Page 8 of Brotan

"The truth would be nice. Why pretend you don't know me?"

He runs a hand over his face, the gesture surprisingly human for someone who projects such carefully constructed menace.

"Yes, I remember you," he admits, voice dropping to that low register that vibrates in my chest. "How could I not? But I'm not the same orc here that I was in New York."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His eyes flick toward the street, checking for witnesses. "It means I've spent months building trust in this town. Do you have any idea how hard that is for someone who looks like me? I couldn't risk you shattering that by telling people what you know."

"What I know?" I repeat, incredulous. "That you were injured and I treated you? That you were polite and grateful? That doesn't exactly sound reputation-destroying."

"You found me half-dead outside an emergency room," he growls. "Beaten to shit after taking down five humans. You think these people want that kind of violence in their town?"

I search his face, understanding dawning. "These people seem perfectly capable of seeing beyond your tough exterior." I echo the same sentiment I expressed that night in the ambulance, when everyone else kept their distance.

Frustration flashes across his features. "You don't get it."

"Then explain it to me."

He takes a step back, putting distance between us. "Look, I had nothing to do with you being hired. I'll take that up with Hammer when I talk to him."

"Great." I throw up my hands. "You're going to get me fired a second time."

His brow furrows. "You got fired for treating me?"

"No." I hesitate, uncomfortable with how close he's cutting to truths I'm not ready to share. "But it didn't help my case. Still, I'd do it all over again."

Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe respect. Then the shutters come down again.

"I'm not going to tell Hammer to fire you," he says finally. "This town needs a doctor. Just... keep what you know about me to yourself."

"I'm not in the habit of sharing patient information," I say stiffly. "Doctor-patient confidentiality applies even in back-alley ambulances."

The ghost of a smile touches his lips, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. "Fair enough."

An awkward silence stretches between us. There's more I want to ask—how he ended up here, what he's doing with the Ironborn MC, and why my arrival seems to disturb him so deeply. But his posture screams that the conversation is over.

"I should get back to the clinic," I say finally.

He nods once, then hesitates. "That building's been empty for a long time. Needs work. If you need—" He stops, apparently reconsidering whatever offer he was about to make. "I'm sure Hammer will send people to help."

"I can manage," I say, more sharply than intended.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Never said you couldn't."

We stand there another moment, tension humming between us like a live wire. There's something unfinished about this encounter, questions unanswered, words unsaid. But he's clearly done talking.

"See you around, Doc," he says finally, turning away.

I watch him walk back to his motorcycle, paper bag still clutched in one hand. He doesn't look back as he swings a leg over the massive bike, brings it roaring to life, and pulls away from the curb.

Only when he disappears around the corner do I realize I've been holding my breath. I exhale slowly, shoulders sagging with sudden exhaustion.

So much for a fresh start in a town where no one knows me or my failures. Instead, I've run straight into the one person who saw me at my most professionally defiant, when I stood up to an entire hospital for a patient everyone else was content to let die.

The irony isn't lost on me. I came to Shadow Ridge to escape Jamie Matthews' ghost, only to find a living reminder of the night I decided my oath was more important than hospital politics.

As I walk back to my car, Helen emerges from the diner, curiosity written plainly across her face.

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