Chapter 2 Broken Hands
Wake Up
Finn Ashford's first morning in Willow Ridge began with paperwork, coffee, and a trauma case.
Not exactly the fresh start he'd imagined.
The coffee was decent, at least.
He sat in the small physician's lounge at Willow Ridge Medical Center, reviewing patient files while rain streaked the windows outside. The storm that had battered the county the previous night had finally moved on, leaving behind gray skies and the lingering smell of wet earth.
The clinic was already busy.
Nurses hurried through hallways.
Phones rang constantly.
Patients filled waiting rooms.
The tornado that had devastated the town months earlier had taught Willow Ridge how quickly life could change, and everyone seemed determined to keep moving forward no matter what challenges appeared.
Finn admired that.
He'd only arrived three days ago, but the resilience of the community was impossible to miss.
Most small towns struggled with change.
Willow Ridge seemed to survive it.
Perhaps because people here depended on one another.
Perhaps because they had no choice.
The realization carried an unexpected sting.
For most of his life, Finn had been the dependable one.
The caretaker.
The listener.
The problem solver.
People leaned on him constantly.
Very few people had ever offered the same support in return.
The thought surfaced more often than he liked.
Especially during quiet moments.
Especially during transitions.
Like now.
He pushed the thought away and focused on the file in front of him.
Professional habit helped.
Work always helped.
The thick folder contained information about several patients requiring long-term rehabilitation services. As the town's newly hired rehabilitation physician, those cases now belonged to him.
The position represented a significant opportunity.
After years working in larger hospitals, Finn had chosen something different.
Something quieter.
Something personal.
He wanted relationships with patients instead of endless hospital rotations.
He wanted to help people recover instead of simply treating symptoms.
He wanted a life that felt meaningful.
Willow Ridge had seemed like the perfect place to find it.
The town's medical director apparently agreed.
At least that was what Dr. Simmons had claimed during recruitment.
The older physician had spent nearly an hour convincing Finn that the community needed someone with his skills.
Apparently, serious injuries were common among mechanics, construction workers, farmers, firefighters, and various other professions involving heavy equipment and questionable decision-making.
Finn had laughed at the description.
Three days later, he realized Dr. Simmons hadn't been joking.
The lounge door opened.
A nurse stepped inside carrying several folders.
Her expression immediately suggested trouble.
"Doctor Ashford?"
Finn looked up.
"Morning, Rebecca."
The nurse offered a tired smile.
Rebecca Collins had already become one of his favorite people.
Efficient.
Blunt.
Entirely incapable of sugarcoating anything.
The combination proved surprisingly refreshing.
"You have a new patient."
The statement sounded ominous.
Finn noticed immediately.
The nurse noticed him noticing.
"That bad?"
Rebecca sighed.
Then dropped a thick folder onto the table.
"Depends."
The answer didn't inspire confidence.
Finn opened the folder.
Several photographs sat clipped inside.
Medical reports.
Surgical notes.
Emergency treatment records.
The sheer volume of paperwork made his eyebrows rise.
"What happened?"
"Garage explosion."
The explanation arrived immediately.
Rebecca pulled out a chair and sat across from him.
The action alone told him the story wasn't simple.
Finn glanced at the photographs.
The first image showed a man on a stretcher.
Large frame.
Heavy bandaging.
Burn injuries.
Visible trauma.
The second photograph revealed more.
Dark hair.
Strong jaw.
Several days of beard growth.
Even unconscious, the man looked intimidating.
The third image showed extensive damage to both hands.
Finn's professional instincts immediately focused.
Burns.
Fractures.
Soft tissue trauma.
Complications.
Significant complications.
The nurse folded her arms.
"His name is Declan Harlan."
The name meant nothing.
Yet.
Finn continued reading.
Age thirty-seven.
Mechanic.
Lead technician at Whitaker Auto & Salvage.
Several surgeries completed successfully.
Expected recovery period: extensive.
The notes continued.
And continued.
And continued.
By the third page, Finn understood why Rebecca looked exhausted.
The patient had survived severe injuries.
Both hands suffered significant trauma.
His dominant shoulder sustained additional damage.
Several fractured ribs complicated movement.
Pain management remained challenging.
Physical rehabilitation would be critical.
The realization settled immediately.
This wasn't a short-term case.
This was months.
Potentially longer.
Exactly the kind of recovery work Finn specialized in.
He closed the folder.
"How's his prognosis?"
Rebecca laughed.
