Chapter 2
TWO
DOUGLAS
I hate leaving her.
Yet, leaving people is what I’ve done most of my life. Running away from one thing to handle another. Prioritizing what matters. Making the call fast and not looking back.
That part is easy.
This isn’t. Because for the first time in a long time, there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.
But I have to go. I’ve made promises. Promises to people who depend on me. Need me. I can’t let them down.
I exhale, dragging a hand over the back of my neck as I slide behind the wheel.
I turn on my truck and grab my phone. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” Anna says. Her voice is weak enough that my grip on the wheel tightens.
“I’m on my way,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“I think it’s food poisoning,” she says. “Bella’s been throwing up for an hour. Ethan started twenty minutes ago, and I—”
She cuts off.
While she tries to muffle the receiver, I still hear it. She’s down for the count too.
“Anna,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Sit down.”
“I can’t.”
“You can,” I counter. “Because I’m ten minutes out, and if you pass out, it’ll take you that much longer to get better.”
She lets out a weak breath that might be a laugh. “My big brother. Always trying to be the hero.”
“Never said I was.” I clench my jaw. “I’m almost there.”
There’s a pause.
“Doug?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t.”
“I know you had plans tonight—”
“It’s okay.” Because she needs it to be.
“I still feel bad.”
“Anna.”
She exhales. “Okay. Just—drive safe.”
“Always.”
My sister’s front door is unlocked when I get there. I push it open and step inside.
“Anna?”
“In here!”
I follow her voice to the living room and take in the situation in one sweep.
Bella’s curled up on the couch, pale, clutching a blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Ethan’s on the floor with a bowl in his lap, trying to sit up straight like he’s got something to prove.
Anna’s in the middle of it, hair a mess, eyes tired, holding it together by sheer will.
“Hey,” I say.
Three heads turn toward me.
“Uncle Doug,” Ethan says, and the relief in his voice hits me square in the chest.
That’s it.
Whatever I left behind tonight? Gone.
I move toward him first, dropping into a crouch. “Hey, buddy.”
“I don’t feel good.”
“I know.” I rest my hand on the back of his neck, steady pressure. “You’re doing a good job, though.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. You’ve got the bowl. That’s step one.”
He nods like that makes perfect sense.
I glance up at Anna. “When did it start?”
“Bella first. Then Ethan. Then me.” She makes a face as her stomach clenches again. “Great.”
“I’ll grab extra towels.”
“Hall closet,” she calls out unnecessarily. I know where they are.
After that, I grab more supplies. Ginger ale. Saltines. Anti-nausea meds with a little kid on the front.
“Okay,” I say. “We’re going to take this one step at a time.”
Anna leans back against the couch, watching me like she can finally breathe.
“You didn’t have to come this fast,” she says.
“Yes, I did.”
“Doug—”
“Yes,” I repeat, quieter this time. “I did.”
She doesn’t argue again.
I move between my patients without thinking. Checking temperatures. Swapping towels. Keeping water nearby. Staying close without crowding.
I’m good in a crisis. I know what needs to be done and can act without thinking.
By the time things settle, and they’re all resting, fitfully, it’s late.
I lean against the kitchen counter. My phone is where I left it.
I stare at it for a second before flipping it over.
One message. From Kathryn.
Hope everything’s okay.
No attitude. Just polite care.
My thumb hovers. I shouldn’t message back now.
It’s late. I don’t want her to think she’s only worth late night texts or calls.
I exhale and type anyway.
It will be. Sorry about tonight.
The reply comes faster than I expect.
You say that like it wasn’t the most dramatic exit I’ve ever seen.
A corner of my mouth lifts.
I try to make an impression.
Oh, you definitely did.
I lean back against the counter, some of the tension easing out of my shoulders.
I owe you dinner.
There’s a pause.
Then—
You owe me at least one complete date.
No joke.
That too.
I study the screen for a second.
I’ll call you tomorrow.
Three dots.
Gone.
Then—
I’ll hold you to that, Navy SEAL.
My mouth curves.
You should.
I set the phone down, a smile slowly forming on my lips.