Chapter 2 - Danae #2
I start the engine and pull out, letting the hospital fade behind me. My mind shifts automatically to home—med schedules, the night caregiver, the way my grandfather’s breathing sounded this morning. The crackling is back, another bout of aspiration pneumonia most likely.
Life narrows to what matters.
Still, as I drive, I check my mirrors more than usual. Just in case.
Home smells like antiseptic and dinner leftovers.
Mona, today’s caregiver greets me with a quiet smile, gives me the rundown. No changes. A little tremor change in the left hand. Some confusion earlier that passed. I thank her, see her out, then lock the door behind her.
The house settles.
I move to the living room and sit beside my grandfather’s bed, taking his hand gently. His skin is thin, warm. Familiar.
“Hey,” I murmur. “I’m home.”
His eyes flutter open. He smiles faintly.
“Long day?” he asks, voice soft.
“Always,” I say.
I sit there for a while, grounding myself in the rhythm of his breathing, and the sound of the western playing on the television. The world feels smaller here. Manageable.
Later, when I finally crawl into bed, exhaustion pulls me under fast. But just before sleep claims me, an image flickers through my mind.
A motorcycle. A man standing still in the dark. Eyes that watched without asking for permission.
I frown into my pillow. Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow will be easier.
***
The clock over the nurses’ station clicks over to 7:03 p.m., and I swear it does it just to spite me.
I’ve been counting down since noon.
Not because I hate my job—I don’t. I love the work, even on the days it chews me up and spits me out.
But tonight my patience is thin, scraped raw by lack of sleep and the lingering edge of yesterday’s shift.
Dr. Reeves has gone out of his way to look at me with disdain and treat me with irrelevance.
Which is fine. I don’t need him to like me or acknowledge me, just care for his patients.
I finish charting my last patient, triple-check my notes, and log out with deliberate care. If he’s looking for an excuse to call me sloppy, he won’t find it here.
“Danae,” Marcy calls softly from across the station. “You good?”
I force a smile. “I will be in about five minutes.”
She nods, sympathy plain on her face. “Text me when you get home.”
“I always do.”
I gather my things slowly, drawing the moment out like I can delay whatever’s waiting outside by sheer stubbornness. The hospital feels different in the evening—less frantic, more tense. Like everyone’s holding their breath for the next shoe to drop.
Lucas is leaning against the counter when I turn the corner.
Of course he is.
“Heading out?” he asks, voice casual, eyes sharp.
“Yes,” I state. I don’t stop walking.
He falls into step beside me. “Thought maybe we could reset. Yesterday got a little awkward.”
“That happens sometimes,” I reply evenly. “Good night, Dr. Reeves.”
I push through the employee exit before he can respond.
The evening air is cool, a relief after hours of breathing in different perfumes and body odors.
I breathe deep as I step into the lot, keys already threaded between my fingers out of habit.
My car sits under a dim light at the far end, and I head for it with my head down, shoulders tight.
I’m halfway there when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Danae.”
I stop. Dammit. I don’t turn around right away. I know who it is. I knew he’d follow. I just hoped, stupidly, that he wouldn’t.
“What is it, Lucas?” I ask, keeping my voice level as I face him.
Up close, he smells like old cologne and confidence. His smile is easy, like we’re old friends catching up instead of coworkers standing alone in a dark parking lot.
“Relax,” he says. “I’m not here to bite.”
“I asked what you want,” I reply.
His gaze flicks to my car, then back to me. “I want to talk. Without an audience.”
“This isn’t appropriate,” I state. “We can talk at work about work.”
That makes him laugh. “Come on,” he says lightly. “Don’t be like that. You shut me down yesterday like I insulted you.”
“I said no,” I reply. “That’s not an insult. It’s an answer.”
He steps closer. “Is it personal?” he asks. “Or do you just not date coworkers? Because it doesn’t have to get messy.”
“It’s not personal,” I respond quickly, a line forming in my head even as I speak it.
“I’m seeing someone.” Did I just lie? Yes.
Do I think it’s ridiculous to do so? Yes.
I declined his invitation and that should have been enough.
Some men, though, they need a good reason to back off.
And another man sounds like the way to go.
He freezes for half a second. Then his smile widens. “Really.”
