because I feel like he’s deciding how much to say.
“He watched his mother get beaten up,” Alaric says finally. “By his father. Repeatedly. The last time…she was unconscious. Broken ribs. Dislocated jaw. Eli was the one who called 911. The dispatcher stayed on the line with him for six minutes before help arrived.”
I sit back, staring at the wall. Some of that was in the paperwork they sent over, but not all of it. My throat thickens, and my hands curl into fists. “And his dad?” I ask.
“In custody. Pending charges,” Alaric confirms. “The mom’s still in the hospital recovering. Multiple injuries, old and new.”
“So this wasn’t the first time it got bad.”
“No. And it wasn’t just her.” He pauses. “We believe Eli was abused too. He has signs of previous rib fractures, and anxiety symptoms consistent with direct exposure.”
The fury is instant. It burns through me like acid. I hate these cases, and not just because they’re difficult to treat. But because I can’t understand them. I don’t get how anyone, let alone a father, puts his hands on a woman. On a child.
I let out a slow breath, trying to keep my voice even. “Eli needs more support.”
“I agree,” Alaric says. “I can get him into a trauma program I run at the clinic. It’s one-on-one time, and it’s covered through the foster system with the right paperwork.”
“What do you need from me?” I ask.
“Referral just needs your signature and a note on his chart. I can send the form over.”
“Done. Send it now.”
“I will.” He pauses. “He’s a good kid. Hurt but good. You’re doing right by him.”
I nod. “Thanks. And…” I pause. “Thanks for taking the case. I know you’ve got a full roster.”
“I make room when it matters.”
We end the call, and I stare at the phone. Alaric Dempsey, a guy I want to hate on principle, gave a kid a fighting chance without hesitation. And somehow, I knew he would. Change has to be possible. Maybe the lines our families have drawn in the sand aren’t as unmovable as we think.
I rub the back of my neck. After a moment, the paperwork arrives electronically, and in a few strokes, I finish the referral. I’m happy to do it. Hell, I’m honored. It feels good to be part of helping someone, to get them the expertise they need.
I don’t know how long I sit at my desk after the referral’s sent. I need to shake this. I need air. I need—
Her.
I find my phone and stare at her contact. Ginny Dempsey. Still saved under Bullseye Bait, the nickname I gave her the night she beat me at darts.
Coward. That spurs me to tap out a message:
Me: Hey. Just checking in. Been thinking about you. A lot. Hope you’re okay.
I stare at it, then add,
Me: Miss you.
Then I wait.
Five minutes. Ten. I check my signal. I check the time. I check her other social media. Nothing new.
My pulse trips. I should’ve called instead of leaving her alone all weekend. I told Sadie I wasn’t going anywhere, and I should’ve done better.
I close my eyes, then do something possibly even dumber.
I call her.
It rings once. Twice.
Then her voicemail picks up, and I freeze at the sound of her voice.
“Hey, it’s Ginny. Leave a message or don’t. I probably won’t check this anyway.”
I let out a breath and wait for the tone.
“Hey. It’s me.” My voice cracks, and I don’t bother hiding it.
“I, uh… I had a tough case today. I can’t tell you his name, but you’d like him.
He doesn’t say much, but he’s strong as hell.
He’s got this stuffed dinosaur he won’t let go of, and today, he looked me in the eye. ”
I pause, eyes stinging.
“I referred him to your brother. He’s good. I mean, I always knew he was, but I think he’s really going to help him. When I spoke to him, it felt like we were on the same team.”
Another pause.
“Anyway, all I could think was how much I wished I could tell you that. In person. How much I wish you could be here when I need someone to talk to. Not as a secret. Not in the dark.”
I bend forward, elbows on my knees, voice low and raw.
“I miss you. I miss your laugh. Your smart mouth. The way you look at me like you already know what I’m thinking. I miss the version of myself that exists when I’m with you.”
I swallow hard.
“I don’t want to hide you. I know I’ve told you that, but I’m saying it again. I like you too damn much to pretend this is something it’s not. And I hate that our families—this ancient bullshit—gets to decide what we’re allowed to feel.”
I sit in the silence for a moment.
“But at the same time, I understand your fears, and the risk it is for you to spend time with me. I don’t expect you to call back. Just… I needed you to know.”
I hang up and drop the phone on the desk like it burns. I put my head in my hands, the weight of everything pressing down—Eli, Ginny, this whole damn war we didn’t start but somehow still have to fight.
And for a second, I let it hit me. All of it.
Then I pull myself together. Because I have patients, and I can’t fall apart.
But God, I wish I didn’t have to do this alone.
Maybe I said too much. Maybe I should just let her go. But I couldn’t, not without telling her the truth.
I meant every damn word.