2. Markus

CHAPTER 2

Markus

I stared at the four dull walls of my new office. The flickering fluorescent light above did little to brighten the place, casting a pale glow over the desk and its clutter. It was smaller than I expected, even for a care home. The faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, tugging at memories of late nights in the ER when life moved faster than I could think.

But this wasn’t San Francisco, and that was part of the point. Here, life was slower, quieter—maybe even healing, if I let it be. I glanced at the stack of patient files on my desk. These weren’t emergency cases or surgeries; they were people with long histories, unique quirks, and routines I’d come to know. Not everyone here was sick or dying. Some were just looking for a place to belong, a little help in their daily lives.

And wasn’t that what I was doing too? Trying to find my place, even if it was in the middle of a town most people had never heard of.

I glanced down at my phone in my hand and pulled up my contacts. Josh’s name was still saved, despite everything. I’d avoided deleting it, as though keeping his number was some half-assed attempt at holding onto something that was already long gone. I tried to push the ache of his absence away, but the urge to call, to hear his voice, was still there. Pathetic.

I’d never understand how someone could walk away so easily. He left me for a guy who made more money, had better connections—someone who could provide what I couldn’t. My stomach churned, and I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. He was nothing more than a memory, and yet here I was, still holding onto his name like it meant something.

I pulled up his contact and for a moment, just stared at it. Then, with a deep breath, I pressed my thumb to the screen and deleted the number.

Gone.

Just like that, it felt like the weight on my chest eased a little. Juniper Hollow was supposed to be a fresh start. I was not going to let some old ghost keep haunting me. I could do this.

The phone vibrated.

My sister Leah.

I rolled my eyes, but I didn't answer. She’d been calling a lot more since the move, and I could feel the well-meaning concern dripping from her words even when she wasn’t around. Like she thought I couldn’t take care of myself.

I stuffed my phone into the drawer, trying to ignore the nagging voice in my head, the one that told me I should answer it—let her in, even just a little. But I didn’t. I hadn’t figured out how to explain to her, or anyone really, that I wasn’t broken. Not exactly. Just… tired.

I heard footsteps in the hallway, steady but hesitant, followed by a soft knock.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and my gaze landed on him—a guy I’d never seen before. The first thing that struck me was his hair, styled in a sharp pompadour that looked like it belonged in a photo shoot, not a care home. It was almost distractingly perfect, each strand meticulously in place. His scrubs were standard issue, his name tag reading Nicholas in bold, no-nonsense letters, but there was something about the way he stood in the doorway. Confident but cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome but would step inside anyway.

For a moment, he hesitated, then stepped in and held out his hand.

“Dr. Webber? I’m Nicholas.” His voice was low and firm, businesslike but not unfriendly.

I rose from my chair, reaching for his hand. His grip was steady, his palm warm against mine. A faint tingle shot up my arm, catching me off guard. Probably just static, I told myself, but the sensation lingered, sharp and inexplicable.

“Nice to meet you, Nicholas." I held his gaze a beat longer than I intended, drawn to the flicker of determination in his eyes—eyes that mirrored the deep, untamed green of a forest after a summer rain.

He nodded, withdrawing his hand. I gestured for him to take the seat opposite from me at my desk.

He didn’t take up my silent offer.

“We’ve got a situation with Beverly,” he said, his tone crisp, all business. “She’s got a new sore, and I’m really concerned.”

“Sore? How bad?” I asked, leaning back in the creaky office chair, my eyes already flicking to the paperwork stacked high on my desk.

He didn’t answer right away, causing me to glance at him. His fingers twisted the hem of his scrubs.

“It’s… it’s not huge, but she’s been avoiding care.” His eyes flick to me, serious. “You know how fast things like this can escalate. If we don’t stay on top of it, it could be a real problem.”

The urgency in his voice caught my attention. I paused, listening as he described it, but a part of me still wanted to dismiss it. Beverly had been here for a while, but I didn't know her routine or how she managed her health. I only knew that she was one of the residents here, and that wasn’t enough to make assumptions.

“Okay, I’ll check in on her.” I waved a hand dismissively, the kind of thing I’d done a thousand times before when some eager new nurse or CNA insisted on worrying over nothing.

But Nicholas didn’t back down. He leaned forward slightly, his expression intensifying as he locked eyes with me.

“Dr. Webber, I’m not kidding. Beverly’s stubborn as hell. She doesn’t want anyone touching her, and if she can get away with avoiding care, she will. But that sore… it could get worse. You need to check it out yourself.”

His words hit differently than I expected. It was clear now—he wasn’t just a CNA trying to impress the new boss. There was something more here. Deeper medical knowledge, maybe even a little desperation.

“Okay,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. There was a brief pause, the tension hanging in the air like the heavy scent of disinfectant. “I’ll go look at her.”

Nicholas nodded, and there was something almost relieved in the way he held himself, like I just validated everything he was feeling. He moved to leave, but then he turned back, as if he had something else to say.

“Thanks,” he muttered, almost like an afterthought, before stepping out, leaving the door half open behind him, and I sat there for a moment, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. His words, the fire in his eyes—it all stirred something in me.

There was more to this guy than just a concerned CNA. Something about him was pulling me in, making me wonder what drove him, what made him so damn passionate about a patient like Beverly. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d only just scratched the surface.