Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Lincoln
T he beep of monitors and the distant echo of pages over the intercom fades into a blur as I dart from room to room.
My coat, a white flag of service, flaps behind me, an extra set of wings that carry me.
I pause only to offer a smile to a nervous parent—my silent promise that their world rests in capable hands.
“Dr. Montgomery,” a nurse calls out as she hands me a chart, “your next surgery is ready for you.”
“Thanks, Marianne,” I reply, glancing down at the details of another life under my watch. I tuck a stray lock of dark hair away from my eyes and press forward, my feet knowing the path better than I do.
My phone vibrates in my pocket—a rare moment of respite that beckons me to the break room. I catch sight of "Dad" lighting up the screen and the corners of my mouth lift involuntarily.
“Hey, Dad,” I answer, leaning against the cool wall, the bustle of the hospital dimming behind the closed door.
“Lincoln, my boy! How's the city treating you?”
“Busy as ever, but it keeps me on my toes. What about you? How's the barbershop?”
“Same old, same old,” he chuckles. “You know how it is here. But listen, son, I was thinking, your time off is coming up, isn't it?”
I nod before remembering the phone call requires words. “Yeah, heading there after work today.”
“Good, good,” he muses. “How about you swing by the shop? It's been too long since you've had a proper trim from your old man.”
I can’t help but laugh at that—the image of my father, with his steady hands and timeless advice, attempting to tame the city-induced chaos on top of my head. “That sounds perfect, Dad. Lawson Ridge will be a nice change of pace.”
“Excellent!” His voice holds a note of triumph. “I’ll let the usual suspects know. They'll be thrilled to see you, Lincoln. You're still something of a legend around here.”
“Only because you tell the most flattering stories,” I tease, feeling a lightness in my chest at the thought of home.
“Maybe so,” he concedes, the smile evident in his tone. “Just promise me you'll take it easy while you're here. No hospital talk. You need a break.”
“Promise. See you soon, Dad.”
“Drive safe, son.”
Ending the call, I stand motionless for a moment longer, allowing the anticipation of returning to Lawson Ridge to settle over me. With a deep breath, I push away from the wall and step back into the fray, my heart a touch lighter and my steps a little more eager.
“Lincoln, you're off like a shot today!” Dr. Kessler calls out, her laughter trailing behind me. “Hot date?”
“Something like that,” I grin over my shoulder without slowing down.
“Lawson Ridge is calling your name, huh?” Jake, one of the nurses and a good friend.
“Can't hide anything from you,” I reply, stuffing my scrubs into the locker and grabbing my duffel bag. My hands work quickly, folding the casual clothes I brought with me this morning—jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and that old sweater Mom knitted for me years ago.
“Make sure you say hi to your folks for me,” Jake says.
“Will do.”
And with that, I leave the sterile white walls behind, my heart thrumming in my chest. The city lights will soon fade in my rearview mirror, and the road ahead will lead me to the quaint streets lined with memories, the rolling hills whispering welcome back.
The hum of the engine is my only companion as the cityscape shrinks in the rearview mirror, giving way to an expanse of open road framed by a watercolor sky.
Miles unfurl under the tires like ribbons, guiding me toward Lawson Ridge.
Each turn of the wheel peels away layers of tension I’ve accumulated over countless shifts and sleepless nights.
As the outskirts of Lawson Ridge come into view, my pulse slows. Familiar storefronts greet me with their quaint charm, and the golden hue of the setting sun glows over everything, like a fond memory brought to life. Main Street hasn't changed much; Brylee’s bookstore and Leo’s Vet clinic.
“Lincoln Montgomery, as I live and breathe!” Brylee calls out as I park the car.
I stepp out onto the sidewalk. “It's good to see you.”
“Never thought we'd lose you to the big city,” she chuckles, leaning against a broom handle. “What brings you back?”
“Visiting family,” I explain, feeling the corners of my mouth lift effortlessly for the first time in weeks. “And maybe a little bit of that quiet life, just for a few days.”
“Enjoy it while you can. Hope to see you at the reunion.”
Home. I’m finally home.
Pushing open the door to my father's barbershop, I look up to find him standing behind his barber's chair, his hands paused mid-air. His customer, draped in the classic striped cape, smiles at me through the mirror, recognition sparking in his eyes.
“Hey, Dad.”
Bill sets down his scissors with the care of someone who revers his craft, wiping his hands on a clean towel before making his way toward me. His smile is a beacon—warm and unwavering—and I find myself grinning back despite the fatigue that clings to my bones.
“Look at you, still too skinny,” he teases, but his eyes shimmers with pride.
With a few quick strides, he closes the distance between us. His arms open wide, and for a moment, I am a child again, safe and cherished. His strong arms, still robust with the vitality of a man who knows the value of a day's work, holds a tenderness that only a father can offer.
“Welcome home, son.”