“Yes.”
He looks me up and down, slow and deliberate. “Funny. I’ve never seen you with anyone.”
“He travels,” I state making sure not to stammer. My heart starts to pound, but my voice stays steady. “A lot.”
Lucas chuckles. “Of course he does.”
I lift my chin. I told myself I was breaking my habit of being the people pleaser. I promised myself this year I wasn’t explaining things to everyone. But his eyes, the glare, he needs something solid to get through to him. So the words tumble out, “He’s a biker.”
That gives him pause, but only briefly. “Is that supposed to scare me?” he asks.
I meet his gaze. “It’s supposed to make you understand that I’m not available.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he’s decided the bluff is worth calling.
“You’re lying,” he challenges. “You don’t strike me as the type.”
I swallow, anger flaring hot and sharp. “I don’t care what type you think I am.”
He steps closer again, close enough that I can smell his breath. “Look,” he states firmly but quietly. “You turned me down. Fine. But don’t insult me with some made-up boyfriend story.”
“I’m not insulting you,” I reply. “I’m simply explaining to you that this won’t work. It needs to stop.”
He laughs, actually laughs, and the sound scrapes along my nerves.
“You really think some imaginary biker’s going to come roaring in and save you?” he says. “This isn’t a movie, Danae.”
My pulse hammers. “Let’s just forget this,” I change tactics. “Pretend nothing happened. We work together. That’s it. I’m not available and you can find someone who is to take to dinner.”
He reaches out, fingers brushing my arm.
I flinch. “That’s not how I forget things,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I prefer a—”
The sound of an engine cuts through the air. Low. Powerful. Close.
Lucas’s head snaps up as a single headlight sweeps across the lot, stopping just short of us. The bike rolls to a stop a few feet away, engine rumbling like a warning.
A man swings off. It’s him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a black t-shirt, tattoos crawling down his arms, black jeans, black boots, and a scowl that could make Greek God’s cower. He moves with an easy confidence that makes space bend around him, like he expects the world to get out of his way.
My breath catches.
He walks toward us without hurry, gaze locked on Lucas. There’s no smile on his face. Just calm. Cold. Controlled.
He stops beside me and holds out a helmet. “For you,” he explains. His voice is low, steady. Familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense because I know him, but I don’t actually know him.
I take the helmet automatically, my hands shaking just a little.
Lucas scoffs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The man finally looks at me, just for a second. His eyes soften, barely. Then he looks back at Lucas. “Is there some kind of misunderstanding here?” he asks.
The words are polite. The tone is not.
Lucas straightens, bristling. “Who the hell are you?”
The biker’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m the man she made up.”
“That so?” Lucas sneers. “Funny. She didn’t mention you ever before.”
The biker steps closer, just enough to invade Lucas’s space. Not threatening. Not aggressive. Certain. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation,” he states.
I swallow hard, heart pounding. “Miles,” I start, then stop, realizing I don’t actually know his name. I just remember the patch on his cut the night I stitched him up.
The biker glances at me again, something like a smile tugging at his mouth. “You ready, baby?”
Lucas looks between us, disbelief turning to anger. “You think you can just show up and intimidate me?”
Miles tilts his head. “Am I intimidating you?”
“You think you are.”
“No,” Miles challenges calmly. “I’m asking you a question. It’s a yes or no answer. You brought up intimidation. So the question is am I intimidating you? A man who can admit he’s the lesser man has potential, Dr. Reeves. Is that what this is?”
He holds Lucas’s gaze, unblinking. The silence stretches, heavy and electric.
Finally, Lucas scoffs and steps back. “This isn’t over,” he mutters, turning away. “You hear me? This isn’t over.”
Miles watches him go, expression unreadable. When Lucas disappears back toward the building, Miles turns to me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, breath shaky. “I think so.”
He gestures toward the bike. “You want a ride?”
I hesitate for half a second because I shouldn’t do this. It’s reckless and irresponsible. Something inside me, though, can’t deny that I want to ride, yes. Going with my gut, I swing the helmet on and climb on behind him like I’ve done it a thousand times.
As the engine roars to life, I realize something with a jolt of clarity that sends a shiver down my spine.
I don’t know who this man really is.
But I’m very glad he showed up when he did.