Page 52 of Brotan

Something shifts in Crow's expression—a calculation, a decision forming behind those amber eyes that suddenly won't meet mine. His shoulders square as if bracing for impact, hands curling into fists at his sides.

"You're right," he says finally, the words sounding foreign coming from his mouth. Each syllable seems physically painful for him to form.

"Crow—" I start, but he cuts me off with a look that freezes my blood.

"We're taking her home," Dad says, his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. "Now."

To my shock, Crow nods, his jaw clenched tight. For a moment, I see conflict rage behind his eyes—something desperate and raw battling against whatever decision he's made. Then it's gone, replaced by a cold mask I haven't seen since that first day in the diner.

"You should," he agrees, voice hollow. "Take her back to New York." His voice is cold, detached, but his knuckles are white where he grips the truck door. "Shadow Ridge isn't a place for someone like her."

"What?" I push forward, but Dad's arm blocks me. "Crow, what are you—"

"You can leave as soon as you're ready," Crow continues, addressing my father as if I'm not even there. "The club will take care of shipping her belongings and car. "

I look to Diesel, hoping for some explanation, at least some reassurance. But he can only shrug and furrow a brow as he watches Crow.

"I think that's the first sensible thing I've heard since we arrived," Dad says, a hint of grudging respect in his voice.

“You’re better off where you belong, Maya,” Crow says, then gives one sharp nod before he turns his back on me, walking toward the clinic and the firefighting efforts without another word.

I stare after him, confusion crystallizing into rage. "Wait!" I call, breaking free from my father's grip and jogging to catch up. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to decide what's best for me."

Crow pauses but doesn't turn. His shoulders are rigid with tension. "Go home, Maya."

"This is my home!" The declaration surprises even me with its force. "You don't get to push me away because you're scared."

He turns then, eyes blazing. "I'm not scared. I'm being realistic. This town will only bring you pain."

"You mean you will," I counter, stepping closer. "What does Quinn want from you, Crow? Or should I call you Brotan?"

His eyes widen fractionally, then narrow. "That name doesn't exist anymore."

"Seems like Quinn didn't get the memo." I take another step closer, despite my father's protests behind me. "You won't protect me by pushing me away. We're stronger together."

For a moment, something flickers in his expression—longing, maybe. But then the shutters come down, his face hardening into marble. "There is no 'together,' Doc. There never was."

His words pierce through me, sharp as surgical steel, but I refuse to crumble. Instead, I draw myself up taller, meeting his gaze directly. "Fine. Run away. That's what you're good at."

Something flickers across his expression—regret? pain?—before his features harden into granite once more. He turns without another word, rejoining the firefighting efforts with mechanical precision.

Dad's arm settles around my shoulders. "Let's get you home."

I allow them to lead me away, too stunned to resist. Crow's dismissal replays in my mind, each word cutting deeper than the smoke that still burns my lungs. "You’re better off where you belong, Maya," As if everything between us had been a momentary distraction, a mistake he was now correcting.

Through the haze of shock and smoke inhalation, a cold clarity washes over me. I'd imagined something between us that clearly wasn't there. I'd seen a protector, a partner, someone who understood my need to heal this broken town. Instead, he'd just been waiting for an excuse to send me away.

The realization aches worse than my burning lungs or the blisters forming on my arms. I'd survived Jamie's death by focusing on others, on healing this town. But who heals the healer when she's been broken?

As we reach my parents' rental car, I look back once more at the smoking remains of my clinic - and my foolish hopes. Maybe leaving is exactly what I need. Maybe Dad is right, and I never belonged here at all.

ChapterEleven

Crow

The heavy bag splits on the twentieth punch, spewing sand and foam across the concrete. Blood from my knuckles smears the canvas, but I keep hitting. The pain feels right. Deserved.

Maya's face flashes before me with each impact—the shock in her eyes when I told her parents to take her away. The fucking betrayal etched into every line of her expression.

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