Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Colton
Idon’t want to be here.
That’s the first clear thought I have as the noise hits me—music too loud, laughter too easy, the air thick with a kind of energy I don’t have room for tonight. My shift ran long. It always does. And somewhere between my office and the bar, I forgot how to turn the day off.
“One drink,” I tell the guys, already scanning for the shortest path back out. “Then I’m leaving.”
No one believes me. Sawyer is too busy checking out the women. Lincoln and Walker are in-depth talking about their kids. Roman couldn’t make it. Dean is watching me—this time, he was the one who waited outside the hospital to make sure I came.
I loosen my tie and exhale slowly. I still feel like I should be holding a chart. Like I’m forgetting something important.
That’s when I see her.
Not all at once. Not in a manner I can immediately explain.
She’s across the room, leaning toward the woman beside her, her posture relaxed in a way that doesn’t exist inside the hospital. She laughs at something that’s said, head tipping back slightly, and the sound cuts through the noise with unsettling clarity.
Her blonde hair is down. She has makeup on now. I haven’t seen her like this before.
It dawns on me.
I know her.
The realization hits quietly, without context or reason. Just a pull of recognition that sits low in my chest.
She turns her head, tucking her hair behind her ear, and a sharp pain twists through me. Familiar, but out of place. Like a memory hovering just out of reach.
I look away, hoping she didn’t see me.
“There’re some pretty ladies here tonight.” Sawyer turns to me and Dean. “Check those chicks out over there.”
Before I can follow his eyes, I already know who he’s talking about. A tight pull in the pit of my stomach takes hold and makes its way up to my chest. I don’t know what it is.
“Do we need to reduce every woman in this place to their looks?” I bite out as my hand clutches my glass of whiskey.
Dean and Sawyer look at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter. I roll my eyes, but it’s the first time a threat of a smirk hits me. I know—pot calling the kettle black.
“Dude,” Sawyer says, “you’re the older one. We learned this from you.”
He’s got me. Sort of. It’s a bit of an exaggeration.
“I’m two years older than you. Calm down. I’m not your dad. And maybe what you can learn is respect. We’re older now.”
“Are you gonna turn into the rest of the guys? I thought we were the three amigos now,” Dean interjects.
I roll my eyes. “I’m hardly getting on a knee and proposing. Trust me, that’ll never happen.”
When the conversation drifts to sports, I find my attention going back to Melissa.
I don’t mean to. I tell myself I won’t. But my eyes track her anyway, pulled by a force I can’t seem to shut down. She’s leaning closer to the woman beside her now, listening intently, nodding as if whatever’s being said matters. Her laugh is softer this time, more contained. Familiar.
That word again.
It bothers me more than it should.
At the hospital, everything about her feels restrained—professional, measured, predictable. Here, she looks looser somehow. More at ease. Like she belongs in this space.
I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn anchor me. This is nothing. It’s my brain misfiring after a long day. I’m tired. Overstimulated. That’s all.
Still, I don’t look away.
“She looks like trouble,” Sawyer says casually, following my line of sight.
I stiffen. “You don’t know anything about her.” The words come out sharper than I intended.
Sawyer arches a brow. “Damn, that was fast.”
Dean snorts. “So, you do know her.”
I don’t answer. I shouldn’t have said anything at all.
“I work with her,” I say finally. It’s the safest truth I can offer.
That earns me a look.
“And?” Dean presses.
“And nothing,” I reply. “Drop it.”
They exchange another glance, but thankfully, they do.
I turn back to my drink, forcing my attention downward, counting the seconds until this feels like less of a mistake. The bar is loud, bodies packed too close together, conversations overlapping making it hard to think. I should’ve gone home. I knew that before I walked in.
Across the room, Melissa shifts on her stool, crossing one leg over the other. The movement is small, unconscious. I catch it anyway. It exposes her leg. Toned. Long.
I don’t remember the last time I watched someone like this—without purpose, without intent. It feels invasive, even though I haven’t moved an inch.
She reaches for her glass, murmurs a comment that makes her friend laugh hard enough to cover her mouth. There’s an ease between them that makes my chest tighten unexpectedly.
I don’t know why.
That’s the problem.
She glances around the room then, eyes scanning briefly, like she senses my attention.
I freeze, instinct screaming at me to look away.
I don’t.
Our gazes meet for half a second.
Not long enough to be anything. Not long enough to mean something.
But long enough that my pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
Her brows draw together slightly as recognition strikes. She holds my eyes for a beat before moving her attention back to her friend, the moment gone.
I exhale slowly.
Good.
That’s how this should stay.
“You good?” Sawyer asks, nudging my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”
I drain the rest of my drink and set the glass down harder than necessary. “I’m heading out.”
Dean groans. “Already?”
“Early morning,” I say, even though it’s not true. Not exactly.
I don’t give them time to argue. I grab my jacket and weave my way toward the exit, careful not to look back again. I don’t trust myself to keep it neutral if I do.
Outside, the cool night air hits me like a reset button. I inhale deeply, letting it clear the noise from my head. The city hums around me, distant and steady—a reminder that life exists beyond hospital walls and barrooms and whatever that was inside.
I don’t get in my car right away, though my driver, Nicholas, is ready.
Instead, I stand here for a moment longer than necessary, hands shoved into my pockets, trying to untangle the feeling coiled tight in my chest.
She’s just someone I work with.
Someone familiar.
Someone I don’t have time to think about.
I repeat that as I finally open the door and hop into the car, as if saying it enough times might make it true.
But even as the car pulls away from the curb, one thought lingers, unwanted and unresolved.
I know her from somewhere.
And sooner or later, I’m going to remember where.