16. Chapter 16 #2
“At least you’re predictable.”
He shook his head, already regretting engaging. “You done?”
Jin ignored him, adjusting her coat. “I mean, you could let the guy wake up, realize he’s fought off death, survived an op gone sideways, but where’s the fun in that?”
He cut her a sharp glance. “That sarcasm?”
“Observation.” She grinned. “Heavy-handed, sure, but observation nonetheless.”
Heath grumbled something under his breath.
Jin just laughed. “Relax, Carrington. I get it—you piss excellence, and everyone else needs to, too.”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t really have a comeback.
They walked in silence for a beat, the quiet stretching just long enough for her words to settle—just long enough for him to hate how much they made sense.
Jin eventually slowed, stopping outside the nurses’ station.
Heath turned to face her, arms crossed.
She sighed, studying him for a second. “Look, I get it. I really do. You’re the guy who gets shit done. You don’t wait around for people to figure their lives out when you already know what they need. You don’t accept it when life gets messy and ugly. ”
Heath exhaled sharply. “And here I was thinking we’d end this chat on a high note.”
Jin smirked. “You’d miss me if I stopped sharing my wisdom.”
He groaned. Smartass.
She took that as a win, stepping back to head in the other direction, but then—she hesitated.
“I shouldn’t ask this,” she started, then changed course. “Someone needs to be checking in on Maddie. I’m stuck either working or sleeping, and I don’t think she’s really told anyone what’s going on.”
Heath’s jaw ticked. “Why not just let it be messy and ugly?”
Jin arched a brow. “Checking in on someone in need is not the same as pushing perfect.” Her tone softened, playful on the surface, but serious underneath.
“She’s been through hell,” she said quietly.
“And I don’t think she’s done pretending she’s fine yet.
Maybe she needs someone who knows what it means to let go of the idea of being perfect.
Someone who gets that failing at something doesn’t make you a failure. ”
Heath studied her. Considering the words. He’d heard them before.
Jin sighed, rolling her shoulders. “She’s a young, brilliant surgeon.
Married an OCD perfectionist even more neurotic than she is.
She’s been held—and held herself—to the highest standards of excellence for too long.
And now she thinks she’s failed. Or so she sees it.
At being a wife. A mother. A lover. Everything and anything.
It’s a black mark on her record. She wants to run, doesn’t she? ”
Heath’s silence must have been confirmation enough, because Jin nodded.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “She wants to start over because she can’t accept the black mark. But maybe that’s why she needs us—her friends—who care about her and accept her for her mistakes, her mess, the ugliness of life.”
“To clarify, you’re asking me… to check on her?” Heath exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. “You know, she’d have to answer my texts first.”
Jin’s lips twitched. “You sure about that?”
His jaw ticked. Smartass.
Still, he nodded. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll check on her.”
Jin grinned. “Knew I liked you.”
And then she was gone, leaving Heath standing in the middle of the hallway, hating how much Maddie was living in his damn head.
Heath fell into a routine. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t intentional, but it happened anyway.
Days started early. Some mornings he was at Coronado, running training exercises, pushing through the grind of a SEAL’s workload.
Other times, he was at Balboa, checking in on Rawlings, liaising with the medical team, making sure the guy’s post-op plan wasn’t too soft.
When the workday ended, he headed to Maddie’s house.
It was always empty. Always quiet.
He got things done. The renos were moving fast now—there wasn’t a single untouched room in the damn place. But it wasn’t just about the work anymore. It was about keeping her tethered to something real.
Maddie was withdrawing. He saw it in her texts, the way they shrank to single words. Sure. Okay. Thanks.
The only way he could get a longer response was if he made her pick something. White oak or walnut for the floors? This shade of gray or this one? Which marble do you like?
She always responded to those.
He started keeping the fridge stocked. Cleaned the kitchen when he was there. Left meals in the fridge with very clear instructions. If you see this, you will eat this, or I will hurt you.
The next day, the container was gone.
So she was eating. That was good.
The sheets on her bed were never the same. Some mornings when he came by, they were perfectly made. Other times, they were a mess, tangled and half-kicked to the floor. She was coming home. She was sleeping.
The week blurred. Work. Balboa. Coronado. Her house. But never Maddie.
And then—Saturday.
He woke up at eight. No alarm, no rush to be anywhere. A rare day off. But he already knew where he was going.
By nine, he was pulling into her driveway.
And stopped cold.
Her car was there.
Heath parked his truck on the street instead of pulling into the driveway. No reason to announce himself. He climbed out, shutting the door with practiced quiet, then made his way up the front steps, unlocking the door and stepping inside.
It was different now.
When he first set foot in this house, it had been a wreck. Barely livable. Old, stale air, layers of dust, broken fixtures, outdated finishes. Like time had stopped the day her mother died and never started again.
Now?
The floors gleamed. The walls were fresh, smooth, clean. The kitchen had light now—new bulbs, new fixtures, a functional stove. The cabinets weren’t a depressing shade of whatever-the-hell-that-was anymore. It smelled good—clean wood, faint citrus, maybe something floral. Lived in.
Heath exhaled, rolling his shoulders. It felt like his work. Like his effort, piece by piece, had stitched life back into this place.
But she was still a ghost in it.
He moved upstairs without a sound, his boots sinking into the soft carpet runner he’d installed on the steps.
The master bedroom door was slightly ajar.
He pushed it open just enough to see inside.
Maddie was sprawled in the middle of the bed, buried in sheets, her blonde hair fanned over the pillow. Out cold.
Curtains drawn.
Eye mask on.
Earplugs in.
A phone facedown on the nightstand, the soft sound of rainfall and ocean waves playing from a speaker.
She had locked herself away from the world.
Heath lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her breathe—steady, deep. No tension in her face. No weight on her shoulders.
For once, she wasn’t fighting.
He should let her sleep.
He knew that.
But something about seeing her there, tangled in the sheets, completely vulnerable, made his chest go tight.
She needed to stop running.
And he wasn’t sure if she ever would.