Page 2 of Nicky

“Nicholas,” I corrected again, though there wasn’t the same fire in my voice anymore.

She ignored me, continuing in that soft, persistent tone. “You’re young. You’ve been looking out for others so long, you forgot to look out for yourself. Have you thought about nursing school? What about dating?”

A flash of annoyance pricked at my chest. "I’ve got too much going on right now." It was an excuse I’d given so many times, I could recite it in my sleep.

“And that’s the problem. You prioritize taking care of everyone else—your brother, the people here. What about you?”

“I don’t need anything else,” I said, a little too quickly, my voice a little too tight. “I’ve got everything I need.”

But I didn’t. I hadn’t felt like myself in years—not since I took on the role of parent for Aiden, not since I set aside dreams of going to nursing school. Even though I’d chosen it all, it still feltlike I was suffocating sometimes. But I’d never let myself admit it.

Beverly wasn’t buying it. She tilted her head, studying me. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” I said quickly, reaching for her chart. The numbers didn’t lie—her blood pressure had been creeping up lately, and I wanted to check it again before breakfast.

She made a sound low in her throat, somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. “You’ve got too much life ahead of you to spend it all in this building. Look out for yourself, son.”

That word again. “Beverly,” I warned, but she just gave me that knowing smile.

I shifted the focus back to her, flipping open her file. “Speaking of looking out for yourself, why didn’t you mention that sore on your foot?”

Her smile faltered, and she tucked her foot under her chair like she could hide it. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Just a little spot.”

“It’s never just a little spot.” I pulled a fresh pair of gloves from my pocket, snapping them on. “Let me see.”

She hesitated but eventually stretched her leg out. I crouched beside her and gently peeled back her sock. The small, darkened area near her heel caught my eye immediately.

“Beverly, you know better. This wasn’t here a couple of days ago.”

Her hands gripped the chair's armrests. “I didn’t want to make a fuss. They’ll bring out the needles again, and you know how I feel about those.”

My chest tightened, but I kept my voice steady. “You’re not making a fuss. This is serious, especially with your diabetes. Ignoring it could lead to an infection, or worse.”

She sighed, her eyes softening as if trying to will the situation away. “It doesn’t look that bad. I thought maybe it’d heal on its own. Plus, y’all have enough on your plates.”

“We’ll have more if this turns into something serious.” My voice softened as I stood, carefully pulling off the gloves and tucking them into the trash bag on my cart. “I’ll get the nurse to take a look. And don’t think for a second you’re a bother, okay? You’re one of my favorite people, even if you drive me nuts.”

Her expression softened a little, but she sighed. “Okay, fine. Just don’t make me go through those damn needles again.”

I smiled, despite myself. “No promises. But we’ll get this under control.”

She gave me a playful look. “You’re a good boy, Nicky.”

“It’s Nicholas. And don’t try to butter me up, Beverly. You’re still getting the IV if it’s needed.”

Her laugh followed me into the hallway, a soft sound that lingered, warming the air around me. For a moment, the weight pressing on my chest lightened, though I couldn’t quite shake it entirely.

Work helped, though. It always did.

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.

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