Not because the question was amusing.
Because she'd clearly expected it.
"The injuries?"
Finn nodded.
"The injuries are manageable."
That sounded promising.
Then the nurse continued.
"The patient isn't."
There it was.
The real problem.
Finn smiled despite himself.
"Difficult?"
Rebecca stared at him.
Several seconds passed.
"One nurse cried."
Interesting.
"Another threatened to quit."
More interesting.
"A physical therapist lasted six minutes."
Finn tried very hard not to laugh.
Mostly succeeded.
The nurse pointed toward the folder.
"He yelled at a surgeon yesterday."
"Why?"
"He existed."
That finally earned a laugh.
A genuine one.
Rebecca looked unimpressed.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"A little."
The nurse rolled her eyes.
Then stood.
"You're meeting him in ten minutes."
The amusement faded immediately.
Professional focus returned.
"Anything else I should know?"
Rebecca stopped near the door.
Considering.
Then sighed dramatically.
"He's Riot's best friend."
Finn blinked.
The name sounded familiar.
Very familiar.
Recognition arrived seconds later.
Kane Whitaker.
The owner of Whitaker Auto & Salvage.
The man everyone in town seemed to know.
The mechanic who had nearly died during the tornado.
The mechanic currently involved with one of the clinic's emergency physicians.
Dr. Elias Laurent.
The realization clicked into place.
Finn had briefly met Elias during orientation.
The elegant doctor possessed an almost alarming ability to make everyone around him comfortable.
Apparently he'd also managed the impossible.
Taming Kane Whitaker.
At least according to local gossip.
The nurse nodded.
"Exactly."
Apparently his expression had revealed everything.
"Declan Harlan is basically family."
Wonderful.
No pressure whatsoever.
Rebecca opened the door.
Then paused.
One final thought occurring to her.
"Oh."
Finn already disliked that tone.
"What?"
The nurse smiled.
Entirely too cheerfully.
"He hates doctors."
Then she left.
The door closed behind her.
Silence followed.
Finn stared at the folder.
Then at the door.
Then back at the folder.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Ten minutes later, he walked through the orthopedic wing carrying a tablet and entirely reasonable expectations.
By minute eleven, those expectations began collapsing.
The hallway outside Room 214 contained three separate nurses.
All three looked relieved to see him.
Not encouraging.
One of them handed him a chart.
Another wished him luck.
The third simply patted his shoulder sympathetically.
Finn considered turning around.
Professional ethics prevented it.
Barely.
The room itself remained quiet.
Too quiet.
He knocked gently.
No response.
Another knock.
Still nothing.
Finally, he opened the door.
And stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was the size of the man in the hospital bed.
Declan Harlan looked enormous.
Even injured.
Even sitting partially upright against several pillows.
Broad shoulders stretched beneath the hospital gown.
Dark hair fell slightly across his forehead.
A beard shadowed his jaw.
Bandages wrapped both hands and portions of his arms.
Bruises marked visible skin.
Pain lingered around his eyes.
Yet somehow the man still looked dangerous.
The second thing Finn noticed was the expression.
Hostile didn't begin to cover it.
Gray eyes locked onto him instantly.
Assessing.
Dismissing.
Judging.
The look felt remarkably similar to being evaluated by a large wolf.
A wounded wolf.
A very irritated wounded wolf.
Neither spoke immediately.
The silence stretched.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Finally, Finn offered a professional smile.
"Good morning. I'm Dr. Finn Ashford."
The response arrived instantly.
Sharp.
Flat.
Unwelcoming.
"I don't need another doctor."
Finn stared.
Then nodded.
Reasonable opening.
Not ideal.
Manageable.
He stepped farther into the room.
"Actually, you do."
The gray eyes narrowed immediately.
Hostility increased.
Impressive.
"I already have doctors."
Finn remained calm.
Years of difficult patients had prepared him for worse.
Probably.
"Those doctors saved your life."
The statement earned no reaction.
"Mine is helping you get it back."
Silence followed.
Long.
Meaningful.
Then Declan Harlan looked directly at him and spoke four words that made everything crystal clear.
"Get out of my room."
And just like that, Finn understood exactly why the nurses looked so relieved to see him arrive.
No Doctors
Deck woke up angry.
The feeling arrived before awareness fully returned.
Before he opened his eyes.
Before he understood where he was.
Pain came first.
Then anger.
The combination felt familiar.
Unpleasantly familiar.
Every breath hurt.