Page 12 of Brotan

At seven sharp, Savvy Greene takes center stage. She's hardened since seeing Vargan hauled off to New York—the softness burned away, leaving steel in its place. Her kid brother Willie hovers nearby, looking less like the scared teenager I first met and more like someone growing into his own skin.

"Thanks for coming," Savvy starts, voice carrying through the packed room. "As you all know, Shadow Ridge hasn't had a doctor since Victor ran the last one off. Tonight, thanks to the Ironborn MC, that changes."

The door behind me swings open, a gust of night air carrying her scent—vanilla with hints of something floral, now laced with tension. Something primitive within me responds instantly, recognizing her before I even turn. My pulse quickens, an instinctive reaction I can't control. Her footsteps cross the threshold, deliberate as a soldier entering enemy territory.

"I'd like to introduce Dr. Maya Johnson," Savvy says, gesturing toward the door.

Maya moves past me without a glance, spine rigid, chin raised. She steps onto the makeshift stage, the harsh fluorescents picking out copper highlights in her dark hair I hadn't noticed before. The light catches the delicate curve of her jaw, the determined set of her mouth. Even exhausted and tense, there's a grace to her movements that draws the eye. She's smaller than I remember—barely reaching my chest—but radiates the presence of someone twice her size. The fitted blouse and dark slacks she wears do nothing to hide the curves I've tried to forget for six months. My fingers twitch with the memory of her skin under them when she patched me up—cool against my natural heat, soft where I'm all calluses and scars.

"Thank you," she says, voice steady despite the undercurrent I can sense beneath it. "I appreciate the welcome Shadow Ridge has shown me today."

Our eyes lock across the crowded room. No warmth there, just cool professional assessment. The silent accusation cuts deeper than any blade.

"I spent the last five years at New York Memorial Hospital," she continues, gaze sliding away from mine. "I've treated everything from gunshot wounds to childbirths, cardiac surgeries to common colds."

Something haunts her voice when she mentions New York. A shadow crosses her face, there and gone in an instant. Only someone watching as closely as I am would catch it.

"What's her story?" Diesel murmurs beside me. "Looks like she's seen some serious shit."

She has. I recognize that look—the thousand-yard stare of someone who's seen too much death, who carries ghosts they can't shake loose. I see it in the mirror often enough.

"The clinic will open next week, but if you have an emergency before then, the door is open," Maya says, drawing my attention back. "This town has gone without proper medical care for too long. That ends now. Everyone deserves quality healthcare, no matter what they look like, where they come from, or how much they can pay."

That last part sends whispers through the crowd. Her eyes cut to me as she says it, a challenge in the set of her jaw.

Applause erupts, genuine hope rippling through people who've had precious little of it. These folks have been abandoned by everyone—government, corporations, even basic services. A doctor willing to take on this forgotten corner of nowhere represents something many had given up on.

Questions fly. How long will she stay? (As long as needed.) What made her leave her fancy city career? (This matters more.) Can she handle trauma cases? (With the right equipment, yes.)

Through it all, she stays composed, professional, but I catch the moments her mask slips—a tightening around her eyes when someone asks about her experience, the white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table when Victor's name comes up.

When she mentions emergency care, her gaze finds mine again, deliberate this time. The unspoken reference to our first meeting hangs in the air between us.

Guilt slams into me hard. I had no right to deny knowing her, to erase what she did for me. Pride and self-protection, the only shields I've ever trusted, suddenly feel like pathetic excuses.

The meeting breaks around eight-thirty. Maya shakes hands, smiles, and performs the role of town savior with a practiced mask I recognize all too well. But I see what others miss—the exhaustion creeping in, the way she edges toward the door whenever the bodies surrounding her thin out.

When she finally slips out, I follow without thinking. Diesel calls after me, but I ignore him, shouldering through the sweaty press of humans toward the exit.

Outside, the night air has chilled, the scent of pine and dampness heavy in my lungs. The distant chorus of night insects rises and falls in waves. Maya stands beside her Honda Civic, keys clutched in her hand. She startles at my approach, eyes narrowing. The parking lot lights cast shadows across the elegant curve of her neck, highlighting the pulse point beating rapidly there.

"Oh," she says, voice sharp enough to cut. "Twice in one day. Here to pretend you don't know me again, or are we past that?"

The barb finds its mark, slipping between my ribs like a well-aimed blade. My jaw tightens as I taste the bitter remnants of my earlier lie. "I wanted to clear things up better than I did earlier."

"Clear what up? Why you acted like I was a stranger?" She crosses her arms, a barricade between us. "Or why your motorcycle club president recruited me without mentioning I'd be working in the same town as you?"

"Both," I admit. "Hammer keeps his cards close. I had no idea who he was bringing in."

"Right." Disbelief drips from the word. "Look, whatever game you and your club are playing, I'd rather not be the pawn. I came here to practice medicine, not to get tangled in motorcycle politics."

"It's not a game," I growl, fighting the urge to step closer. "Hammer's got his reasons for everything. He thinks Shadow Ridge needs someone who won't turn away our kind."

"And it just happened to be me?" She shakes her head. "Of all the doctors in the country?"

I look away, staring at the darkened storefronts. "I asked to be reassigned. Told him to send me back to New York, let someone else handle this territory."

That gets her attention. Her eyes snap to mine. "You what?"

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